Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Hannah's POV

The drive felt like a lead weight in my hand as I stepped into the executive elevator. The digital clock on the wall flickered to 4:58 PM. My heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each floor the elevator passed feeling like a countdown to a firing squad.

​I had spent the last three hours obsessively checking every frame, ensuring the light was perfect, the transitions seamless, and the metadata spotless. I wasn't just submitting footage; I was submitting proof of my existence to a man who had erased me.

​The heavy oak doors of the CEO’s office were closed. I took a deep breath, adjusted my blazer, and knocked.

​"Enter," Luke’s voice barked from inside. It was cold, clipped, and utterly devoid of the warmth that used to fill my small island home.

​I pushed the doors open. The office was an expanse of glass and steel, overlooking the sprawling chaos of Makati. Luke was seated behind a desk that looked like it cost more than my parents’ farm. To my surprise, he wasn't alone. Mateo Velez was lounging in one of the leather armchairs, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a relaxed smirk on his face.

​"You’re on time, Martin," Luke said without looking up from his tablet. "Barely."

​"It’s 4:59, sir," I replied, stepping forward and placing the silver flash drive on the polished mahogany surface. "The edit is complete."

​Luke finally looked up. His eyes were sharp, scanning me with a clinical detachment that made me want to shrink. He reached for the drive, his fingers brushing against mine for a fleeting second. I felt a jolt—a phantom spark of the connection we once had—but his expression didn't change. He plugged the drive into his computer, the silence in the room stretching until it felt suffocating.

​"Let’s see if the 'secondary camera' is as talentless as the primary," Luke muttered, mostly to himself.

​The large monitor on the wall came to life. The footage played—the walkthrough, the candid shots, the way the light hit the Cromwell logo. It was good. I knew it was good. I had captured the "visionary" look Monica wanted, but I had also managed to keep that slight, human shadow in his eyes that only I knew how to find.

​"Hmm," Luke hummed, his face unreadable.

​"Actually, Luke," Mateo interrupted, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen. "It’s better than good. It’s exceptional."

​Luke’s jaw tightened. He turned his chair slightly to look at Mateo. "I didn't ask for your critique, Velez."

​"You didn't have to. Anyone with eyes can see the difference," Mateo said, standing up and walking toward me. He stood close—too close for professional comfort—and looked directly at the monitor. "Look at the way she handled the depth of field here. She didn't just film you; she caught the weight of the room. This isn't corporate propaganda, Luke. This is art."

​Mateo turned his gaze to me, his eyes warm and full of genuine admiration. "Incredible job, Hannah. I’ve seen the work of veterans who’ve been here for ten years, and they don't have half the soul you put into these frames. You have a rare gift."

​"Thank you, Mr. Velez," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I could feel Luke’s gaze burning into the side of my face.

​"It’s 'Mateo' to you, Hannah," he said with a wink that felt like a deliberate provocation aimed at the man behind the desk.

​"That's enough," Luke snapped. The sound of his palm hitting the desk made me jump. He stood up, towering over us both. "The footage is... adequate. It meets the technical requirements."

​"Adequate?" Mateo laughed, shaking his head. "You’re being a bore, Luke. Just admit she’s the best thing to happen to your media department since you took over."

​Luke ignored Mateo. He stepped around the desk, stopping inches away from me. The scent of his expensive, cold cologne filled my lungs. Up close, he was even more intimidating, but beneath the arrogance, I saw the fatigue in his eyes. For a split second, I wanted to reach out and touch his arm, to ask him if his head still hurt when it rained.

​"You think you’re special because Velez likes your work?" Luke asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Don't let his flattery go to your head. In this company, you’re only as good as your last mistake. And I’m still waiting for you to make one."

​"I don't intend to, sir," I said, meeting his gaze.

​"We'll see." Luke turned his back on me, returning to the view of the city. "Get out. Both of you. I have work to do."

​Mateo walked me to the door, placing a hand on the small of my back to guide me out. "Ignore him, Hannah," he whispered as we stepped into the hallway. "He’s just frustrated because he can't find a single thing to complain about. You’re a star."

