Chapter 1 The Reconnection

Khalia

Structure is everything.

If you design a building with a weak foundation, it doesn’t matter how beautiful the glass façade is—eventually, the weight of reality will pull it down.

I live my life by that rule.

My desk at Salvador & Associates is a testament to it: rulers aligned perfectly parallel to the edge, blueprints color-coded by municipal zones, and a calendar blocked out down to fifteen-minute increments. For the last two years, my foundation has been solid. Unshakeable.

"The representatives from the landscape firm are here, Ms. Salvador," my assistant, Sarah, announced over the intercom. "They’re in Boardroom B."

"Thank you. Give me two minutes," I replied, adjusting the stiff cuffs of my tailored charcoal blazer.

Today was the initial pitch meeting for the BGC Green Lung Initiative—a high-profile, multi-million-peso city park project that our architectural firm had just secured. We needed an external landscaping partner to bring the ecological elements to life. My senior partner had selected the firm, and I hadn’t bothered to look at the names of their lead designers. To me, a contractor was a contractor.

I picked up my leather-bound tablet, checked my reflection in the glass cabinet—sharp jawline, hair pulled back into a flawless, low bun—and walked down the corridor. I was entirely in control.

Then, I opened the door to Boardroom B.

Standing by the panoramic window, silhouetted against the blinding Taguig skyline, was a woman holding a rolled-up blueprint. She wore a tailored emerald-green pantsuit, her loose, dark waves cascading over her shoulders. She turned around when the door clicked, a professional smile painted on her face.

The smile faltered. The blueprint in her hand slipped a fraction of an inch.

Atasha.

My heart did a violent, unpredictable thud against my ribs—a structural anomaly I hadn’t experienced in exactly twenty-four months. The last time I had seen those dark, expressive eyes, they were wide with shock in the dim morning light of my apartment, right before she packed her bag and walked out of my life, leaving a polite, devastating text message behind.

We can’t fix this, Khali. Let’s just pretend it never happened.

"Khalia," she murmured. Her voice was lower now, carrying a resonant depth that instantly bypassed all my carefully constructed defenses.

I swallowed the sudden dryness in my throat, forcing my hands to remain steady as I stepped forward and extended a hand across the mahogany table. Professional. Cold. Controlled.

"Ms. Clemente," I said, my voice cutting through the sudden tension in the room like a scalpel. "It’s been a while. Let’s get straight to business, shall we?"

Atasha

My lungs forgot how to process oxygen.

I looked at Khalia’s extended hand. Her long, elegant fingers were exactly as I remembered them—devoid of rings, manicured perfectly, and completely steady, unlike mine. My palms were sweating, and my chest felt like someone had tightly wound a steel wire around it.

Two years. Two years of throwing myself into soil textures, botanical layouts, and regional flora across Asia just to erase the memory of the cedarwood scent currently radiating off her skin.

I cleared my throat, forcing my hand to meet hers. The brief touch was electric, a sharp jolt that traveled straight up my arm, sparking a memory of a time those same fingers had traced the line of my spine. I broke the contact as quickly as decorum allowed.

"It’s good to see you, Ms. Salvador," I replied, my voice masking the absolute panic screaming through my nervous system. I took a step back, anchoring my weight against the edge of the boardroom table. "I didn't realize Salvador & Associates assigned you to lead the Green Lung project."

"I am the senior architect," Khalia said smoothly, taking her seat at the head of the table. She opened her tablet without a single wasted movement.

"Naturally, a project of this scale falls under my purview. I expect the highest level of precision from our partners. I trust Clemente Landscape Designs is prepared for that?"

The sheer, clinical coldness in her tone stung. This was the woman who had held me on her living room floor while I wept over a broken heart.

This was the woman whose breath had stuttered against my lips right before we tore down five years of friendship in a single, reckless, unforgettable night—the night I had willingly given her my virginity.

Now, she looked at me like I was a line item on a budget spreadsheet.

A familiar spark of defiance flared up in my chest. If she wanted to play the unbothered professional, I could play it too.

"We don't just plant trees, Ms. Salvador," I said, leaning forward and unrolling the master plan across the table, intentionally invading her clean, sterile workspace.

"We design living ecosystems. My team has already drafted the initial zoning for the urban canopy. If you look at Section A—"

"The grading is too steep," Khalia interrupted.

Her sharp eyes scanned my layout for less than five seconds before finding a flaw.

"The concrete retaining wall I designed for the northern boundary won't support that much root density. You’re compromising the structural integrity of the plaza."

"And your concrete wall is choking the natural drainage of the soil," I retorted, matching her icy glare.

"If you don't allow the earth to breathe, your beautiful plaza is going to flood during the first typhoon of the season."

The two junior associates in the room suddenly went incredibly quiet, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

The air between Khalia and me wasn't just professional friction; it was highly combustible.

We weren't just arguing about soil drainage and retaining walls.

We were arguing about the wreckage we left behind two years ago.

Khalia locked eyes with me, her gaze intense enough to burn through the paper between us.

"Then it seems we have a fundamental disagreement on how to build this foundation, Ms. Clemente."

"Then we'll just have to find a way to compromise," I challenged, refusing to look away first.

"Because, like it or not, we’re stuck with each other for the next six months."