The party outside was still in full swing—music, lights, laughter echoing into the halls. But the nap room door creaked open, just enough for two familiar heads to poke through.
Adrian Mercado sighed under his breath. "Told you. He's always here when things get too loud."
Gabriel Alcaraz grinned, already reaching for his phone like he wanted proof. "What kind of birthday boy sneaks away to nap at his own party? Only Julian."
But the grin froze when his eyes adjusted to the dim room. There wasn't one person on the couch. There were two.
"Elena Santiago?" Gabriel whispered sharply, tugging at Adrian's sleeve.
Adrian's brows furrowed, his usually composed face betraying the smallest flicker of surprise. There, in the opposite corner, Elena slept soundly, her white dress like a ghostly shimmer against the gray upholstery. And across from her sat Julian, awake now, gaze steady as the door cracked wider.
The noise of the hinges must've broken the fragile peace—Julian shifted, shoulders straightening, his eyes sharp with alertness.
The door slammed shut again.
In the hallway, Gabriel clutched his chest, whispering loud enough for anyone passing to hear. "Bro. The caterer's daughter. With Julian. In the nap room. Tell me you saw that."
Adrian shot him a glare, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Keep your voice down. You're imagining things."
"Imagining?!" Gabriel hissed, barely containing a grin. "She was right there. White dress, out cold. And Julian—wide awake, just sitting there with her. That is not a hallucination."
"You're not hallucinating," Adrian muttered, clipped, his jaw tight.
Before Gabriel could push further, the door opened again—this time from the inside. Julian stood there, fully awake, tie loose but expression composed. He didn't look like someone caught doing something scandalous. He looked like someone mildly inconvenienced.
"Are you two done making a scene?" he asked dryly, his voice low enough not to disturb Elena still asleep inside.
Adrian straightened instinctively. Gabriel only smirked, though his eyes sparkled with unspoken questions.
Julian glanced between them, his hand still on the doorframe. "If you're looking for me, you've found me. But keep your voices down." He leaned slightly back, enough to reveal the figure still curled in the corner. "She's resting."
The weight of his words lingered. Not defensive, not explanatory. Just a statement.
And for the first time that night, both Adrian and Gabriel had no clever response.
Julian lingered by the door, one hand still braced against the frame. He looked back at her, still curled in the corner, her breathing steady. A part of him wanted to let her sleep — she looked so worn down, the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than the party.
But another thought pressed in: her parents might be wondering where she'd gone. And leaving her here, asleep, while strangers stumbled across the room... that didn't sit right.
He hesitated a beat longer, then finally crossed the room.
"Elena," he said quietly, his tone gentler than most people ever heard from him. "Wake up. It's late."
She stirred, lashes fluttering before her eyes opened — only to freeze when her vision cleared. Not one, but three men were in front of her: Julian close by, Adrian steady at his shoulder, and Gabriel peeking in with a grin like he'd caught the juiciest headline of the year.
"Oh, God," Elena mumbled, instantly covering her face with both hands. Her cheeks already felt puffy, and she knew her post-nap look wasn't the kind she wanted witnessed by anyone — least of all them.
Gabriel's smirk widened. "Well, good evening, Sleeping Beauty." His tone was light, but his eyes sparkled, hungry for the tease.
Adrian cleared his throat, trying not to stare. His gaze darted politely away, down at the floor, as if giving her privacy. "Don't worry about it," he said evenly, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was suppressing a smile.
Julian, however, only watched her hands cover her face, his expression unreadable. In his head, the thought rose unbidden: She's embarrassed, but she doesn't need to be. There was something oddly disarming about seeing her like this — stripped of poise, of composure, just human and unguarded.
He turned slightly, blocking Gabriel's line of sight. "That's enough. Give her space," he said, voice low but firm.
For a moment, the party outside seemed very far away.
Elena lowered her hands slowly, still feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She didn't dare meet any of their eyes — not Adrian's careful neutrality, not Gabriel's grin, and especially not Julian's unreadable gaze.
