Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Hannah's POV

The atmosphere in the executive wing was cold enough to frost the glass. As we set up the lighting and cameras for the "New Era" walkthrough, the silence was heavy, broken only by the frantic whispers of assistants and the sharp click of expensive shoes on the marble floor.

​I stood behind the secondary camera, my hands steady only because of years of practice, though my chest felt like it was collapsing. He was right there—barely ten feet away. I could see the familiar curve of his jaw and the way his hair caught the light, but the warmth was gone. He looked like a statue carved from ice.

​The proximity was a form of torture. On the island, ten feet was the distance he would run to help me carry a basket of fruit. Now, it was a chasm that felt miles wide. I watched him through the lens of my camera, a silent observer of a man I no longer recognized.

​"This is unacceptable," Luke’s voice cut through the room, cold and sharp.

​He was looking at a presentation board that Sarah was holding. Sarah, usually so composed, was visibly trembling. Her fingers clutched the edges of the board so hard her knuckles were white.

​"Sir, the data was pulled from last night’s—"

​"I don’t care where it was pulled from," Luke interrupted, stepping into her personal space. He didn't raise his voice, which somehow made it scarier. "It’s sloppy. It’s mediocre. And I don’t pay for mediocrity. If you can't distinguish a projected share increase from actual revenue, find a job that requires less thinking. Perhaps in a kitchen."

​The room went dead silent. The insult was so casual, so pointedly arrogant, that I felt a surge of heat behind my eyes. I remembered him sitting on our small couch, thanking me for a simple plate of sausages. Now, he was using his power to humiliate a woman who was just doing her best.

​"I... I’m sorry, Mr. Cromwell. I’ll fix it," Sarah whispered, her head bowed.

​"Don't be sorry. Be competent," Luke snapped. He turned away from her, dismissive, and caught Monica’s eye. "Is the media team ready? I don't have all day for this 'candid' theater."

​"Ready, sir," Monica said, her voice tight. She signaled to me. "Hannah, get the profile shot. Make sure he looks approachable."

​Approachable. It was a lie. How do you make a shark look like a savior?

​I moved the camera, my eyes "lingering" just a second too long as I adjusted the focus. I saw the way he tapped his foot—an impatient, rhythmic habit I’d never seen on the island. He looked bored by the very empire he was built to lead.

​Suddenly, Luke shifted his gaze. He looked directly into the lens. Directly at me.

​For a heartbeat, the world stopped. The noise of the city, the hum of the air conditioning, the clicking of keyboards—it all vanished. I waited for the mask to crack. I waited for him to see the girl who had dragged him from the smoke.

​Instead, he frowned. His eyes narrowed, not with recognition, but with annoyance.

​"You," he said, pointing a long, elegant finger toward me. "The girl on the secondary camera."

​My heart hammered against my ribs. "Yes, sir?"

​"Your light is reflecting off the glass behind me. It’s distracting. Move two steps to the left and stop staring. You’re here to film, not to admire the view."

​A few of the assistants snickered quietly. I felt the blood rush to my face, a stinging mix of shame and fury. He wasn't just indifferent; he was cruel. He was the "conceited and vain" CEO everyone warned me about, and he was treating me like an amateur.

​"My apologies, Mr. Cromwell," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I’ll adjust."

​As I moved to the left, I caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of the glass. He was adjusting his tie, a small, smug smirk on his face as if he enjoyed the small power play he’d just enacted.

​He was so close I could smell the sea-salt-inspired cologne he wore—a high-end, synthetic version of the real ocean we had shared. But he had never been further away. Luke the islander was dead, and the man standing in his place didn't deserve a single one of my tears.

​I gripped the camera handle, my jaw set. Ashton was right. I wasn't here for him. I was here for the story. And the story of Luke Cromwell was becoming more villainous by the hour.

​"Don't take it personally," a smooth, resonant voice said from behind me. "He’s like that to everyone who doesn't have a 'Cromwell' birthright. And sometimes, he’s even worse to those who do."

​I turned to see a man leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed just as expensively as Luke, but his energy was entirely different. Where Luke was ice and sharp edges, this man was warmth and effortless charm. He watched me with an expression that wasn't "lingering"—it was genuinely observant, like he was looking at a rare piece of art.

​"I'm Mateo Velez," he said, stepping forward to help me stabilize the heavy tripod before it could tip. "I’m on the board of directors. And unfortunately for my sanity, I’m also Luke’s oldest friend."

​"Hannah Martin," I replied, regaining my composure. "Is he always... like that?"

​Mateo let out a short, dry laugh, adjusting the cuff of his linen suit. "Since the accident? He’s been a nightmare. It’s like he woke up and decided that the only way to prove he hasn't lost his mind is to prove he’s lost his heart. He’s obsessed with the chairmanship. He thinks if he shows even an ounce of softness, the other board members will tear him apart."

​"And will they?" I asked.

​Mateo’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. "Some of them are already sharpening their knives. But that’s corporate life. It’s a bit different from where you’re from, isn't it?"

​I froze. My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

​Mateo smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "I saw your resume, Hannah. A small island in the south? That’s a long way from the Makati skyline. Most people here are born in glass boxes. You have the smell of the sun on you. It’s... refreshing."

