9:07 AM, Manila Bay Penthouse.
The dining area buzzed with sizzling garlic rice, the smell of eggs and longganisa, and the oddly musical hum of Conrad pretending to be a morning person.
Jamie leaned back in her chair, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, watching her father dramatically plate hotdogs into a curved smiley face on a porcelain plate. He wore a mismatched apron that said "Kiss the Cook If You Dare", and he was whistling.
"You've never been this happy," Anthony said, balancing his plate on one hand like a waiter.
"Not since you got kidnapped by that flying banana boat with Jose, Glenn, and Johnny during the Pagoda Festival," Stephanie deadpanned, chewing absently on a cheese roll.
"That was a magical trip," Conrad said wistfully, flipping a pancake. "I still hear Glenn scream every time I see a banana."
Across the room, Kako stood with a cup of black coffee, watching him with the faintest smirk curling her lip. Her silk blouse was crisp, her hair half-up, and her eyes—sharper than ever.
Jamie caught the glance exchanged between them—playful, warm. Familiar.
Stephanie was the first to comment, eyes narrowed. "So... are you two back together, or are we just pretending like we don't see the sexual tension between the scrambled eggs?"
Anthony gagged dramatically. "Please stop."
"Let's just say," Kako said smoothly, "your father made a very persuasive case."
Conrad gave her a wink. "Didn't even use PowerPoint this time."
The kids laughed, groaned, and rolled their eyes—but even Jamie smiled. It had been years since mornings felt like this. Not just peace—but joy.
Then the intercom buzzed.
"Someone's outside," Bethany called from the hallway, poking her head in. "Convertible. Young. Possibly hormonal."
Conrad set down the pan.
"I swear," he muttered, wiping his hands. "If it's a pyramid scheme again..."
They exited the building as a family, sunlight bouncing off the glass facade. Parked at the curb was a white convertible, obnoxiously shiny, with Keith at the wheel—lean, clearly trying hard to look casual in a collared shirt and over-gelled hair.
"Hi, Stephanie," Keith said with a grin that had likely been practiced in a mirror.
"Hi, Keith," Stephanie replied, instantly tucking her hair behind her ear like it had offended her.
Kako and Conrad, shoulder to shoulder, leaned in and simultaneously muttered:
"What an ugly name."
"Dad, Mom," Stephanie said, doing her best to radiate grace under parental sniping. "This is Keith. My suitor."
"Nice meeting you, sir. Ma'am," Keith said, stepping out of the car and giving a polite bow that was clearly coached.
"His father is a banker," Stephanie added quickly. "Just letting you know so you don't treat him like trash."
Kako didn't blink. "Does his father also teach him to wear shoes with no socks?"
"He's a creative," Stephanie replied.
"Yeah, so is our gardener," Conrad muttered.
Keith, to his credit, opened the passenger door like a gentleman. "Shall we?"
"Sure," Stephanie said, smoothing her jacket and slipping into the seat like a mafia daughter on a date with a diplomat's son.
As the car rolled off, Conrad crossed his arms and squinted into the sunlight.
"That kid is lucky he's handsome."
Kako sipped her coffee and nodded. "Otherwise I'd have flipped the car."
But not everything was sunshine and longganisa.
Jamie stood at the edge of the sidewalk, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through emails.
Bernard hadn't messaged since the gala.
Not even a meme.
Not even a "yo."
And truth be told—she hadn't messaged either.
The moment by the fountain was now an awkward, echoing memory she couldn't stop replaying: the closeness, the kiss, the stupid mango tartlet. Her chest tightened every time she thought about it, and yet—she couldn't bring herself to bridge the gap.
At the university, Jamie returned to campus that afternoon, confident heels clicking through hallways like a warning shot. She avoided eye contact with Bernard during the student council budget review, focusing instead on a spreadsheet that no one had updated in weeks.
He, for his part, barely glanced in her direction, even when she dropped her pen.
They were masterful in their mutual avoidance. But others noticed.
Kael, watching from the student media room, narrowed his eyes. "She's weird lately. You notice?"
Sophia, lounging on a beanbag in sunglasses indoors, didn't even look up. "Because she's trying not to fall in love. Amateur mistake."
"You think they...?" Kael began.
Sophia finally sat up, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. "They kissed. Or almost. I saw them near the fountain. Body language never lies."
Kael scoffed. "What does that mean for us?"
"It means we do what we're good at," Sophia said with a sinister grin. "Sabotage."
Kael bit his lip. "Can we do sabotage without me looking pathetic this time?"
"No promises."