She pushed herself to her feet quickly, smoothing the wrinkles from her white dress. "Excuse me," she muttered, voice tight, not waiting for a response as she brushed past them.
The hallway lights were almost blinding after the dim nap room, but she kept walking, head down, steps quick.
Behind her, Julian closed the door with a quiet click.
She didn't turn back, only stopping when she reached the sign pointing to the washrooms. It was the best excuse she could cling to — better to say she'd gone to freshen up than let anyone guess she'd been in a secluded room with the birthday boy and his closest friends.
Inside the washroom, Elena splashed cool water onto her face, watching the droplets drip from her chin. Her reflection showed her cheeks still flushed, her hair slightly mussed from sleep. She pressed her palms to the sink, exhaling.
No one has to know. Just say you were here the whole time.
Meanwhile, in the hallway, Gabriel broke the silence first, leaning toward Julian with a wicked grin. "So. Care to explain your... choice of company?"
Adrian shot him a sharp look, but Julian only slid his hands into his pockets, expression giving nothing away.
"She was tired," Julian said simply, before walking past both of them, back toward the glow of the party.
It was a clean answer. Too clean. Which only made Gabriel's grin widen.
The bathroom door shut behind her with a soft thud, and Elena pressed her back against it, sucking in a shaky breath.
Her heart was still thudding louder than the bass of the music outside. She dragged herself toward the sink, gripping the edge like it might steady her. Cold water splashed over her palms, then across her face. It didn't wash away the heaviness in her chest.
Of all people... it had to be them.
She could still see it burned into her mind—the three silhouettes in the doorway, the way Gabriel looked ready to laugh, Adrian polite but surprised, Julian steady and unreadable.
Her face had been puffy, her hair probably creased, and she'd been asleep in the same room as Julian de Vera. Julian, of all people. Not just some random guest. The celebrant. The boss's son. The kind of man people noticed.
She rubbed at her cheeks, staring at her reflection. They were still pink. Her lips felt dry.
Why am I even embarrassed? It's not like anything happened. She'd just been tired. Overworked. Exhausted from prep. And Julian had only—what, let her nap? Sat there too? Woke her up gently?
Her stomach twisted.
Because deep down she knew it wasn't about what happened. It was about what it looked like. About Gabriel's smirk. About Adrian's sharp silence. About the way Julian didn't explain himself—didn't need to.
Elena pressed her forehead against the cool mirror, shutting her eyes.
Get it together. Just fix your face, walk out there, and pretend nothing happened. No one needs to know.
But the memory lingered anyway, like a quiet hum at the edge of her thoughts—the hush of the nap room, and Julian de Vera sitting across from her in the dark.
When Elena made her way back to their table, her steps slower now, she found only Clara waiting there. The seat beside her was empty, Clara's handbag perched on it like a placeholder.
Clara looked up immediately, her sharp Libra eyes narrowing. "Where'd you disappear to? I thought you fell into the buffet table or something."
Elena pulled out her chair and sank down, forcing her expression neutral. "Washroom," she said, too quick, too flat.
Clara tilted her head, clearly unconvinced, but she let it go for now. Instead, she jerked her chin toward the other end of the hall. "You know your sister? She's already over there talking to Julian. First chance she got."
Elena's gaze followed instinctively. Across the crowd, she spotted Marina—her purple dress a splash of brightness—standing a little too close, hands animated as she spoke to Julian. He wasn't brushing her off, not exactly, but his posture had that polite, practiced air he used on sponsors and strangers.
Clara leaned in, smirking. "Guess Marina's got a new project. She didn't waste a second."
Elena's stomach gave a small twist. She looked away, focusing on the condensation sliding down her glass of water. "She can do whatever she wants."
Clara arched a brow at her, studying her a little too long. "Mhm." The sound carried more meaning than words, but she didn't push. She only sipped her drink, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Clara was still smirking when she leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, and while you were missing? Guess who came over."
