11:21 PM – Maxine's Condo
She headed straight to the bathroom. She wiped off her makeup and slipped out of her dress, but the pounding in her chest didn't fade. She sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, watching the city flicker beneath the night sky. Danica had offered to stay the night, but she had declined. She could deal with this pain alone. It was enough that Danica stayed with her long enough to make the night bearable. But the thing she'd been avoiding? It came knocking anyway.
Her phone lit up.
From Troy:
Can we talk? Please. Just for a minute.
She locked the screen without replying.
A second message arrived.
From Trina:
Tell me, Maxine. Did dancing with strangers make you forget the way he used to hold you in the dark? Because it didn't work for me either. Goodnight.
Her jaw clenched. She tossed the phone onto the bed, eyes glinting coldly.
I'll let you play your games, but this time I'm playing back.
9:30 AM – Martinez Corporation Lounge
She entered the lounge in silence, carrying a folder and a coffee cup. She didn't need a break from work just from the weight she'd been quietly carrying. Not even last night's alcohol could wash it away.
She placed her things on a small table in the corner and took a deep breath before sitting down. She pulled out her phone and reviewed the minutes from the last meeting. Everything had to be perfect. There was no space for errors, especially now.
Once done, she tapped a quick message:
To Danica:
Rockwell Bar. 7:30 PM. My treat this time.
From Danica:
G. Let's forget the pests in our lives.
She smiled faintly but lifted her gaze when she heard the elevator doors slide open—heels clicking against the tiles.
"Mind if I sit here?"
She didn't need to look up.
Trina Pascua.
Her eyes lifted, blank. "Go ahead."
Trina sat across from her, polished and poised in her silk blouse, minimalist gold earrings, and glossy lips. The kind of woman who walked into a room expecting it to rearrange for her convenience.
"I've always liked this lounge," she said, glancing around. "It hasn't changed."
"Most things don't," She replied without looking up, her eyes focused on stirring her coffee.
"But some things do," Trina added with a sly smile. "Like the scent in Troy's office. It used to be cedar and leather. Now… lavender."
Her hand paused briefly.
"You wear lavender, don't you?" Trina asked sweetly.
She set her spoon down. "A lot of women wear lavender."
"Sure," Trina replied. "But not all of them leave traces in a man's office."
She finally looked at her, sharp. "At least you've realized not everyone waits forever. Some people change especially when pain becomes the reason to."
Trina leaned back, unbothered. "You know, I saw the watch on his shelf. The one I gave him on our second anniversary."
"Maybe he keeps it," Maxine said evenly, "to remind himself never to waste time on someone who wasn't worth it."
Trina blinked, her smile faltered just for a second, her teeth clenched behind tight lips. One point for her.
"Or maybe," Trina said, regaining composure, "some things are just hard to throw away. Even when outdated."
She stood, adjusting her blazer with calm precision. "Thanks for the chat, Miss Pascua. But I don't entertain used goods during working hours." She turned to walk away, but Trina's voice followed.
"I just miss how he laughed. The real kind, I mean, chest-deep. He used to do that with me. Do you ever hear it?"
She turned, smiling wide now. "Oh, sorry. What I usually hear is him moaning my name every time he's about to come."
And she walked off—graceful, lethal, leaving Trina gripping her seat.
8:00 PM- Rockwell Bar
She was swirling her drink, lost in the amber liquid, when Danica leaned in.
"Another round?" Danica asked, wiping the rim of her glass.
She nodded, still watching the way the liquid caught the light. "Yeah. Maybe it'll flush all this shit out of my system."
"Let me guess. Trina?"
"She doesn't even try to be subtle," She scoffed. "Walks around like she owns the building. Like I'm just an extra in her story."
"Well, technically…"
"I know." She looked down. "It's true."
Danica frowned. "Troy says anything?"
She shook her head. "No. But what hurt more wasn't what he said—it's what he didn't do."
Danica sighed then reached across the table, holding her hand. "Let's dance. Let's forget them."
8:30 PM- Dance Floor
The music thundered in her chest. She swayed, eyes closed, arms raised. She used to live for nights like this—free, wild, seen. Danica twirled beside her, shouting, "You're alive again!"
She laughed. A real one. "I should've never left this behind. Wooahh!"
They returned to their seat, flushed and breathless. Danica poured them a shot and raised her glass.
"To the women who stayed… even when they weren't chosen."
She clinked glasses. "To the ones who stayed… even when they weren't chosen."
They drank in silence. Danica broke it with a bitter laugh. "They say love is blind. I say it's stupid."
She didn't need to ask. That ache had a name — Marco. Danica's husband. Her brother, another man who dressed detachment as dignity.
Danica's voice cracked. "Because here I am. Giving everything to a man who never chose me."
"I'm ruining girls' night," Danica muttered, wiping her eyes.
She shook her head. "No. We both loved the wrong way."
"But loved anyway," Danica whispered.
She nodded. "Every damn time."
They laughed bitterly—two women who gave too much to men who didn't know what to do with it.
Then her phone buzzed. An unknown number.
From: +639704422300
You look better when you're crying.
Her smile faded. She stared at the screen—unblinking, breath slowing. And then, very slowly, her fingers curled tightly around the glass.
So, this is how you want to play?
Fine. Let's play.