Back at the penthouse, Conrad settled on the couch with a heating pad against his back and a telenovela blaring on mute.
Kako joined him with two glasses of wine.
"Your daughter's dating a finance brat," he muttered.
"She could do worse," Kako replied.
"She could date nobody."
Kako raised her glass. "To wishful thinking."
Jamie passed through the living room, barely glancing at the TV, but her fingers fidgeted on her phone.
Conrad called after her. "No Bernard updates?"
Jamie paused. "Nope."
"You sure you're not ghosting each other in unison?"
"Perfect symmetry," Jamie muttered, continuing toward her room.
Behind her, Kako leaned back with a sigh.
"She got it from you, you know."
"What?"
"Emotionally freezing the moment someone gets close."
Conrad took a sip of wine. "Then she's in very good hands."
-----
8:37 PM, near Manila Metro University campus.
The streetlights hummed overhead as Jamie walked briskly, phone in hand, backpack slung over one shoulder. The campus lawn yawned empty, save for old palm trees casting long shadows across cracked pavement. Leaf litter rustled in the warm breeze. She paused outside a locked classroom door, checking her phone.
On screen:
Anonymous tip: "Meet me here. Tonight. 10 PM. Proof of Rabe's dirt. Come alone if you want truth."
She exhaled. Her heartbeat thumped. Could this be real... or a trap?
Suddenly, footsteps.
"Jamie?" Bernard's voice whispered from the shadows. He stepped into the dim light. His suit was gone, replaced by a dark jacket and jeans; sleeves rolled up, neck unbuttoned. His expression was tense.
"Bernard," she said, lowering her voice. "What are you doing here?"
He shook his head. "I smelled trouble. You don't meet anonymous tipsters after dark unless you want trouble."
"How did you know?"
He reached into his pocket. "Call logs. Location ping. I care. So—" He offered his hand. "Want company?"
Jamie hesitated, then placed her hand in his. There was warmth. A fragile reminder of the fountain.
They crossed the courtyard together, sneakers echoing on tile. Leaves rustled as someone approached.
Two figures stepped out: Oral and Anal Roberts, suits and shades, nightsticks hidden in their jackets. They scanned Jamie, then Bernard, then stepped forward with unnerving calm.
"Jamie Narumi," Oral said, voice low. "Expecting us?"
She swallowed. Bernard pulled her behind him. "Who sent you?"
Anal answered, voice smooth like velvet: "We're just here to talk. Or to see if the Narumi spawn knows how to listen."
Jamie backed up. "I—I don't know what you want."
Oral leaned closer. "You know—or you don't. Maybe your mother's too busy rebuilding the world, but you're on your own now."
Bernard stepped forward, jaw tight. "That's enough. Go."
Oral laughed softly. "We're not going anywhere until we're sure you've received the message."
Anal flicked something from his sleeve: a folded piece of paper. He dropped it at Jamie's feet. "Your next meeting. Tomorrow. Noon. Track it—or we will."
Bernard bent to pick it up. Jamie kept her gaze on the men.
Oral smirked. "Remember, it's not personal. It's business."
With that, they turned and melted back into darkness.
Jamie exhaled. Bernard moved to her, concern etched across his face.
"Are you okay?"
She felt the adrenaline surge. Her voice shook. "They were hired to—what? Scare me?"
Bernard nodded. He held her shoulders. "You should've called me."
Jamie glared. "I asked you to leave."
He let go. "I'll always come."
She looked at him. His chest heaved. He smelled like cologne and danger and something else. Embarrassment maybe.
"Bernard—" She reached for him. He took her hand.
That's when the alarm rang.
A loud, mechanical click echoed from the classroom door behind them. They turned.
Inside, the lock clicked open. A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by dim light—and behind him, another.
Bernard set himself in front of Jamie. "Jamie—move."
He pushed her toward the open courtyard. A shotgun blast thundered through the night.
Music speakers in a hallway buzzed. A scream.
They ran.
Jamie's heel snapped. She yelped. Bernard scooped her and sprinted, adrenaline pumping, across the courtyard, past trees, around a crumbling statue of a chemist from ages ago.
Behind them, the doors burst inward. Two figures chased them: a shotgun and a pistol glinting.
Bernard darted and kicked at a trash bin, sending it sliding and clattering into the path of the assailants.
The two attackers crashed into it. Jamie and Bernard ducked behind a low wall.
She coughed. "Do you know where we are?"
He wiped her cheek. "Yes." He nodded toward a distant mound of rubble.
"The old science building," he said. "Come on."
