LOVING A MARRIED BILLIONAIRE

The city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Timothy Lancaster’s office was already painted in deep shades of orange and violet, signaling the end of another long day. But inside these four walls, time seemed to have stopped. The air was still, thick with a silence that felt heavier than usual, charged with something unspoken that had been building up for weeks—maybe even years.

Nakaupo ako sa tapat niya sa kanyang mesa na gawa sa mahogany. Ang aking mga daliri ay nanginginig habang mahigpit na hawak ang folder na ibibigay ko sa kanya. Ang tibok ng puso ko ay parang ibong nakakulong sa hawla, mabilis at magulo. Ganyan palagi tuwing magkasama kaming dalawa. Ang bawat paghinga ay parang isang luho na kailangan kong paghirapan. Ang bawat tingin niya ay parang apoy na dumadampi sa aking balat.

 Timothy Lancaster. Thirty-two years old. CEO of Lancaster Corporation. One of the most powerful men in the country. And my boss.

 And he was married.

 Married to Sofia Velez, in a union that had been arranged before either of them had even learned what love was supposed to feel like. A business transaction sealed with gold rings and signatures on paper. A cold, hollow partnership that had turned his eyes from bright to tired, from warm to distant, long before I had even walked through the doors of his company three years ago.

 "Is everything correct, Sir?" I asked. Ang boses ko ay mahina kaysa sa inaasahan ko.

 He didn’t look up immediately. His long, elegant fingers traced the lines of the document, his expression unreadable as always. Sharp jawline, eyes the color of storm clouds, a face that looked as if it had been carved from marble—perfect, untouchable, and so incredibly beautiful it hurt just to look at him.

 "Everything is in order, Ysha," sabi niya. Ang boses niya ay malalim na nagdulot ng kakaibang panginginig sa aking katawan. "You never make mistakes. I don’t know how you do it."

 I swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe under the intensity of his stare. "I just… I make sure everything is perfect. Because you deserve nothing less."

 Sa sandaling lumabas ang mga salitang iyon mula sa aking bibig ay agad kong pinagsisihan. Masyado nang malikot ang mga dila ko. Kung ano-anonna lang ang mga sinasabi nito, na sa huli ay pagsisisihan ko. Ibinaon ko na lamang ang tingin ko sa sahig, habang hawak ang pisngi na kanina pa mainit. Ang puso ko ay tumitibok nang napakalakas na sigurado akong naririnig niya ito kahit sa kabilang panig ng mesa.

 But he didn’t scold me. He didn’t tell me to keep things professional. Instead, there was a pause, a silence that stretched between us, heavy and warm.

 "You always give more than what is expected of you," he said quietly. "Why, Ysha?"

 Tumingin ako muli sa kanya, at nakita ko ang kanyang mga mata—mayroong kakaiba sa mga ito ngayon. Mas malambot, mas bukas kaysa sa karaniwang pagtingin niya sa akin.

 "It’s my job, Sir," I replied, though it sounded weak even to my own ears.

 "Your job doesn’t require you to stay late every night," he countered, leaning forward slightly, his forearms resting on the desk. "It doesn’t require you to remember how I take my coffee, or that I prefer the windows closed when it rains, or that I don’t like anyone disturbing me before my eight o’clock meeting. That isn’t in your contract."

 My breath caught. "I… I just pay attention to details."

 "Details," he repeated, almost to himself, his eyes never leaving mine. "Or do you pay attention to me?"

 The question hung in the air, suspended between us like a delicate thread ready to snap. I felt myself trembling, my palms turning cold despite the warmth of the room. I should have looked away. I should have laughed it off, made an excuse, and walked out the door. But I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot, trapped in the storm of his gaze.

 "I see you, Timothy," I whispered, the name slipping past my lips before I could stop myself. Not Sir. Not Mr. Lancaster. Just… him. "Not the CEO. Not the billionaire. Just… you. And I see how tired you are."

 Umigting ang kanyang panga. Matagal siyang hindi nagsalita. Tinitigan niya lang ako, tila sinusubukang lutasin ang isang palaisipan na matagal na niyang tinitingnan ngunit hindi mahanap ang sagot. Pagkatapos, dahan-dahan siyang tumayo.

 My heart leaped into my throat as he walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from me. Close enough that I could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—sandalwood and rain. Close enough that I could see the faint dark circles under his eyes, the proof of sleepless nights and endless worries.

 "You shouldn't say things like that, Ysha," he said, his voice rough, strained. "You have no idea how dangerous it is to look at me like that."

 "Like what?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

 "Like I matter," he breathed out, and there was such raw pain in those words that it nearly shattered me. "Like I’m not just a name or a fortune or a contract. Like I’m… human."

 "You are human," I said, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "You feel things too. Even if you try to hide it."

Lumapit pa siya ng isang hakbang, at hindi ako umatras. Hindi ko magawa. Ang bawat hibla ng pagkatao ko ay hinihila ako palapit sa kanya, parang gamu-gamo na lumilipad sa apoy, alam na alam na masusunog kung lalapit pa. Ngunit wala akong pakialam. Handa akong masunog nang libo-libong beses kung sa huli ay mararamdaman ko lang ang init niya kahit minsan.

"Don't," he warned, but his hand lifted, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from my face so gently it made my knees weak. "Don't look at me like that. Because if you keep looking at me like I’m something worth saving… I might just believe you."

 "Then believe me," I whispered.

 The air between us seemed to ignite. One moment he was there, holding back, and the next—he closed the distance.