Jen and I sat quietly in a bar, staring at our drinks. This was my sixth Malibu pineapple, and her third, not counting the tequila shots. My head buzzed, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache in my heart. I could still feel it—this heavy weight on my chest every time I took a breath. It reminded me of the day I found out Donny was being sent to America for treatment. I cried every night in my room, not because I wanted to, but because the tears just wouldn't stop.
I glanced at Jen, and she looked back at me at the same time. We both laughed at how pathetic we were.
It wasn't the news about Mike being declared the heir of one of the biggest corporations that had Jen so hung up—it was the news about his alleged fiancée. Mike had professed his love to her but then disappeared for two weeks on a business trip. The next thing she knew, the engagement rumors surfaced.
He'd tried calling her, but after coming out of a cheating relationship, my friend had lost all trust in men. According to her, she'd never trust anyone again.
"I can't believe we're in this situation right now," she said with a sarcastic laugh. "How fun to have a friend with the same problem."
We laughed at that.
But behind our laughter, the memory of that night at the beach party kept replaying in my mind. It's been three days since that fateful night, and yet here I am, still tormented by the complications of my feelings.
That moment haunts me.
"You're cold," Marco had said.
I felt embarrassed after what had happened, but he had been nothing but a gentleman. "I'll grab you a jacket," he offered, walking back to the mansion before I could tell him not to bother. He was only wearing a t-shirt, so I guess he couldn't pull off that movie-like moment of offering me his.
As I walked back to the party alone, I saw the group I had been with earlier, dancing, looking drunk. Donny stood among them, not dancing, just holding a beer and watching the crowd.
I kept to the shadows, near the coconut trees, staying out of his line of sight. The moonlight wasn't strong enough to fully light up the area, but I could still see his expressionless face, glowing in the soft light of the bonfire.
And then, I saw it—Amy tugged at his arm. He looked down at her, and without hesitation, she tiptoed and kissed him. I didn't even wait to see Donny's reaction; my body moved instinctively, as if burned. I turned away so fast, my heart sinking, the last bit of sanity I had clinging to just slipped away.
I had to get out of there.
I started walking, but something made me stop and turn back. I needed to see his reaction, to confirm what I already knew.
But his back was to me, and Amy's slender arms were wrapped around his waist.
"It's crazy how everything can turn upside down without us even noticing," I muttered, my voice breaking slightly.
Jen downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, and I followed suit.
The bar around us buzzed with conversation, but there was no music, no dancing. Everyone just sat and talked. I regretted coming here. We should've gone somewhere else, but we were both scared of running into familiar faces.
We kept ordering drinks—more and more, one after another.
The last thing I remember was the sound of glass breaking before everything went black.
My head feels like it's splitting open. I keep my eyes closed a little longer, afraid that any light in the room might worsen the pain. I remember Jen and I at the bar, the drinks, the laughter tinged with heartbreak.
"Jen!" I call out, her name barely a whisper as I struggle to pull myself back to reality. I call her again, but a low, masculine voice responds instead.
"Jen's not here."
That voice snaps me awake, and I open my eyes too fast, wincing as pain shoots through my temples. Donny is leaning by the door, dressed casually in grey pants and a black shirt. His hair is damp, glistening slightly as if he's just come from the shower.
"W-why are you here?" My heart races, anxiety replacing the ache in my head as I look around, trying to figure out where I am.
I'm in a large, modern room with deep blue bedding, white walls, and abstract paintings hanging on the walls. There's a low couch near a floor-to-ceiling window, which frames a breathtaking view of the cityscape, glimmering in the daylight. The whole place has a sleek, masculine feel—minimalist yet luxurious.
"You're at my place." He walks closer, but I raise my hand instinctively to keep some distance between us.
"What time is it?" I cradle my head in my hands, hoping the throbbing will ease up enough for me to think.
"It's two in the afternoon." With a few long strides, he's beside the bed, holding out a bottle of water. "Here, drink this."
I take it from him, grateful, and nearly finish the entire bottle in one go. My throat is parched, and the cool water feels like a small comfort.
"I made you breakfast, but you didn't wake up, so it's cold now. Do you want something to eat?"
