Chapter 3

Sitting on the bench beside Federico, Jarima felt like her brain had been put through a blender on high speed.

On her left was Federico—a genuinely kind, ridiculously handsome government employee who had literally gone out of his way to buy her pastries and handle her bank complaint.

Hindi pa rin niya lubos maisip na may isang taong mataas ang posisyon na mag-aabala para sa kaniya.

In her hand was her phone, screen still faintly warm from the mysterious call with "Rafa" who sounded like he owned the entire city and had casually ordered her to keep their conversation a secret.

Ano ba talagang klaseng opisina 'yun sa Malacañang? Jarima thought, her hand shaking slightly as she slid her phone into her tote bag. Bakit pati 'yung mga staff doon, pampelikula 'yung dating?

"Hey," Federico’s warm voice pulled her out of her spiral. He leaned in slightly, hand holding out a fresh, flaky croissant wrapped in wax paper. "You look like you just saw a ghost, Jarima. Si Mr. Landlord ba 'yung tumawag?"

Croissant. Parang pandesal lang lagi ang kaya niyang bilhin.

"Ah! No, no," mabilis na ilag ni Jarima, accepting the pastry with a small, embarrassed smile. "Hindi po si Mr. Landlord. Tumawag lang... 'yung nag-assist sa 'kin sa bank follow-up."

Federico raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his own iced Americano. "Really? That was fast. Si Secretary Santos ba mula sa consumer desk? I sent him a quick message, pero hindi ko akalaing tatawagan ka niya agad-agad."

"Ah... 'di ko po masyadong nakuha 'yung buong pangalan," pagsisinungaling ni Jarima. Her conscience poked at her, but the sheer authority in Rafa's voice earlier made her refrain from mentioning his name. Mahirap na, baka confidential official 'yung nagngangalang Rafa na 'yun tapos ikapahamak pa ni Federico. "Ang sabi lang po, maayos na 'yung transfer. So... seriously, Federico, maraming salamat talaga."

Federico smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with an affection that was far too tender for two people who had just met hours ago. "I told you, you don't have to keep thanking me. Basta huwag ka na lang ulit tatawag sa helpline ng Palasyo para sa bank account mo."

Bigla naman ulit umakyat ang dugo niya sa mukha dahil sa hiya.

"Grabe ka! Isang beses lang naman 'yon!" Jarima groaned, hiding her face behind her croissant. "Saka 'di ba sinabi ko na sa 'yo na aksidente lang 'yun? G****e gave me the wrong display number!"

"And I will never let you live it down," Federico teased smoothly, reaching over to lightly tap the tip of her nose with his index finger.

The gesture was so casual, so affectionate, that Jarima froze. A faint blush crept up her neck, making her heart skip a chaotic beat. Federico didn't pull his hand away immediately; his gaze lingered on her face, searching her eyes with a quiet, undeniable warmth.

For a second, the bustling streets of San Miguel faded away. Federico wasn't just being polite anymore—he was openly, undeniably interested.

Ganito ba talaga siya makitungo sa katulad kong kakikilala lang niya?

"I mean it, Jarima," Federico said softly, his voice dropping into a intimate register. "I'm glad you accidentally dialed our office. It's the best thing that's happened to my schedule all week."

Jarima’s breath hitched in her throat. "Ah eh..."

Before the moment could linger any further, Federico's official wristwatch emitted a sharp, rhythmic beep.

Federico blinked, looking down at his watch before letting out a soft, regretful sigh. "Duty calls, again. The Security Council briefing starts in ten minutes."

"Naku, umalis ka na!" mabilis na tulak ni Jarima sa kanya, relieved and slightly disappointed at the same time. "Ayokong maging dahilan kung bakit ka masisisante sa Malacañang! Baka makulong na talaga ako niyan!"

Federico stood up, smoothing down his tailored trousers and buttoning his suit jacket with practiced ease. "They won't fire me. But the President hates it when people are late."

