---
The office air was stiff with tension. Not the dramatic kind—more like the kind you feel when something's about to go terribly wrong, but no alarms are blaring yet.
Dante leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. The boardroom was empty save for him and the surveillance footage playing across the wall.
"He's smiling now," he muttered. His eyes didn't leave the screen.
Raphael was seated in his office across the building, flipping through reports with that look—the one Dante hadn't seen in over a decade. The look of someone trying to breathe. Trying to live.
Dante's lips curled into a smirk.
"You must be joking."
He downed the rest of the whiskey, set the glass down hard enough to make the table jump, and dialed a number.
"Initiate the audit on Team 2. I want Raphael's name linked to the discrepancies. Quietly."
"Sir, that's his personal development team. The project's not even due yet—"
"Exactly. Let it rot before it blossoms."
Click.
---
Lily, on the other hand, was minding her business.
She hadn't seen Raphael in two days.
And weirdly, it was kind of… peaceful? She liked her job, the hospital was chaotic as always, and no one was yelling at her about card castles or strange dietary instructions.
But a tiny part of her—just a spec—felt something missing. Not that she missed him. No. Definitely not.
She missed the drama. Yeah, the drama.
That's what she told herself.
She walked into the break room and nearly tripped over a spilled pile of inventory sheets.
"Damn interns," she grumbled, bending down.
"You're welcome."
She looked up.
Raphael. Standing by the coffee machine like a cursed Dior model. No gloves this time. Still distant, still dramatic. But no gloves.
"You—what are you doing here?"
"It's my hospital."
"You're literally never here."
"Doesn't mean I don't own it."
He stepped forward. Lily tensed.
"Relax. I'm not going to crumble if you breathe on me."
"That a joke?"
"Possibly."
He grabbed a cup, poured coffee, then passed her one. Not handed. Passed. Like a hostage negotiation.
"You disappeared."
"I got busy."
He looked her dead in the eyes. "You're the first person who ever walked into that house and didn't run before I spoke."
She blinked. "I did run. After your...meltdown."
"Fair."
They both sipped in silence.
"Look, I still think you're a bit of a maniac," she said casually. "But you don't have to avoid me like I carry a plague."
"Not a plague. Just static electricity."
She laughed. Loudly.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
---
Back at the company, things were going to hell.
Dante's sabotage was working. Emails disappearing. Budgets skewed. Reports altered.
Raphael was being blamed quietly, politely, with raised brows in board meetings.
But he wasn't clueless.
Late that night, in his private office, he stared at the digital ledger.
"Dante…"
He didn't say more. He just made a note in the corner of his planner:
Watch him. He's starting early.
---
The next day, Lily got a strange message: "Report to Raphael Del Mundo's private office."
She almost deleted it.
But curiosity (and maybe a hint of spite) won.
She walked in. The place was minimalist and cold, but scented faintly of vanilla and sterile peppermint. Very on brand.
He sat by the window.
"You're late."
"I'm not your assistant."
He turned slowly. "No. But you're becoming something."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get poetic."
"You're annoying."
"You're impossible."
"You're late."
They stared again.
Finally, he handed her a folder. Inside—notes. Handwritten. Beautiful penmanship.
"What's this?"
"My medical log. I want you to study it. Learn my schedule. Understand my condition."
"Is this your weird way of asking for help?"
"No. It's my formal declaration that if you mess up my pills, I'll haunt you."
She snorted. "You're unbelievable."
"You showed up. That's what counts."
For a second, neither of them moved.
And then he said it.
"I didn't rebuild the card palace."
She looked up.
"Why?"
He met her eyes.
"Maybe I want to see what else I can build."