"No, not right now."
"I'll get you some coffee, then."
"You don't have to. I'll just go home."
It's only then that I notice my clothes—an oversized shirt that's definitely not mine. Panic bubbles up inside me.
"W-where's my dress?"
"I washed it. I'll drive you home after dinner."
"N-no. I can go by myself." I glance at him, heart pounding. "D-did you...change my clothes?"
"Yes," he answers without missing a beat. "You were sweating, and there were spilled drinks on your dress."
My mouth drops open slightly. I've never been so exposed to anyone before. My heart races even more.
"Don't worry. I didn't do anything you wouldn't want." His face is serious, but there's a touch of something gentle in his eyes.
Embarrassment and confusion swirl together. What did I do last night? How did I end up here?
"I'll make the coffee." He leaves the room, his voice trailing behind him. "Come out when you're ready."
I stare at the empty doorway, taking a steadying breath as I sit up. The shirt is oversized enough to feel like a dress, hitting halfway down my legs, modest enough but still a reminder of the night before.
The smell of coffee wafts through the condo as I walk out of the bedroom. My eyes take in the luxurious space—the sleek, black-and-white interior, the glass walls framing an expansive view of the city below. It's the perfect bachelor's haven, minimalist and modern, every detail seemingly chosen to reflect his taste.
When I reach the kitchen, he's already placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. He watches me intently as I sit down on a bar stool, keeping my eyes away from the harsh sunlight, which only makes my headache worse.
I take a sip, feeling the warmth spread through me, calming the storm inside.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, flashes of last night come flooding back.
"Stop moving! Damn it!" I hear his voice, tense but controlled.
I remember laughing, feeling light, teasing him. "I thought guys liked girls moving?"
In my mind, I see him holding me, his arms firm, his face just inches from mine. I'd kissed his cheek, hearing him groan. "Belle, stop seducing me. You're playing a dangerous game."
"You're dangerous," I'd laughed. "You're a liar."
Shame rushes over me as I recall it. The fragments are messy, scattered, but they're enough.
I look at him now, his calm gaze unreadable, and I ask in a low voice, "D-did I...do something wrong last night?"
He studies me, his eyes searching mine, and I feel a mix of nerves and embarrassment tighten in my chest.
"I wouldn't call it wrong." He leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, looking at me with that same unreadable expression.
The tension in the room feels thick, every sound amplified by the silence.
I remember myself, reaching out in a drunken haze. "Come here," I'd said.
He sighed but removed his tie, walking over to me as I lay in bed, still half-dreaming. "Noooo!" I'd protested, grabbing his hand. "Come to bed with me."
He'd sighed again, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "You shouldn't drink like this without me, Belle."
"I can drink on my own," I'd slurred, "I'm a grown woman."
"I can see that," he'd murmured. "You'll be the death of me."
"Don't die. You can't die again." My words were barely coherent, and suddenly I was crying, his arms around me, holding me close.
"What am I going to do with you?" he'd whispered. "You drive me crazy."
The memories trickle in, piece by piece, until my face feels hot with embarrassment.
"I-I should go home," I stammer, trying to stand, but he reaches for my arm, his grip gentle but firm.
"Stay. At least until dinner. I'll drive you home then."
For some reason, maybe because I'm still feeling the effects of last night, I don't resist. He hands me a shopping bag with a fresh dress and new undergarments, suggesting I shower. When or how he got the clothes, I didn't even ask. My head throbs, but the warm water helps, easing the ache and the shame.
Later, we sit down to dinner. The food is simple but delicious—steak, perfectly seared, with a rich tomato soup on the side. I sip my water slowly, the warmth of the food and the scent of the fresh herbs in the soup grounding me. Donny eats quietly across from me, his gaze occasionally drifting my way, and we exchange only a few words. Somehow, the silence feels natural, even soothing, letting me gather my scattered thoughts.
When we finish, I start to stack the plates, but he reaches over, stopping me. "Don't worry. I'll handle it," he insists, already standing to clear the dishes.
"You cooked," I protest, my voice still hushed. "At least let me clean up."