​There was something about the way he said it—not dismissive like the men in suits, but appreciative. For a moment, I felt seen. Not as a "lost Cromwell" or a "secondary camera op," but as the girl who loved the ocean.

​"The sun doesn't pay the bills in Manila," I said, trying to keep my voice professional.

​"True. But it makes for a much better story," Mateo countered. He reached into his pocket and handed me a small, embossed business card. "If Luke gives you too much trouble, or if you ever find the 'secondary camera' too small for your talent, call me. The board needs people who see things differently. Not just people who follow orders."

​Just as I took the card, the heavy double doors at the end of the hall swung open. Luke was walking back toward us, his face darkening when he saw Mateo standing so close to me.

​"Mateo," Luke snapped, his voice dropping an octave. "I thought you were in the strategy meeting."

​"I was. I got bored," Mateo said easily, not moving an inch. He placed a friendly, lingering hand on my shoulder—a gesture that felt like a challenge. "I was just welcoming our newest recruit. She’s got a great eye, Luke. You should try looking through her lens sometime. You might learn something about yourself."

​The tension between the two men was electric. Luke’s gaze dropped to Mateo’s hand on my shoulder, and for the first time since I’d arrived in Manila, I saw a flash of something other than arrogance in his eyes. It was quick—a flicker of possessiveness, of raw, unpolished jealousy that belonged to the man on the island.

​But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a wall of granite.

​"She’s an employee, Mateo. Not a project," Luke said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen. He looked at me, his eyes empty once more. "Martin, the footage from the walkthrough better be on my desk by five. If the lighting is still 'distracting,' don't bother coming in tomorrow."

​He turned on his heel and marched away. Mateo just shook his head, a playful yet competitive glint in his eyes.

​"See?" Mateo whispered to me. "A nightmare. But don't worry, Hannah. Some of us actually prefer the light."

​As Mateo walked away, I looked at the business card in my hand and then at the retreating back of the man I had saved. I was caught between two worlds: a king who had forgotten me, and a rival who seemed determined to make me remember why I came here.

The cafeteria at Cromwell Legacy was as cold and clinical as the rest of the building—all white tiles, minimalist furniture, and expensive salads that tasted like cardboard. I sat with Sarah and Vince, the tray between us feeling like a barricade. My mind was still reeling from the confrontation with Mateo and Luke's icy dismissal.

​"Eat your greens, Hannah. You’ll need the energy if you’re going to survive the week," Sarah said, pushing a bowl of kale toward me. She looked exhausted, her eyes still a bit red from Luke’s earlier outburst.

​"I’m sorry he talked to you like that," I whispered. "It was... uncalled for."

​Vince snorted, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with his fork. "Uncalled for? That’s a Tuesday for Luke Cromwell. You’re lucky he only told you to move two steps. Last month, he told a lead designer that their color palette was ‘offensive to the eyes of anyone with an IQ above fifty.’ The guy quit an hour later."

​"He wasn't always like this, was he?" I asked, testing the waters. "Mateo said the accident changed him."

​Sarah and Vince exchanged a look. "Mateo is the only one who can talk back to him because their families’ shares are tied together," Sarah explained, leaning in closer. "But Mateo is right. Before the crash, Luke was... well, he was still a Cromwell. Arrogant, sure. But there was a spark. Now? It’s like the lights are on but nobody’s home. He’s just a calculation in a three-piece suit."

​"And speaking of calculations," Vince said, tapping his watch. It was already 1:30 PM. "You have less than four hours to finish that edit, Hannah. And let me give you a piece of advice: Luke doesn't just check the footage. He checks the metadata. If he sees you were a minute late or that you missed a single frame of his 'good side,' he’ll have your badge by sunset."

​"He wouldn't actually fire me for being a minute late, would he?" I asked, my heart beginning to race.

​"In this building? He’d fire you for breathing too loudly if he was in a bad mood," Sarah warned. "The 12th floor is a graveyard of careers. Don't let yours be the next one. He’s looking for a reason to purge the media team right now. He wants 'fresh blood'—or more likely, people he can control completely."

​I thought about the man who had slept on my lap in a small boat. The man who had thanked me for a simple sweatshirt. It was impossible to reconcile that memory with the "shark" my colleagues were describing.

​"And be careful with Mateo Velez," Vince added, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "He’s charming, yeah. But in this tower, charm is just another way to hide a knife. If Luke sees you getting cozy with his rival, he’ll make sure you never work in this city again. To Luke, everything is a competition. Everything is an asset."

​"I’m not an asset," I snapped, a bit more defensively than I intended.

​Vince shrugged. "To him, everyone is. Now get back to the edit suite. You’ve got three hours and fifteen minutes left. And Hannah? Lock the door. If he walks by and sees you staring at the screen instead of clicking, he’ll count that as wasted time."

​I stood up, leaving my lunch half-finished. The warning settled in my gut like lead. I wasn't just working a job anymore; I was navigating a minefield. As I walked toward the elevators, I felt the weight of Mateo’s business card in my pocket and the pressure of Luke’s deadline looming over me.

​I had come here to find the man I saved. But as I headed back to the dark edit suite, I realized the man I saved was buried under layers of corporate greed and a name that demanded perfection.

​3:45 PM. The clock was ticking.