The President.

Jarima winced internally at the title, remembering her embarrassing "President President?" remark. "Sige na, takbo na! Salamat ulit sa kape at pastry!"

Federico took a step away, then paused, looking back at her with a charming, hopeful smirk. "Can I text you later? When my shift ends?"

Kumunot ang noo ni Jarima pero agad niya iyong itinago sa binata. Why would he like to text me? she thought to herself.

Jarima looked up at him, confused yet feeling a genuine flutter in her chest. "Sige. Text ka na lang."

With a final, lingering smile, Federico turned and hurried toward the gated perimeter of the Palace grounds, leaving Jarima sitting alone under the shade of the acacia tree.

She let out a long, ragged breath, slumping back against the bench. "Kalma, Jarima. Normal na tao ka lang na may rent problems. Huwag kang mag-assume na love story na 'to."

She pulled out her phone to double-check her bank account once more, just to ensure the green checkmark wasn't a hallucination.

As soon as she unlocked the screen, a new notification popped up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER (1) NEW MESSAGE.

Jarima clicked it.

Unknown: Did Davino buy you lunch?

Jarima blinked, her jaw dropping. Mabilis siyang tumingin sa paligid. The park was relatively quiet. There were few students studying under distant trees, a street vendor pushing a cart, and a couple of blacked-out SUVs parked near the government compound gates across the street.

Nobody was looking at her.

She quickly typed back.

Jarima: Sino 'to? Sir Rafa?

The reply came back almost instantaneously, as if the sender had been staring at his screen waiting for her response.

Rafa: The one and only. Did he?

Jarima frowned at her screen, her fingers flying across the keypad in a flurry of bewildered words.

Jarima: Bakit niyo po tinatanong? Tsaka paano niyo po nalaman na bibilhan niya ako ng pagkain? Pinapasundan niyo po ba kami?

Inside the high-security executive lounge of Malacañang, President Rafa stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass window, a cup of black coffee in one hand and his personal phone in the other.

Reading her reply, Rafa let out a quiet laugh that made two nearby Presidential Security Group (PSG) agents exchange subtle, confused glances. The President was usually a stoic, unyielding wall during work hours. Today, he looked like a mischievous high schooler pulling a prank.

Rafa typed back effortlessly.

Rafa: I didn't need to stalk you. Federico literally boasted about buying pastry for a 'distressed citizen' before he left the building. So, did you eat it?

Jarima stared at her screen, shaking her head in total exasperation.

Jarima: Kumain po ako, opo. At masarap po 'yung croissant. Bakit po parang tsismoso kayo, Sir Rafa? Di ba dapat busy kayo sa government work?

Rafa raised an eyebrow at his phone, his smile widening into a sharp, amused grin. Tsismoso? Nobody had ever dared call the President of the Republic a gossip.

Rafa: I am very busy. But taking a five-minute break to check on the citizen who called our office asking for 'President President' is top priority.

Jarima nearly choked on her own saliva. Leche?

Jarima: SIR! Sabi niyo po kalilimutan niyo na 'yun! with a crying emoji.

Rafa: said I'd consider it. I never promised.

Jarima: Napakadaya niyo po! Tsaka bakit po pala ayaw niyo ipasabi kay Federico na tumawag kayo sa 'kin kanina? Magkakilala naman kayo 'di ba?

Rafa’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. His expression softened, the playful teasing giving way to a more complex, unreadable look. He looked out at the city skyline. If Federico found out he was messaging Jarima, Federico would instantly know what was happening. Federico knew him too well. He would see that Rafa wasn't just amused—he was genuinely intrigued.

And for the first time in his public life, Rafa wanted something, someone, without the weight of his office involved.

He typed back carefully.

Rafa: Because Davino is competitive. If he knows I helped you fix your account, he'll feel upstaged. Let him think he's your sole savior for today.

