Chapter Two

By ten in the morning, Carrie had already left three voicemails, fired off a string of messages, and instructed Sofia to call every possible contact in Anita Sandoval's circle. No response. Anita's phone went unanswered, her staff gave polite deflections, and her PR team stonewalled as if they had been paid to vanish.

Carrie pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat at her desk, orchids blooming beside her laptop, the skyline glittering in the morning sun. The clock ticked louder than usual, every second carrying her closer to deadline.

"Ma'am," Sofia's voice broke her concentration. She stepped into the office holding a folder. "I may have found someone. Her name's Marissa Villarosa. She started a jewelry business from her apartment a few years ago. Now she has shops in Greenbelt and Rockwell. Forbes did a small piece on her last year."

Carrie skimmed the profile, her eyes flicking over glossy product shots and a smiling Marissa draped in her own designs. It was impressive. But not enough.

"She's hardworking," Sofia added gently. "She could fit."

Carrie shook her head. "This issue is about redefining power. We can't just put anyone with a boutique on the cover. We need impact. We need presence." She pushed the folder back. "Keep her as backup. But keep trying Anita."

The day unfolded in a blur of calls and messages. Carrie's voice grew hoarse from explaining, persuading, begging. Every avenue hit a wall. By late afternoon, her patience was threadbare. The staff began trickling out one by one, their goodbyes echoing faintly through the corridor. Sofia lingered by the doorway, her face hesitant.

"Do you want me to stay, Ma'am? I don't mind."

Carrie gave her a small smile, tired but sincere. "No, Sofia. Go home. Get some rest."

"But you—"

"I'll be fine. Really."

Reluctantly, Sofia nodded and left, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor until silence returned. Carrie sat back in her chair, the city lights beginning to spark alive outside the glass walls. For the first time all day, the stillness pressed in.

She sighed, staring at her blank screen. Anita was gone. The issue was crumbling. She should have left, gone home, collapsed into her bed. Instead, her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Almost against her will, she typed the name that had haunted her since the morning.

Andrew Lorenzo.

Search results flooded the screen. Page after page of photographs, headlines, gossip columns. Andrew at a charity gala with a famous actress. Andrew at the Manila Polo Club, mallet raised mid-swing, sweat glistening under the sun. Andrew stepping out of a sports car with a socialite clinging to his arm. Andrew at a yacht party in Palawan, grinning at cameras like he owned the ocean.

Carrie scrolled, her pulse tight. Articles praised his polo achievements, noting his training abroad, his victories in Argentina. Others whispered of affairs, scandals, and glittering nights that never ended quietly. He was everywhere. He was everything the society pages craved.

She leaned back, letting out a long breath. Of course. Of course it would be him.

Her eyes lingered on a candid photograph of him at a gala, head tilted, eyes caught mid-laughter. Something about it made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't explain.

She should have known him. She should have remembered.

The city outside glowed against the night. Alone in her office, Carrie closed her laptop, her thoughts clouded with a name she had tried not to say all day.

Andrew Lorenzo.

And for the first time, she wondered if Anita's heartbreak wasn't the only story hiding here.