He shakes his head, flashing me a rare, gentle smile. "Consider it part of the service. Go relax; the couch is all yours."
I hesitate but, too exhausted to argue, I find myself back in his living room, sinking into the deep cushions of the sleek leather couch. The skyline outside sparkles against the night, and I pull a soft throw over my legs, watching as he moves back and forth between the kitchen and dining area, rinsing the dishes.
The rhythmic sound of water running and plates clinking against the sink lull me into a hazy calm. My eyes grow heavier with each second, and I lean back, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
Before I realize it, sleep overtakes me, pulling me under, and the last thing I see is Donny, finishing the dishes, glancing over at me with a faint, unreadable expression.
I felt like I was flying. My legs and arms hung in the air as if floating.
There was a source of warmth. I snuggled closer, breathing in a comforting scent—like fresh soap from the grocery store.
I felt my back sink into something soft and feathery. It felt nice. What is this feeling?
Strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me in an embrace. The warmth covering my entire back felt so good.
Wait.
I slowly opened my eyes and saw I was in a room.
Slowly, the memory of this room from the morning came rushing back.
I snapped into reality and gasped.
Donny was embracing me from behind, and we were lying in his bed. Cuddling like we were... something.
"Donny!" I tried to push his arms away from my waist.
He looked tired, and as I stared into his eyes, there was something in them. Longing, perhaps?
"You told me you were going to take me home!" I sat up and glared at him, my heart beating so fast it felt like my mouth couldn't keep up.
"It's already 11 p.m. I waited for you to wake up."
I looked around. Eleven?! What the hell? His room was already dark, with just a bit of light filtering in through the window drapes.
"W-why didn't you wake me up?"
"You were sleeping like a baby. I didn't have the heart to wake you."
"I'll go home," I said, trying to climb out of bed, but with a quick, smooth motion, he was suddenly on top of me.
I gasped. "W-what are you doing?!"
"Nothing yet. But if you keep pushing me like this, I might start acting on the suggestion you made last night."
My mouth fell open. What suggestion? What had I even said?
I closed my eyes instinctively as his face moved closer to mine. He leaned in and gave me a soft, feathery kiss on the forehead.
"Tell me. Why did you leave the party early?" he asked, shifting so he was lying beside me. He pulled me into a gentle cuddle, my face nestled against his chest.
"I-I had to do... w-work," I stammered, lying through my teeth.
The memory of him kissing Amy burned vividly in my mind. That night, I had asked Tito Jaime to arrange a ride home, telling him there was an emergency at the office.
"Liar." His embrace tightened. "I asked Jen about it, and she said she hadn't seen you that day."
I silently cursed Jen. "What I do with my time is none of your business." I tried pushing him away, but the more I pushed, the tighter he held on.
"Then why does it matter to you what I do?" His voice softened, but his hold remained firm. "Where did you and that guy go after you left the party? Is that why you went home early? Because he had to leave that day, too?"
I hadn't even known Marco was going home that day. And the nerve, after he had been kissing another girl!
"Stop talking like you didn't kiss another girl! And what? After kissing me? How convenient for you!" I shouted the words into his face, unable to control the surge of emotions inside me.
He stilled at my outburst, a flicker of something—guilt?—crossing his features before disappearing.
"What girl?" His eyes widened in shock, but there was still a trace of amusement lingering. In his moment of surprise, I managed to push him away and stood up, needing to distance myself.
My breathing was ragged, and my heart pounded wildly, a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt churning inside me.
"I didn't kiss her. She kissed me."
A sarcastic laugh escaped me. "How nice for you! You don't even have to chase after women; they just throw themselves at you. Why don't you stay with her, then? Leave me alone!"
"I like bothering you," he replied calmly, his voice infuriatingly smooth. "I like it when you get jealous. It means you care." He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me.
I paused, his words striking a chord. "I'm not jealous!" I snapped, trying to convince myself as much as him.
He sighed, his gaze softening. "Stop being mad. I didn't kiss her."
"Oh, but you flirted with her, right? Just like you flirted with me? Is that your game? Getting under my skin until you're bored?" I rolled my eyes, feeling the irritation and hurt I'd buried begin to rise again.