They ran side-by-side in near-silence. A burst of gunfire followed them, shattering a glass pane nearby. Sparks.
They reached the building, forced-open the rusted gate, and slipped inside.
Inside the ruins, dust hung thick in the stale air. Half-demolished walls, charred beams, scattered beakers. The moonlight pooled through broken windows.
They leaned against a wall, gasping.
Bernard crouched down, checking her for injuries. "You're bleeding."
Jamie pulled a piece of her sleeve from above her wrist. "Just a scratch."
He sank to sit next to her. "I should've—"
"You did come," she said, voice flat and low. Then: "Why do I hate you so much... and still want you so badly?"
He stared at her. "Because... we're from two worlds. We have to hate each other."
Jamie looked down. "That's not what I hate."
He reached out, brushing her hair away. "Then don't."
She closed her eyes for a beat.
Then leaned forward.
Their lips met again—this time softly, fully, willingly.
Above them, the ceiling groaned.
They pulled back. Jamie's breathing wheezed. Bernard's eyes glistened.
"There's no turning back," he whispered.
"No," she said. "I don't want to."
They held each other like anchors in a world on fire.
Outside, bullets clicked against concrete. Inside, their moment held—fragile, fierce, real.
---
The silence of the old science building was a different kind of quiet—like a secret no one had told in years. The only sound was the soft drip of rainwater somewhere deep in the back hall and the occasional creak of a structure long abandoned.
Jamie and Bernard sat on the cold floor beneath a half-collapsed chalkboard. A faded chemical equation—sodium bicarbonate plus vinegar—still clung to it like a joke. Glass shards sparkled faintly in the dust like lost stars.
Bernard pulled off his jacket and offered it to her without a word.
Jamie took it, hesitated, then slipped it over her shoulders.
"Still warm," she muttered, her voice thin.
"You were shaking."
"I wasn't."
He didn't argue.
They sat there for a long moment, letting the tension of the chase bleed out of their lungs. Jamie ran her fingers along a charred desk leg. Bernard watched her with quiet intensity.
"How did you know to come?" she finally asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Because I pay attention. You're not as subtle as you think."
Jamie blinked, then smirked. "Are you saying I'm sloppy?"
"I'm saying I know how your brain works."
"That's flattering. And terrifying."
He gave a half-laugh. "You act like you're the only one playing chess."
She looked down. "I've been avoiding you."
"I noticed."
"You didn't make it hard," she added, voice a little sharper.
He sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I didn't know what the hell to do after that kiss."
"Neither did I," she admitted. "I thought maybe... it was a fluke. A gala accident."
"Flukes don't feel like that."
Jamie looked at him—really looked at him. Underneath the swagger, the practiced charm, the blazer rolled up at the elbows, was someone raw. Not a Medrano. Just a boy who hadn't figured it all out.
"You confuse me," she said softly. "You're supposed to be the enemy."
"Same," Bernard replied. "Every time I see you, I think, There she is—the girl who wants to ruin my life. And then you smile, or argue, or eat a mango tartlet like it's the last thing on Earth, and suddenly I don't know which side I'm on anymore."
Jamie laughed, unexpectedly.
It echoed in the empty room.
"I'm tired of pretending I don't care," Bernard said, turning to her. "But this—us—it's going to piss off a lot of people."
She exhaled, nodding. "My mother will freak."
"My mother might sue you just for looking at me this way."
He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees.
"But I still want it."
Jamie looked down at her shoes—scuffed, dusty, slightly wet. "What if we're just... caught in all this chaos? What if it's not real?"
Bernard shook his head. "No. This is the only thing that feels real. The rest of it—press, politics, family drama—that's the illusion."
She turned to him, unsure, on the edge of something she couldn't name.
And that's when a sound startled them both.
Tap. Tap.
From above, the familiar shuffle of feet. They froze. Jamie reached for Bernard's arm.
But then—
Tap tap tap. Whine.
A small black nose poked through the broken window pane.
"Droopy?" Jamie whispered.
The dog barked once—softly—then stuck his head through the frame and wiggled his way inside like a canine ghost breaking into a museum.
He trotted over, tail wagging, as if the whole city hadn't just been on fire. Jamie scooped him up and pressed her face into his fur.
Bernard watched, smiling in disbelief. "How the hell does he always find you?"
"He has a gift," Jamie murmured.
Droopy licked her cheek, then crawled onto Bernard's lap and flopped over like a throw pillow.
"I think he ships us," Bernard said.
Jamie nodded. "So does half of TikTok. I saw someone upload the fountain kiss."
Bernard groaned. "God."
