Chapter One

C-01: Mr. Drunk Bag Stealer

"Ouch..." I muttered, rubbing my temple as I slowly opened my eyes.

The sharp jolt of pain came from hitting the wooden floor. The thin carpet beneath me did little to cushion the fall.

Blinking against the soft morning light, I turned toward the bed.

Mr. Drunk Bag Stealer was still fast asleep—completely unaware of the nightmare I had to go through last night just to appease my conscience.

I had to drag him to the nearest hotel. Thankfully, the receptionist was kind enough to call a staff member who helped haul his heavy, uncooperative body into the room.

To avoid suspicion, I came inside too, intending to leave once he was settled. But exhaustion had other plans. I barely made it to the rattan sofa before passing out.

I should probably go now. Judging by the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, it was already past 6 AM.

Slowly, I reached for my bag on the coffee table and tiptoed toward the door.

There was no reason for me to wait for him to wake up.

But before I could take another step, I heard him groan.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned back toward the bed, my breath caught in my throat.

Phew. He was still fast asleep. He had only shifted to face the window, his broad back now in full view.

The fabric of his shirt clung slightly to his shoulders, outlining his frame. Just that alone highlighted his appeal—and while I vaguely remembered seeing his face last night under the dim bonfire light, I realized I never really looked.

Not that it matters.

Still… taking a peek wouldn’t hurt, right?

Almost involuntarily, I found myself tiptoeing closer to the bed. The soft morning light spilling through the curtains now illuminated his face more clearly.

And just like that, I was proven wrong.

He wasn’t just charming. He was beyond charming.

His features were straight out of a magazine: thick brows, long lashes, a sharp, defined nose, and pink-tinged lips—subtly parted as he breathed in sleep. All of it perfectly complemented by a chiseled jawline and the faint stubble dusting his skin, adding a rugged, mature edge to his polished look.

If it weren’t for the whole bag-stealing episode, he might’ve easily made it onto my crush list.

Then again… I didn’t exactly see him take the bag.

And I was the one who lost it first.

Why am I even doing this?

I shook my head. I should really get going. Nothing good ever comes from being caught staring at a stranger while he sleeps—especially not one I tackled over a missing bag.

"Bye-bye, Mr. Handsome Drunk Bag Stealer..." I whispered, straightening up and finally turning toward the door.

But as I cast one last glance over my shoulder, I caught it—a subtle twitch of his lips. A ghost of a smile.

Wait… did he just smile?!

My heart skipped. No way. He’s still asleep. Right?

Not daring to check again, I bolted toward the door. I just needed to get out quietly and never look back.

But the universe had other plans.

Just as I reached for the handle, I was stopped by a cheerful voice.

“Oh! Here’s your complimentary breakfast, Ma’am.”

I turned to see a hotel staff member beaming at me, holding out a tray like he hadn’t just completely wrecked my escape.

“T-Thank you…” I stammered, accepting the tray with an awkward smile.

I could feel it—the weight of someone else now awake in the room.

Great. Just great.

As I slowly stepped back into the room. I could feel Mr. Drunk Bag Stealer's gaze piercing unto my back. Just what do I do now?

Should I just run away?

Maybe I should… but why should I? It’s not like I did anything wrong. If anything, he’s the one who took my bag.

I carefully set the breakfast tray down on the coffee table, then lifted my gaze to meet his.

Just like last night—cold eyes. Distant. Guarded. Definitely not the friendly type.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” I said quietly, breaking the silence.

His eyes dropped to the bag slung over my shoulder, then down to the floor. He murmured something I barely caught.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

My mouth parted in surprise. He apologized? Just like that?

“That’s right… you should be sorry,” I muttered, still trying to process the shift. So he acknowledges that he's the one in the wrong.

Maybe he wasn’t as unfriendly as I thought.

Or… so I thought.

“I’ll pay for the inconvenience,” he said flatly, standing from the bed and walking toward me.

He handed me a napkin and a pen. “Kindly list any damages I may have caused.”

His tone was dry. Impersonal. Like he was settling a bill.

And suddenly, I felt it—something hot and bitter rise in my chest.

Does he think I helped just to squeeze money out of him?

I stared at the napkin, fingers frozen.

A humorless chuckle escaped my lips.

“So this is how it works for rich people…” I murmured under my breath.

I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze one last time—his expression unreadable, like none of this meant anything.

“I don’t need your money,” I said, voice tight. “A simple thank you would’ve been enough.”

I turned away, hurt prickling beneath my skin.

“Enjoy the complimentary breakfast.”

And with that, I walked out the door.

As I walked back to my hotel, I couldn’t shake off the bitter taste in my mouth.

“He definitely didn’t deserve to be in my ‘crush list’!” I huffed, kicking at the warm sand as if it were his ego.

