Novels by Mendoza,Patricia Nicole Luistro

7:16 AM – Ferrer Foundation Gym Fists pounded canvas in neat, clean rhythm. Caelan's knuckles connected with the punching bag, forceful but controlled—no aggression, no wildness. Just precision. Sweat had penetrated the cotton of his shirt, breathing even, eyes intent. It wasn't about release so much as control. Across from him, Elira sat on a wooden bench with a mismatched coffee tumbler in faded gold letters that said "This Might Be Wine." Her braid was undone, a few strands stuck to her temple, and her knees were pulled up to her chest as she watched. "You don't have meetings until ten," she said, her voice a tease, casual. He didn't stop his punches. "Can't focus if I don't move first." She held up her cup in a half-toast. "Have you ever done yoga?" "I bend for no one," he replied, voice deadpan. Elira chuckled. "That's what you'd put on a tombstone." "Only if I die stubborn." "You'll die stubborn, sarcastic, and secretly sentimental," she said. "I'll make sure the epit

Elira sat on the floor, cross-legged, covered in paper.Not the love-struck kind—no love letters or dreamy epistles. These were closer to savage: spreadsheets, site proposals, volunteer schedules. She had on her glasses, an old pair she'd discovered at the bottom of her bag, and jotted revisions in the margin of printed pages.Caelan emerged from the bedroom with damp hair and two mugs. “If that’s your idea of breakfast, I’m worried.”“I already ate. Knowledge,” she said, waving a printout of a budget request like a croissant.He placed a mug beside her and sat on the couch. “You’re really doing it.”She looked up. “Doing what?”“Becoming the kind of woman people follow.”Elira exhaled, almost a scoff. “I’m just trying not to mess up their trust.”He leaned back. “Same thing.”---10:17 AM – Ferrer Foundation, Strategy OfficeCaelan watched Elira in her first official meeting. She had a pen tucked behind one ear and a lanyard she insisted on wearing like the other staff. She didn't sp

The sun rose softly in misty clouds, gilding the skyline in grays and golds. Elira had her hands clasped about a steaming mug, tendrils of steam curling up in relaxed spirals. She had on one of Caelan's button-down shirts, oversized and slightly buttoned, sleeves rolled to her elbows.The glass door slid open behind her."You're always up earlier than me now," Caelan said, massaging his eyes as he came to stand beside her.She didn't turn away from the horizon. "Guess I like to double-check on the world still being round."He stood beside her. "Does it?""For now," she answered. "Though I'm beginning to think it turns differently when you know somebody's turning alongside you."He made a soft sound at that—something between a laugh and an exhale—and kissed the top of her head. “We’ve survived one day post-yes. That’s got to count for something.”She nudged him with her shoulder. “It counts for everything.”---9:36 AM – Ferrer Foundation, Operations FloorThe buzz of phones and clacki

The aroma of toast and just-peeled oranges hung in the air before Elira opened the door.Caelan was standing at the stove—bare feet, pushed-up sleeves, spatula in his hand like it was where it belonged. He looked back over his shoulder when he heard her cross the floor."Good morning," he said, still a little low from sleep.She blinked, not knowing what shocked her more—the apron, the eggs, or the way the cold-blooded billionaire could seem so completely human in soft light and silence."You cook now?" she taunted."I toast," he said. "Angela cooks. I simply didn't wake her up today."She cocked her head, studying him. "Because?"He paused, then shrugged. "Felt like doing something normal."She edged closer. "So this is your idea of normal."Elira sat opposite him. They ate in silence for a moment. The world outside held its breath, waiting in chaos, but here—at least for now, perhaps—there was a reprieve."Last night…" Caelan started.She gave a questioning brow."I meant what I sai

5:47 AM – Penthouse BedroomThe sun was just starting to seep through the skyline when Elira woke up.Her body detected heat first—firm, still heat that wasn't coming from the sheets. Then breath. Even. Close.She opened her eyes into the soft light of morning and saw her head on Caelan's shoulder. Her hand, still hidden beneath his, was a small anchor in the gap between them.He didn't stir.But she recognized he wasn't sleeping."You stayed," he rasped, his voice low and rough."I did."Not a vow.But not nothing.His thumb drew a absent circle over her knuckles. It was restrained, hesitant—like if he demanded more, he'd lose even this.Her chest hurt thinking about it. She moved her head, pressing her cheek more deeply against him. "You still think it's a mistake?" she whispered."No," he replied, this time without hesitation. "I think. I'm afraid of how much I don't want it to be."She didn't respond. She didn't need to.Her silence wasn't withdrawal—it was acknowledgement.---9:

6:05 AM – Penthouse KitchenThe aroma of coffee reached Elira before she reached the doorway.She discovered Caelan already dressed, sharp in a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up, staring at his phone. He didn't glance up."You're up early," she spoke, her voice husky with sleep."I have calls with Singapore in twenty." He looked up at her then, hesitating. "You look like you didn't sleep again."She shrugged, taking a mug. "Big day."He nodded but said no more.Silence between them wasn't unusual. But this one was.charged. Like yesterday's discussion hadn't stopped, only morphed—like the unspoken words still lingered in the air, to be filled in.She brought her coffee to the balcony.Behind her, she heard the quiet swish of him trailing her.---10:30 AM – Midtown Studio, Ferrer Foundation PR CampaignBright lights. White background. A stylist taming the flyaway hairs near her temple."Elira, look over here," the photographer shouted.Click."Now softer."Click.She complied,