CHAPTER 5

(A Day Prior)

Francis's POV

A brutal throb behind my eyes ripped me from the depths of unconsciousness. I groaned, instantly recognizing the sterile scent and dull ache that signaled a hospital room. "You're awake." The voice, familiar and laced with concern, drew my gaze to the doorway. Carl, my cousin and closest confidant, entered, his face etched with worry. He rushed to my side, helping me adjust against the pillows, and it was then that I registered the thick, sterile bandage wrapped around my head. A silent question formed in my mind.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice raspy and strained.

"Don't you remember anything? You were in a car accident," Carl replied, his brow furrowed with a deep crease of worry. I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to summon the memories, but the effort only intensified the pounding in my skull. Fragments flickered – rain, blinding headlights, a sudden, sharp pain – but they remained disconnected, elusive.

"I... I don't remember anything," I confessed, frustration coloring my tone. The blank space in my memory was unsettling, a void that amplified the lingering unease.

"It's okay, don't push it," Carl soothed, his hand resting briefly on my arm. "The doctor said you need to rest for a few days, let your brain recover."

"I can't," I countered, my voice firm, brooking no argument. "You know I can't just disappear. The company needs me." It was a mantra I'd repeated countless times, a justification for the relentless pace I set for myself.

"Francis, you almost died! The company will survive a few days without you. Your health has to come first." Carl's voice was laced with a plea, a genuine concern that tugged at my conscience.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be away," I insisted, my tone softening slightly. "I'll be careful, I promise. I won't push myself too hard." It was a promise I wasn't sure I could keep, but I knew Carl wouldn't relent otherwise. The company was more than just a business; it was my legacy, my responsibility.

After a protracted debate, Carl, knowing my stubborn nature, reluctantly conceded. He insisted on cooking me a meal, a simple act of care that spoke volumes about our bond. I lived alone in my sprawling, modern house, a space that often felt too large and empty, but Carl visited frequently, a constant presence in my otherwise solitary life. We'd been friends since childhood, practically brothers, and he was the only person I truly trusted, the only one who saw beyond the carefully constructed facade I presented to the world.

I showered and changed, the cool water doing little to ease the persistent ache that throbbed behind my eyes. Standing before the full-length mirror, I studied my reflection, searching for any sign of weakness, any indication of the fragility I felt inside. The face that stared back was familiar, composed, the mask of the successful CEO firmly in place. But beneath the surface, a disquieting unease lingered, fueled by the fragmented memories and the unsettling blank space in my mind.

As I dressed, the image of a woman flashed unbidden into my thoughts – a face framed by dark hair, eyes that blazed with defiance, a vibrant energy that seemed to crackle in the air around her. The woman from the jeepney. The thief, or so she claimed. I shook my head, trying to dispel the image, but her face remained stubbornly imprinted in my mind.

(Flashback)

I was driving home, the city lights blurring into indistinct streaks of gray, my thoughts consumed by the complexities of a pending merger. The world around me was a muted landscape, a consequence of the monochromacy disorder that had plagued me since childhood. The vibrant hues that others took for granted – the fiery sunsets, the lush green of the trees, the brilliant blue of the sky – were lost to me, replaced by a spectrum of black, white, and shades of gray.

But then, there was her. The woman on the jeepney. For a fleeting moment, as our eyes met, I'd seen a flicker of color, a faint halo of vibrancy surrounding her. It was a fleeting illusion, a trick of the light perhaps, but it had been enough to capture my attention, to spark a flicker of curiosity in the desolate landscape of my world.

Lost in thought, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain erupt behind my eyes, a familiar symptom of the pressure and stress that had become my constant companions. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road, but the pain intensified, blurring my vision.

The rain was coming down in sheets, turning the road into a slick, treacherous surface. The headlights of oncoming cars were blinding, making it nearly impossible to see. My vision swam, the world tilting precariously, and then, everything went black.

(Flashback Ends)

I pressed my fingers to my throbbing temples, trying to quell the renewed wave of pain. The memory, incomplete and distorted, left me feeling disoriented and vulnerable. I turned away from the mirror, determined to focus on the present, to regain control.

As I walked down the grand staircase, I passed the elaborate flower arrangements that lined the walls of my home, a legacy of my late mother's passion for beauty. I ran a hand lightly over the petals of a lily, feeling the delicate texture beneath my fingertips, but unable to appreciate its color, its vibrancy. The beauty of the world remained just beyond my grasp, a constant reminder of what I was missing.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Carl asked, his voice laced with concern, as I sat down at the dining table, which was laden with the delicious-smelling food he had prepared. I forced a smile, determined to project an image of strength and resolve. "I'm fine, Carl," I said, picking up my fork and beginning to eat. "You don't have to worry about me."

After dinner, Carl insisted on washing the dishes, a familiar ritual that brought a sense of normalcy to the chaotic events of the past twenty-four hours. I helped by clearing the table, placing our plates in the sink, grateful for his quiet companionship, his unwavering support.

A few hours later, I headed to the company, determined to reclaim my position, to prove to myself and to everyone else that I was still in control. But fate, it seemed, had a different plan in store. I got stuck in the elevator, a claustrophobic metal box suspended between floors, the silence broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart. The darkness pressed in on me, amplifying the sense of vulnerability I'd been trying to suppress.

I called Ms. Gada for help, my voice tight with frustration. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator lurched back to life, and I stumbled out, grateful for the fresh air and the familiar surroundings of the office.

"Are you okay, Sir?" Ms. Gada asked, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to my side.

"Can I have the applications for the secretary position?" I asked, abruptly changing the subject, eager to put the incident behind me. She hesitated for a moment, her expression curious, then handed me the folder.

As I opened it, my eyes scanned the names and faces, searching for a particular spark, a flicker of recognition. And then, I saw her. Gianna Magsandingan. Her photograph, a simple headshot, seemed to radiate an energy that leaped off the page.

"Three applicants passed the initial screening, Sir--" Ms. Gada began, her voice hesitant.

"I want this girl," I interrupted, pointing to Gianna's photograph, my decision firm, unwavering.

"But Sir, her qualifications are a bit lacking, and she didn't quite meet all of the requirements you specified," Ms. Gada protested, her brow furrowed with concern. "And she was late for the interview."

"I said I want her to be my secretary," I stated, my voice leaving no room for argument. "End of discussion." I turned and headed towards my office, leaving her to follow my orders, her expression a mixture of confusion and resignation.

I didn't know why I was so drawn to her, why my mind was so fixated on getting to know her better. It was more than just curiosity, more than just a fleeting attraction. There was something about her, something I couldn't quite define, that compelled me, that drew me in like a moth to a flame.

I sat in my swivel chair, staring at Gianna's photograph, her image burned into my memory.

What is it about you, Gianna Magsandingan, that allows me to see a flicker of color in my otherwise grayscale world? Who are you, and why do you make me feel like I'm seeing the world for the first time?