He reached for me, but I shoved him back just enough to see his face. His eyes held mine as he sighed again.
"No."
"What then? Am I not enough of a challenge for you anymore? Is that why you keep another girl around?"
He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward him until I stood between his legs. His eyes, deep and steady, locked onto mine as he repeated, "No."
"You're playing both of us, aren't you?"
He shook his head, his expression hardening with emotion. "No." He pulled me down until I was sitting on his lap, and I didn't resist. Somehow, I couldn't resist. "I don't play, Belle."
I glared at him, my frustration mounting. That wasn't even an explanation! How could he stay so calm when I felt like I was coming undone?
"Did you go back to the party after walking off with that guy?" he asked suddenly.
I didn't answer, but I knew the truth was written in my eyes. He could see it.
"Do you like that guy?"
Silence.
"Do you like him more than you like me?"
"I don't like guys who kiss every girl that steps into their space! Stop pretending you're head over heels for me!"
He smirked slightly. "I didn't kiss her. She kissed me. I was just as shocked as you. I tried to push her away, but she was so drunk she almost fell."
His explanation didn't ease the ache gnawing at me. I pushed him again, but this time, he caught my wrist and pressed my hand to his chest. In one swift motion, he had me pinned gently beneath him on the bed, both my wrists held firmly but carefully above my head.
"I promise, I didn't kiss her," he murmured, his gaze softening as he looked into my eyes.
I wanted to protest, to tell him that flirting all day wasn't any better, but the words caught in my throat, tangled with doubt and frustration.
"Let go," I demanded, though my voice lacked conviction.
"And I am," he whispered.
"What?" I blinked in confusion.
"Head over heels with you."
My heart stuttered. "I don't believe you," I whispered, trying to sound unaffected, but the words came out weaker than I intended.
He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my nose. "You should," he said, his voice tender. "I can show you."
He kissed my left eyelid, then my right, followed by the edge of my cheek. Each touch made my defenses falter, and the intensity of his gaze unearthed something fragile inside me.
"S-stop it," I managed, but my voice was a whisper, devoid of any strength.
He finally lowered his head, capturing my lips in a deep, consuming kiss. His lips moved slowly at first, then more urgently, as though he couldn't hold back.
A surge of emotions I couldn't define welled up within me, overwhelming every ounce of resistance.
"D-Donny. S-stop," I whispered again, trying to regain control.
He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes closed, as though reining himself back in. "You're an addiction to me, Belle. No matter how much I try to walk away, I just can't."
My heart ached at his words, each one stirring emotions I'd tried so hard to bury. I wanted to say I felt the same, but fear held me back.
For a moment, silence blanketed us.
When I looked at him, he was staring at me intently. He was staring at me like he's trying to solve a puzzle. His stare was uncomfortable like there was a broken piece he's trying to identify.
Something passed through his eyes. Recognition?
Slowly, he raised his hand, and in the same gesture he used when we were younger, he brushed the back of his hand against my cheek, softly and gently, just like I remembered.
"Are you still struggling with that science project?" he asked, his voice dipping into something that felt both tender and familiar.
He gently rubbed my face with the back of his hand, a familiar, tender gesture he'd always done whenever he saw me.
"Yep. I think I just don't feel like doing it," I mumbled, feeling the weight of my science fair project slump my shoulders.
He sat beside me on the floor, glancing at the scattered papers and the half-finished display board. "Need some help?"
I looked up at him, grateful. I could definitely use some help; he was always top of the class and on track to be a doctor. Science was his element.
I nodded. He smiled, brushing my face softly with his hand again. That touch—it was ours, something he'd done since we were kids. My heart ached, remembering how easy it used to be to sit with him like this, to feel so close.
But the memories rushed back too quickly, and with them came an unexpected shift. Donny suddenly cradled his head in his hands, his face twisted in pain.
"Donny?" I whispered, my voice trembling. But he didn't respond—he just gasped, and then let out a pained shout.
Panicking, I fumbled for my phone, tears blurring my vision. "Please, please hold on. Help is coming," I whispered through a sob as I called an ambulance, feeling a desperate, helpless fear claw at me.