CHAPTER 6

Elara POV

 

I sank into my chair, pulling my sketchbook toward me. Work was safe. Work would never let me down. But when I moved my pencil on the paper, I didn't see floor plans or layouts - I saw him. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, eyes that stripped me down in a way that no other man had.

I threw the pencil down, angry at myself. "God, Elara, get a hold of yourself."

A knock shook me out of it. My heart jumped up, stupid and not ready. I was not expecting anyone. For a moment, the irrational panic whispered - what if it was him?

But it was just my neighbor when I opened the door, an elder woman from downstairs with a basket of puto.

"Elara, iha," she smiled sincerely. "Mag-share tayo. Fresh pa."(Let's share. It's still new.)

"Oh," I was caught between relief and disappointment I didn't want to admit and so I blinked. "Thank you so much, Auntie." she smiled at me.

"Magpahinga ka rin,"(You should rest too) she said as she handed me the basket. "You always look so tired. Too much work is not good for the heart."

The words of hers accompanied me long after I closed the door.

Sleep refused to come that night. I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, with my neighbor's words reverberating in my brain. Too much work is not good for the heart.

Whenever I tried to sleep, the image of Adrian Velasco popped into my mind. His hand almost touching mine, his lips so close, his voice whispering Then tell me to stop.

I exclaimed and changed my side, hiding my face in the pillow. “I need help,” I said softly to the fabric, as if the problem was with my walls and they could be of my aid. 

Come morning, I was so tired that it seemed like exhaustion had become my second skin. I took the long walk to Velasco Corp., holding my portfolio like a weapon. 

“Ms. Santos.” The receptionist gave me a polite nod. “Mr. Velasco requested a direct meeting with you on the site today. The drivers are waiting out front.”

I was so shaky that it felt like my stomach was tied up in knots. On site? I hadn't even thought of it. However, I pretended a smile, thanked her, and went outside where a luxurious black car was waiting by the curb.

The driver opened the door for me and when I entered—his dark suit was back, his tie loosened just a tad, his stare sharp the moment it met mine. The air changed immediately, heavier with those silent words.

“Good morning, Ms. Santos.” His tone was pleasant yet commanding. “I presume you had a good rest.”

I forced out a reply. “Good enough.”

As if he knew that I was not telling the truth, his mouth twitched a little to a smile.

The long trip was silent but not devoid of meaning. Each heartbeat throbbed with the tension that was almost tangible, yet he did not move a millimeter closer. 

Right at that moment, the dirty air and loud metallic noises hit me hard. Heat, dirt, the smell of iron bars piled high. Workers running around at full speed, their shouts, and the noise of hammers mingling with the morning breeze.

“This is your first project with us,” Adrian said, as calm and confident as always, getting out of the car. “I want to see how you handle tension.”

I followed, my heels hitting the ground with an unmistakable sound. “Then you should stop acting as if you are waiting for me to mess up.”

His gaze sneaked to mine, dark and full of risk. “Maybe I am seeing how far you go before I throw off your game.”

My pulse raced, but I lifted my chin anyway. “Then I suppose you will have to wait a long time.”

He smirked but there was something in his look that escaped my understanding- something too intimate, too close.

And as I carelessly put down my sketches with the sun blazing right above, I knew it was no longer mere about proving myself. It was about surviving him— surviving us.

Hammers banging on steel, a saw's buzzing, and the low chanting of workers coordinating flowed through the air. Dust floated, and it captured the rays of the sun streaming through the yet-to-be-completed windows. I felt like I was part of the chaos but I needed to be at the center of things so I grabbed my hard hat and rolled-up sketches tighter.

“Elara, you couldn't have come at a better time,” Marco, one of the site engineers, with a bright smile, said. “We had just started talking about the flooring. Sir Adrian wants a beautiful marble finish for the lobby. But it was wood you had in mind, right?”

After he made his suggestion, I looked at him. Then, I looked at the site—noiseless, barren, and lifeless. “It is true. Wood has that ability to bring in warmth. Marble might be elegant to use in the lobby, but it is going to make the area look like a gallery not a space for the people to live in. This is not a place for showing off.”

The noise was cut with a deep voice that was giving a command without even trying, “Ms. Santos, this isn’t a place for living. It’s a luxury complex. Prestigious living is what people pay for, not the comfort.”

I was so shocked, yet I slowly turned to look. At the other end of the site, Adrian changed from a dark suit to a blue shirt with sleeves rolled up and spotless shoes that were a little dusty. Even here, at a construction site, he seemed like he still had possession of the ground. His piercing and unrelenting eyes met mine.

No one spoke, but they all watched us as though it was a tennis game.

“With all the respect, I am saying this,” I said with a calm tone, “prestige has a short life. What last is comfort. Wood tells people, ‘This is your place.’ Marble says, ‘Here, but don’t touch.’”

Adrian visibly annoyed, he came nearer and I had to lift my chin up to see his face as he said, “And do you think, Ms. Santos, what gets sold quicker, the feeling of belonging or that of envy?”

I did not show any sign of fear. “Maybe both. But if you want people to stay, not just buy, they need to feel more than envy.”

The crew made a small noise as if talking. One of the junior designers whispered behind me, “Damn, she’s got guts.”

Adrian’s eyes became very narrow, but apart from refusing me, his lips formed that vexing half-smile. “You really can’t resist the temptation to go against my wish, can you?”

My throat tightened and my heart raced a little more. “The first thing to do, by far, is what’s right for the rest of the space and not for your ego.”

There was a moment when his look grew more intense, something pure and fleeting visible.

Marco cleared his throat and awkwardly tried to change the topic. “So...are we going with wood or marble?”

Without loss of eye contact with me, Adrian answered, his voice low and slow, “We’ll go with wood. For now.”

I was astonished and my face showed it. “For now?”

His look was not friendly but very playful, as he said, “Don’t relax, Ms. Santos. I can still be the biggest fan of your choice if under pressure it keeps. If not, we will just rip it out.”

There was a tone of possession in his voice that was not very obvious but there—as if what he was saying was not about the design only but also about me.

I made an effort to look at Marco instead. “Then it is wood.”

“Right, ma’am,” Marco said without delay, giving the signal to the crew.

As the workers moved away, Adrian got closer to me, his breath grazing my ear. "You get a kick out of arguing with me. But don't forget—when you come out on top, it is because I allow it."

I turned, heat rising to my cheeks. "Maybe it's just that I'm right."

His face lit up, a mix of danger and amusement at the same time. "Watch it, Elara. You are beginning to sound as if you really belong here. And that makes me... territorial."

I felt my stomach turn and my heart thud hard. He said it like a warning, but it felt like a promise.

I moved away, holding my sketches close. "It's work, Mr. Velasco. Nothing more."

His smile remained as he watched me go. "Ms. Santos, you can keep saying that to yourself."

Heave of his words haunted me more than the drills and the dust, as I walked across the site.