ALMS TO LOVE

The Grand Aurelio Hotel's lights glowed like gold in the Manila night sky. Glass spires glittered. Smiles cost more than Fiona's whole closet. The red carpet was no metaphor—it existed.

Fiona hitched up the hem of her borrowed, too-tight, too-revealing sapphire slip. She got out of the car with shaky legs and borrowed nerve.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

“Stop that,” Valeria Jayne whispered, looping her arm through Fiona’s. “You look like a goddess and you’re walking into Olympus. Head high, chest out. You’re with me, remember?”

“I’m a public school teacher with a dying daughter. These people own helicopters.”

Valeria snorted. "Exactly why I brought you. You need air. Hope. A miracle. Who knows—maybe you'll find someone who can write one."

Fiona didn't even have time to reply before they were engulfed by blinding lights, champagne giggles, and conversations laced with egos.

Inside the ballroom, chandeliers hung dripping with crystals. Waiters glided past trays of caviar and champagne. A string quartet performed something refined Fiona couldn't identify.

Valeria inched closer. "You see that man by the balcony?"

Fiona turned her way. A man stood alone among the glittering throng. Tall, expensively dressed in a black suit and no tie. Hair slicked back with effortless care. Hands in his pockets. Eyes like winter.

"That's Charles Billion," Valeria breathed. "Owns half of the production houses in Asia. You ever heard of Red Flame Studios? That's him."

"The Charles Billion?

Valeria nodded. "Billionaire. Producer. Philanthropist. Rumor has it, he can make or break a career in one phone call. Be careful, though—he doesn't smile. Ever."

Fiona was reaching to turn away—when he looked at her.

Their eyes met.

She froze. The sounds around her grew muffled.

And then—he began to walk towards her.

"Don't faint," Valeria muttered.

"Good evening," Charles said, voice deep, smooth, and faintly uninterested. "Valeria Jayne."

"Mr. Billion." Valeria smiled as though she had diamonds between her teeth. "Let me present my friend—Fiona Generys."

He looked at Fiona. That look—keen, inscrutable, but disconcertingly alert. "Fiona," he drawled, as though experimenting with the feel of her name on his lips.

She could only manage a nod. "Mr. Billion."

His gaze dropped—once. "Not in the business, are you?"

"No, sir."

"She's a teacher," Valeria contributed. "One of the best. She's also.a fighter."

Fiona flashed her a swift glare, but Charles arched a brow.

"Fighter?"

She paused. "Life throws punches. I throw back."

Something flashed in his eyes. Interest? Amusement? Approval?

He moved closer. "Tell me, Miss Generys. If life presented you with a shortcut—one you didn't ask for, didn't trust—would you take it?"

"Depends," she replied without winking. "Is someone else paying the price?"

He released the slightest exhalation of laughter. "Interesting answer."

She inclined her chin. "You don't seem like a man who does favors for favors."

He regarded her. "No," he replied. "I do leverage."

The air was wire-tight. A waiter came by, bearing champagne. Charles accepted one glass. Held it out to her.

She paused—then accepted.

Fingers touched.

He didn't release immediately.

Charles Billion alone beside the glass-walled veranda of the Grand Aurelio, city lights sparkling below him like a grid of golden blood veins. The sound of clinking glasses and whispered egos buzzed behind him. He wasn't paying attention.

He remained focused on the woman with fire blazing in her eyes and defiance in her voice.

Fiona Generys.

She was a distortion in a universe of pretension—a broken porcelain vase that would not be gold-painted. And that, somehow, made her. unforgettable.

He raised his Château Margaux to his lips—when his phone rang.

"Lola Jamaica"

He groaned. "Can I not have one night without royal calling?" he grumbled, picking up the phone with a swipe.

"You're late, Charlie Boy," the voice growled in sharp Taglish. "And don't play dumb about not knowing that you're disobeying your mother once more. That lady has been bawling over your bachelor face for weeks."

"I wasn't informed that I had an appointment with catastrophe," he remarked sarcastically.

"Don't try to be clever with me, I created clever."

He pressed the bridge of his nose.

Bring me a granddaughter when?" she spat. "Or else, your fortune, forget it."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard it. No wife, no inheritance. No kid, no cha-ching. Kiss your billions goodbye and live in a condo like the common mortal."

She sniffed. "It's legacy, Charles. I established this empire through blood, sweat, and papaya soap. I want my name to endure, and not in some corporate takeover. I want noise. Little feet. Grandchildren who shatter Ming dynasty vases!"

Charles breathed out. "You know you're crazy, right?"

"You say that like it's a shock. This family has weathered three scandals, four attempts on their lives, and your father's hairstyles. We are constructed of chaos. Now marry someone." 

"There is no one," he replied stiffly, looking through the glass at Fiona once more.

"Liar. I saw that girl."

He went still. "What?"

"That woman in blue. The one who would rather eat her own arm than talk to you. That's the one.

Charles moved further onto the balcony. "How the hell do you—?"

"I may be 84, but I didn't pass away in the 70s, hijo. I have drones."

He coughed on his wine. "You. you have drones?"

"Don't be so melodramatic. I have a social media team. And Valeria tagged her on a story, and I saw you drooling like a lovesick frog. So. marry her."

"You are literally insane."

She waited. "What's her name?"

He hesitated.

"You already know her name," she said, triumphant. "Ha! Ha-ha! I knew it. You're toast."

"Goodnight, Lola."

"Get her number! Or I'm writing your inheritance into the dog's name!"

Click.

Charles glared at the black screen. Then at his wine. Then back at the ballroom.

 "…I am not marrying a schoolteacher with god-tier cheekbones and sarcasm as a love language," he muttered. But something in him had already started to stir.

The next day

Fiona slept not.

Not because of Charles Billion—okay, not mainly—but because there was a fever spike at 2:00 AM with Liana, and Fiona was in an emergency ward for three hours holding a child who would not shut up and a heart that was already cracked open at the seams.

By morning, Fiona was fuelled by hospital coffee and obstinacy.

She was grading exam papers in the staff room when her phone rang.

Unknown Number:

Miss Fiona Generys, I would appreciate a meeting. Confidential. One hour. The Orchid Room, Aurelio Tower.

She blinked.

And then it buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

P.S. I am Charles Billion. I don't send flowers. I send invitations.

Her mouth fell open. "You've got to be kidding me."

Mr. 'I-Believe-In-Leverage' was text-texting her like she was applying for a job.

Valeria's voice rang in her head: "He never offers drinks to anyone."

Fiona gazed at her phone. Then, before she could dissuade herself, she grabbed her stuff.