Elena's brows rose, wary. "Who?"
"Gabriel," Clara said, drawing his name out like she still couldn't believe it herself.
Elena blinked. "Gabriel Alcaraz? As in, that Gabriel?"
Clara nodded, pressing her lips together to contain the grin creeping up her face. "He just walked up, totally casual. Said he noticed me at the table earlier with you and figured we must be close friends. Then he starts asking about school, what I'm reviewing for, if I ever thought about working in media."
Elena tilted her head, skeptical. "Sounds like standard small talk."
Clara's smirk widened, her eyes gleaming. "Yeah, but then he said—and I quote—'You should give me your number. I know some people in the industry, maybe I could connect you when you're done with boards.'"
Elena groaned, covering her face with one hand. "Classic Gabriel. Half networking, half flirting."
Clara let out a little laugh that was just shy of giddy. "Well, I gave it to him. Don't look at me like that. He's... actually funny in person. Kind of charming."
Elena peeked at her between her fingers, deadpan. "He's also known for being a menace. Just so you're warned."
Clara only shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Menace or not, he asked me. And I'm not exactly complaining."
For a second, the heaviness of earlier lifted. The two of them sat there, caught between exhaustion and amusement, like high school girls whispering secrets in the back row.
Clara pretended to sip her drink, but her eyes flicked toward Marina and Julian across the hall. Marina's laugh rang out—bright, practiced, the kind she used when she wanted attention. She leaned in a little closer, brushing her hair behind her ear, violet fabric catching the light.
Julian, for his part, was polite. He nodded, listened, let her finish her stories. But Clara noticed the gaps—the way his gaze drifted, not toward Marina, but over her shoulder. How he wasn't mirroring her posture or leaning in, but instead keeping a careful distance.
And then it happened. His eyes slipped past Marina, toward their table. Toward Elena. Just a flicker—subtle, quick, but deliberate.
Clara caught it instantly.
Elena, meanwhile, was staring down at her phone, deliberately ignoring the entire situation. She had no idea she was being watched.
Clara bit back a grin. She leaned closer to Elena, her voice sing-song. "You know... he's humoring your sister, but he's not really listening."
Elena didn't look up. "Who?"
Clara smirked. "Julian. He keeps glancing here. At you."
Elena's head jerked up, eyes narrowing, cheeks warming. "Clara. Don't."
But Clara only sipped her drink, satisfied. It wasn't Marina he was interested in, not really. And that little discovery lit up Clara's expression like she'd just unlocked a secret level in a game.
Marina leaned her chin on her palm, her smile syrup-sweet as she told Julian about a group project from her HRM classes. "...and of course, I ended up leading the whole thing. Everyone said I had the best plating design. Even our professor said so."
Julian nodded politely, the corners of his mouth lifting. "That must've taken a lot of work." His tone was even, respectful—yet distant.
To Marina, though, that small response was confirmation. She brightened instantly, voice bubbling with more confidence. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted toward him, convinced he was hanging on her every word.
From their table across the hall, Clara nearly choked on her water. Oh, girl. He's not into you—he's just being nice.
Clara's sharp eyes caught the subtle tells: Julian's shoulders weren't angled toward Marina, his hand stayed on the table instead of shifting closer, and when Marina laughed a little too loudly, his gaze flicked away—landed briefly, almost unconsciously, on Elena.
Elena, oblivious, was focused on stirring the ice in her glass, trying not to look over at them at all.
"See?" Marina whispered later, returning to their table for a quick sip of her drink, her voice low but triumphant. "He likes talking to me. He even asked about my course."
Elena only hummed, uninterested, but Clara shot her a sidelong look, lips twitching. Once Marina flitted back to Julian's side, Clara leaned toward Elena, voice low and teasing.
"She thinks he's interested."
Elena glanced up briefly, brows furrowed. "Isn't he?"