​As the office doors closed behind us, I looked back at the wood and gold. I had survived the deadline. I had won the praise of a board member. But the man who mattered most was still a thousand miles away, even if he was standing right in front of me.

The hallway outside Luke’s office was silent, the thick carpet muffling our footsteps. I was still shaking from the coldness of Luke’s "adequate" rating, but Mateo seemed energized by the tension. He didn't let go of the door handle until he was sure we were well away from the CEO's ears.

​"He’s a difficult man to impress, isn't he?" Mateo asked, falling into step beside me as we headed toward the elevators. "But don't let his silence fool you. Luke is terrified of talent he can't control. And right now, he realizes he can't control yours."

​"I'm just trying to do my job, Mr. Velez," I said, my voice still a bit breathless.

​"Mateo," he corrected again, stopping by the glass windows that looked out over the city lights. He turned to face me, his expression shifting from playful to something much more serious. "Hannah, let’s be honest. You’re wasted in the media department. You’re being treated like a glorified shutterbug when you clearly have the vision of a director."

​I looked at him, surprised. "I’m new here. I have to start somewhere."

​"You don't have to start in a place that tries to break you," Mateo countered. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. "I’m expanding my own division within the board—Strategic Brand Development. I need someone who can capture the soul of our projects, not just the specs. I want you on my team, Hannah."

​My heart skipped a beat. "On your team?"

​"As my Creative Lead," he said, and the title alone made my head spin. "I’ll double your current salary. No, triple it. You’ll have your own budget, your own equipment, and most importantly, you won't have to answer to a man who thinks 'adequate' is a compliment. You’d be reporting directly to me."

​Triple the pay. That was more money than I had ever dreamed of. It was enough to send back home to help my parents fix the irrigation on the farm. It was enough to buy Ashton the medical equipment he needed for his missions.

​"Why would you do this for me?" I asked, suspicious. "You barely know me."

​"I know enough," Mateo said, his eyes lingering on mine. "I know talent when I see it, and I know when a woman is being undervalued. Plus, I think we’d make a formidable team. What do you say? Leave the 12th floor. Come up to the boardroom with me."

​I looked toward the executive elevators. If I took this offer, I would be safe. I would have the money I needed and the professional respect I deserved. But I would also be moving further away from Luke. I would be his rival’s "asset."

​"I... I need to think about it," I managed to say.

​"Of course. It’s a big move," Mateo said, reaching out and gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The gesture was intimate, a silent claim that made me stiffen. "Take the night. Sleep on it. But remember, Hannah—some people save you because they have to. I’m choosing you because I want to."

​He walked away then, leaving me standing in the hall with my heart in my throat.

​When I got back to the media bullpen, it was nearly empty. Only the dim glow of the monitors remained. I sat at my desk, looking at the silver flash drive Luke had handed back to me.

​Suddenly, my desk phone rang. It was an internal line.

​"Martin." ​The voice was unmistakable. It was Luke. He sounded tired, his usual sharp edge replaced by a strange, hollow resonance.

​"Sir?"

​"I’ve been reviewing the metadata of your edit," he said, and I could hear the sound of him clicking through files.

"There’s a three-second shot of the shore in the background of the lobby b-roll. Where was that taken?"

​My breath hitched. It was a shot I’d slipped in—a tiny, blurred glimpse of the horizon from a project I’d filmed back on the island. I didn't think he’d notice.

​"It was... from a previous project, sir. I thought the color matched the brand’s aesthetic."

​There was a long, heavy silence on the line. I could hear him breathing, a slow, rhythmic sound that transported me back to the quiet nights in my bedroom when he was recovering.

​"It looks... familiar," he whispered, almost to himself. Then, as if realizing who he was talking to, his voice snapped back to its cold, corporate frost. "Don't use unauthorized footage again. It’s a security risk. And Martin?"

​"Yes, sir?"

​"I heard Velez talking to you in the hall. Whatever he’s offering you... remember who signed your contract first."

​The line went dead.

​I stared at the phone, my mind racing. He noticed the shore. He noticed the island. And even through his arrogance and his memory loss, he was still watching me.

​Mateo offered me a future. But Luke... Luke was the only one who held my past.