When I arrived at the hotel, I made a quick stop at the front desk.

“Hi, I’m staying in room 435. Was there anything that arrived for me?” I asked.

“Yes, Ma’am. Just a moment,” the polite attendant replied with a warm smile before disappearing behind the desk.

She returned moments later with two envelopes.

Letters—from my ever-so-dearest sponsors slash best friends. Just the sight of them instantly lifted my mood.

I took the elevator up to my floor, and the moment the doors closed, I couldn’t help but tear into the first envelope.

‘Gosh! I never thought I’d be writing a letter in this modern time.’

I laughed. I already knew who it was—the slightly messy penmanship was a dead giveaway. Ice.

A proud doctor and an even prouder disaster when it came to handwriting.

‘Anyway, judging from how your number is now out of coverage, I’m guessing you finally turned off your phone. Congratulations on that milestone! I hope you’re having the time of your life there.’

'Just a quick update: Jay’s looking after your family. They’re doing okay—though I wish I could say the same for him. Ara’s been doing a pretty impressive job pushing his buttons.’

'Not much else. Just wanted to remind you to have fun.’

P.S. Rika’s expecting a photo-filled camera storage. Reena’s bugging me to remind you about the seashells she asked for.

Lavlots,

Ice’

I smiled, clutching the letter to my chest for a moment. Leave it to Ice to mix dry sarcasm with the softest kind of care.

Next was a shared letter from the youngest duo in our friend group—Alianna and Tammarah.

‘Hi, Reya! Hope you’re having fun! Wish I could say the same for myself—the internship is driving me nuts! I should’ve just stuffed myself in your luggage when I had the chance!’ —Alianna. Ever dramatic. She’d just started her internship at Highlands Hotel. It was the final stretch before her graduation.

Then came Tammarah’s portion.

'How’s my number one fan doing? You better be thriving. I won’t take “meh” as an answer!’

‘Not gonna lie, I’m sad we don’t get to have our gossip sessions. Reena told me to write you instead—ugh! Just so you know, I’m sharing this letter with Alianna only because they told me too late!’

‘Anyway—good news! I got the spot for the Belladonna runway!’

‘Don’t worry, the show won’t be until April next year. You won’t miss anything. Now go, have the time of your life!’

I laughed to myself, my chest blooming with something warm.

I kind of miss them already. Oddly enough, even though I’m the eldest in the group, they’ve always been the ones looking after me—showing up, cheering me on, holding me together.

At times, they felt more like family than the one I was born into.

They never asked me to be anyone else. Never demanded I spend my life fixing their messes. They just… accepted me.

And that meant the world.

By the time I stepped into my room, the emotional high from reading my friends’ letters had slightly faded, replaced by the heavy tug of fatigue. I gently set the envelopes on the desk and collapsed face-first onto the bed.

But just as I started to melt into the softness of the mattress, my stomach growled—loudly.

Right. I hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s samosas.

Groaning, I forced myself up and freshened up with a quick shower. The cool water jolted me back to life. I changed into something light and airy—a white linen top and beige shorts—and tied my hair into a messy bun. Nothing fancy. Just enough to look decent in public.

With my stomach now leading the way, I made my way back to the seaside bistro from last night. The salty breeze was still comforting, and the place looked even more charming under the gentle morning sun.

As soon as I stepped in, the same waiter from last night approached with a cheerful smile.

“Oh! Ma’am, you didn’t come back for your order last night,” she said, hands lightly clasped in front of her.

“We kept it for a while, just in case.”

I gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah… sorry about that. I had a bit of an errand to run.”

“Ah, I see,” she chuckled knowingly. “Well, what can I get you today?”

“I’ll go for the breakfast set,” I replied. “And another blueberry lemonade soda, please.”

“Of course! It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

I thanked her and found a spot by the edge of the deck, overlooking the waves. The view was even better in the morning—less dramatic than the sunset, but cleaner, more hopeful somehow.

As I waited, I watched a group of tourists squeal with excitement as they sprinted toward the shoreline, where a row of jetskis were being prepped. A couple of them were already taking off, slicing across the water with ease.

Maybe I should try that, I thought. Something exciting. Something new.

I was just about to pull out the camera to capture the moment when something—or rather someone—caught my eye.

The easy mood I had just started to build soured in an instant.

There, standing near the boardwalk in a fresh change of clothes, was none other than Mr. Drunk Bag Stealer.

Our eyes met for a fleeting moment. His expression was unreadable—but if I had to guess, I’d say he looked... annoyed?

Excuse me?

I quickly averted my gaze, fuming.

Why on earth is he even here? This resort is massive. Can’t the universe at least pretend to keep us apart?