Clara smirked knowingly, her whisper sharp as a pin. "Nope. Watch closer. His eyes are saying a different story. And trust me, they're not looking at her."
Elena felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She quickly ducked her head, muttering, "You're imagining things."
But Clara only grinned wider, her tone sing-song, conspiratorial. "Mmhmm. Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
The emcee grinned wide on stage. "Alright, alright! For our celebrant's thirtieth birthday, it's time for the first dance! And to make it fun, let's have him choose who will join him in the middle."
The crowd erupted in claps and playful whistles. The music shifted—soft strings, smooth and romantic, filling the elegant hall.
Julian de Vera rose from his seat with an easy calm, adjusting his suit jacket. He moved toward the open space, spotlight following. His presence carried weight; not flashy, but commanding enough that the chatter dipped to murmurs.
Marina's pulse quickened. This is it. He's going to choose me. She replayed every smile, every polite word he had given her earlier in the evening and stitched them together into a certainty. Why else would he keep looking this way?
At the same table, Clara watched with sharper eyes. She noted the angle of his head, the measured way his gaze swept the room—and how it paused, just half a second longer, at Elena.
Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. He's not looking at Marina. He's looking at you, Len.
Elena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to notice. She'd been tired all night, but suddenly her skin prickled with awareness. Her hand smoothed the skirt of her white midi dress as if that could anchor her. Why is he looking here? Don't. Don't make this about me.
The emcee raised the mic again. "So, Mr. Julian de Vera, who will it be?"
The hall held its breath.
Julian's eyes landed squarely on the Santiago table.
The music swelled as Julian de Vera stepped into the open space. He gave a small, charming bow toward his mother first, extending his hand.
Celeste de Vera laughed softly, rising with grace. "Always the gentleman," she said as she joined him, and the hall burst into applause.
Their dance was short, ceremonial—mother and son moving lightly in the glow of the chandeliers. When the song shifted into another gentle piece, Julian passed his mother's hand with ease and turned to his sister, Sophia.
Sophia beamed, slipping her hand into his. "Now you'll make Adrian jealous," she teased under her breath.
Julian chuckled. "He can handle it."
From the sidelines, Adrian raised a brow, arms folded. "Your boy's milking the spotlight," he muttered to Gabriel.
Gabriel smirked. "Nah. He's building suspense. Just watch."
As Sophia's dance ended, Julian escorted her back to their table. Everyone expected him to return to his seat, but instead he pivoted—cutting across the floor with a stride that was deliberate, steady, impossible to ignore.
He was heading for the Santiago family table.
Marina sat straighter, pulse racing. He's coming for me. He has to be. She smoothed her dress, her smile practiced and ready.
But Julian didn't stop. He gave Marina a polite nod as he passed—nothing more. His eyes never broke their line until he stood directly before Elena.
The air in the hall shifted.
Elena froze, fingers tightening around her glass. No. Not me. Not here.
Clara's grin spread ear to ear, her eyes dancing. Oh, Len. You've been caught.
Marina's smile faltered, a bitter sting flashing across her face. He ignored me? He chose her?
At the Santiago table, Cely blinked in surprise, while Cardo leaned back, quiet but thoughtful, as though turning the moment over in his mind.
Across the room, Julian's father, Aurelio de Vera, arched a brow, his expression unreadable. Celeste, however, let the faintest smile touch her lips, as if she understood something others did not. Sophia tilted her head curiously, darting a quick glance at Adrian.
Adrian's jaw tightened for half a second, though his gaze stayed calm. Gabriel, on the other hand, gave a low whistle and leaned toward him. "Told you. He's making a point."
And then the whispers rippled through the crowd like a tide.
"Did you see? He walked past the younger one—straight for her."
"That's Elena Santiago, right? The one who made those dumplings."
"He didn't even hesitate. That looked serious."
"Bold. Right in front of everyone."
Julian extended his hand to Elena. His eyes never wavered.
The music kept playing, but the hall seemed to wait, holding its breath, for her answer.