"You look good from your left side."
"I was sweating."
"You always sweat."
They both laughed—real laughter this time.
Jamie curled her legs beneath her, leaning against the wall. "What happens now?"
Bernard grew quiet. "We stop hiding."
Jamie met his eyes.
"I'm serious," he said. "No more avoiding. No more pretending. We fight our families if we have to. Or we... fight with them. But we don't fight each other."
Jamie looked down, tracing a broken tile with her shoe.
Then she said: "Okay."
He blinked. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "But if you ever kiss me again by accident, I'll kill you."
Bernard grinned. "That sounds fair."
Jamie reached for his hand. He took it without hesitation.
They sat in the ruins of a forgotten building, under stars that filtered through cracked beams, a dog asleep between them, and the tension of legacy finally—finally—melting.
---
Jamie shifted slightly, brushing a broken shard of glass away from her sneaker. Droopy stirred, snorted once in his sleep, and rolled over on Bernard's thigh like he paid rent there.
The space between Jamie and Bernard now felt different. Not electric. Not heavy. Just... real.
Warm.
Unavoidable.
"I thought I'd feel more anxious," Jamie whispered, staring at the splintered ceiling beam above them.
"You're allowed to be calm around me," Bernard said softly.
"Am I?" she glanced at him. "Even if your mom would light me on fire and serve me at a press brunch?"
He gave a lopsided smile. "She'd still complain the meat's too chewy."
Jamie laughed.
Bernard shifted, his leg brushing hers.
The silence returned, but it wasn't empty. It was breathing. Their shoulders were close, their hands resting near each other—fingers just barely not touching.
Then Bernard turned to her, his gaze lingering longer this time.
Jamie met it.
"What?" she asked, voice barely audible.
He studied her, eyes trailing over her cheekbones, the little scar near her jaw from childhood, the faint freckle at the corner of her eye.
"Can I?" he whispered.
Jamie didn't move. "Can you what?"
His hand rose slowly.
Jamie didn't flinch as his fingertips found her jaw, then brushed upward—light, reverent, like he was touching a page from a sacred book.
His thumb lingered just beneath her lip, tracing her skin with impossible care.
She watched him, her breath quiet.
Bernard leaned closer, the distance between them evaporating breath by breath. He waited.
Jamie closed her eyes.
He kissed her.
Softly.
No adrenaline. No mistake. No audience.
Just him, and her, and this strange, broken room.
The kiss was slow, like a whispered promise. His fingers slid along her cheek, drawing her closer as if anchoring her in the moment.
Jamie responded with a hesitance that quickly unraveled. Her hands found his shoulders. She tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to say: I'm not running anymore.
They parted just slightly—foreheads resting together.
Jamie's breath hitched. Her voice was small. "That didn't feel like an accident."
"It wasn't," Bernard said, brushing her hair behind her ear.
She looked at him, surprised at the tenderness in his eyes.
Then he said it:
"I'm falling for you."
Jamie froze—not because she didn't believe him, but because something inside her finally clicked into place.
The student council rivalry. The debates. The push-and-pull. The arguments in full view of everyone. All of it had been dancing around this single, terrifying truth.
She was falling for him, too.
"I don't know what this means for us," she whispered.
"Me neither," Bernard admitted.
Jamie glanced around the ruined room. "Our first real kiss is in a building that's falling apart."
He smiled. "Fitting."
Jamie leaned back, shaking her head with a grin. "You know if my mom finds out—"
"—She'll threaten me in fluent Japanese?"
"No. She'll threaten you calmly. That's scarier."
He took her hand and laced their fingers together. "Then let's keep it simple. Just you and me. For now."
"No families. No student council politics."
"No Sophia," Jamie added.
"No Kael," Bernard replied.
"No TikTok."
"Especially not Droopy's TikTok."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"
Bernard smirked. "He has more followers than me."
Jamie exhaled a laugh, leaned her head on his shoulder, and said, "I like you like this."
He looked down at her. "Like what?"
"Uncomplicated."
He turned his head slightly, kissing her temple. "Then let's stay here forever."
Jamie shook her head. "Let's leave before the roof collapses."
He grinned. "Fine. But I'm carrying Droopy."
She smiled.
Later, as they stepped out into the night, the campus was silent again. The stars had come out. Bernard carried the sleeping dog like a child, and Jamie walked beside him, holding his free hand.
The danger hadn't gone.
But neither had the feeling.
They were still Narumi and Medrano. Still caught between dynasties. Still two names that shouldn't mix.
But somewhere between fear and laughter, the impossible had started to become real.