Jarima read the message, feeling a strange mix of amusement and confusion. Magkaibigan nga talaga 'tong dalawang 'to, she thought. Mga laking-yaman na mataas ang pride.

Jarima: Ang weird niyo pong magkaibigan. Pero sige po, secret lang. Salamat po ulit, Sir Rafa.

Rafa: Don't thank me yet. You still owe me.

Jarima’s eyes widened.

Jarima: Po?! Utang? Akala ko po ba civic duty niyo 'yun?

Rafa: Civic duty is fixing the problem. Personal service is expediting it in under ten minutes. That costs a cup of coffee.

Jarima stared at the text message in complete disbelief. Kapal ng mukha nitong si Sir Rafa! Nagpapasweldo ba ang gobyerno sa kanya para lang manghingi ng libreng kape?

Before she could type a sharp, sarcastic retort, a heavy black SUV with dark tinted windows and official government plates pulled up to the curb right in front of the park bench where she was sitting.

The front passenger door opened, and a burly man in a crisp barong and dark sunglasses stepped out. He looked scanning the park, his eyes immediately locking onto Jarima.

Jarima’s heart slammed into her throat. Jusko po. PSG? Ipakukulong na ba ako?

The man walked straight toward her, stopping a respectful two paces away. He bowed slightly. "Miss Jarima Carvajal?"

"Opo..." Jarima stammered, clutching her tote bag against her chest like a shield. "Bakit po? Wala po akong ginagawang masama! Nabayaran ko na po 'yung rent ko!"

The security detail didn't smile. Instead, he produced a sleek, unmarked black envelope from his inner coat pocket and extended it toward her. "An urgent delivery from the Executive Office, ma'am. Instructions were to hand this to you directly."

Jarima’s hands trembled as she took the heavy paper envelope. "Para sa akin po?"

"Yes, ma'am. Have a good day." The officer offered a brief nod, turned on his heel, climbed back into the SUV, and drove away as quickly as he had arrived.

Jarima sat frozen on the bench, her heart pounding violently against her ribs. She looked down at the black envelope in her hands. There was no wax seal, no official letterhead—just her name written in precise, elegant, handwritten cursive: Jarima Carvajal.

With shaking fingers, she broke the seal and pulled out a heavy card stock note along with a official VIP visitor pass stamped with the gold crest of the Executive Office.

She unfolded the handwritten note.

Jarima,

My 4 pm briefing was just canceled. Since you offered to buy me thank-you pastries earlier, I am officially claiming that offer.

Use the pass attached. The driver waiting at the corner will bring you to the private west wing entrance.

Don't keep me waiting.

— R.V.

Jarima stopped breathing.

R.V.?

Her eyes darted frantically from the gold-embossed Presidential crest on the VIP pass to the initials at the bottom of the note.

Rafa.

R.V.

Rafael Villareal.

RAFAEL VILLAREAL?

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the absolute wind out of her lungs.

The man who had been teasing her on the phone...

The man who had laughed at her wrong-number panic...

The man who had casually demanded a cup of coffee...

Was not just a government employee.

He was the President of the Philippines.

Before her brain could fully process the earth-shattering horror, her phone buzzed in her limp hand. A new text message from Federico appeared on her screen:

Federico: Hey Jarima! Briefing ended early. I'm coming back out to the park to walk you to the station. See you in 2 minutes!

Jarima looked at Federico's text message, then at the black VIP pass in her hands, and then toward the corner of the street—where a second, blacked-out presidential vehicle was slowly idling, waiting to take her straight into Malacañang Palace.

"Gusto ko lang naman sana maayos ang bank account ko, bakit may presidente na ng Pilipinas na gusto akong makita? Idagdag mo pa si Federico!” impit na boses niyang reklamo sa sarili.

Her phone buzzed one last time at napatakad siya sa pwesto niya. Hindi niya alam ang gagawin.

Rafa: I see you reading the note, Jarima. Get in the car.