Prologue

Irene’s POV

There are really days when you just want to give up on everything.

I squeezed my eyes shut when I saw the clock on the bedside table. "I'm late again," I whispered while putting on shoes I hadn't cleaned since I waded through a flood in them last week.

I didn't even have time to brush my hair properly, one quick wash of the face, a bit of powder, and then that’s it, I just tied my hair in a knot at the back, not caring about how I looked. I didn't have time to eat. I didn't even get to drink water. I just rushed out of the apartment I'm renting on the third floor.

I remembered it’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to pay rent. Juliet from the next door keeps asking if I still have plans to pay. I said, “Next week, ma'am,” even though I knew no miracle was coming next week.

But maybe a miracle will happen and our boss will give a bonus, but that’s impossible.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I hurried down, racing against a few passersby while nearly slipping on the wet stairs. Upon exiting the building, I was greeted by the polluted air of Manila and the blazing sun, the kind of heat that seems to scream at you, "Welcome back to hell!"

I was only a few steps away from the gate when I realized a huge problem. I didn't have fare money.

“Oh God!" I slapped my forehead.

Everything was inside my bag, laptop, notes, resume, because I’m always ready to find another job if I get fired, but my wallet? Left in the kitchen. On top of the fridge.

I backtracked like an idiot, back to the building, back up the stairs, back to my unit. By the time I got back to the street, I was really, really late.

And in that company, being late is practically a sin.

In the jeepney, I forced myself to take deep breaths even though it was crowded, literally like sardines. But what's worse, there was even the smell of body odor. Just my luck.

At every red light, I looked at my watch. Clock-in starts at 8:30. It’s already 8:42. I was getting nervous. Sweating. I didn’t know if it was because of the heat, or because I knew I was going to get lectured again.

Tirso Gotiangco. The CEO, creative director, and the golden boy of GT Global. The one with the most awards in the entire history of the industry. And the man who hates me for reasons I don't even understand.

When I make a mistake, well, I make mistakes often but I do try to correct them. But when he yells at me, it makes me feel so small. It’s like I’m the only one he ever notices.

“Irene, are you serious?” “This deck is garbage. Redo it.” “Who approved this font choice? Were you drunk?” that’s what I always hear from him.

Even when I’m just quiet, even when I just want to do my job, it’s like he automatically goes on alert whenever I’m the one who did the work.

Sometimes I wonder, am I stupid?

But here’s the weirder part: no matter how annoyed he is with my work, I know he’s the one who fixes it. He doesn’t say it, but I know. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the edits. I’ve seen the changes. I’ve seen the work go from garbage to brilliance because he fixed it.

But he never said he was the one who did it. He never acknowledged it. He also never told me why he helps someone like me who keeps failing.

I don’t know what’s up with that boss of mine. He's so confusing sometimes.

When I arrived at the office, it was exactly 9:01 a.m. I’m really dead this time.

I swiped my ID in the turnstile and went straight to the elevator. Everything was quiet. Office air is always tense when you’re late.

And when I reached our floor, I was met with the soundtrack of keyboard clicks and quiet breathing.

I passed by the group in the pantry who were laughing softly, but when I walked by, they went silent.

“Oh my God, she’s late again,” one whispered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if her salary is always deducted,” another added.

I just didn't pay them any mind. I’m used to it. Always being whispered about.

I took my mug from the drawer and mixed some instant coffee in the pantry. I needed the caffeine to boost my courage so that if I ever get scolded, I can handle it.

When I got back to my desk, a folder with a post-it was already sitting on my table.

“Deck. Revise. Meeting in 1 hour. —TG”

TG. Tirso Gotiangco. Just the initials are enough to give me chills.

I sat down and set the coffee down. And in my rush to fix the mouse, I bumped the mug. Straight onto the keyboard. The warm coffee spilled directly onto the files, the desk, and my hand.

“Shiiît!” I whispered, frantically pulling papers away. But it was too late, they were soaked.

Right then, Tirso walked by behind me.

“What the hell happened here?”

I froze and slowly turned around.

Tirso in his black shirt, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp as always. He was staring intensely at my desk as if it were a crime scene.

I am really dead now!

“I-I spilled coffee,” I whispered.

“Of course you did.”

I went silent. I wanted to explain and say that I didn't mean to. But I didn't say it. Because I know that no matter what I say, his mind is closed to listening.

“Clean that up. Now. And you better have a revised deck in my inbox in 45 minutes. Or I'll punish you."

He didn’t wait for my reply. He walked away with his hands in his pockets as if he were doing rounds, checking if the work was being done properly. That’s how strict he is as a boss.

I cleaned up the mess. I hung the wet printouts on the side of my cubicle. A few officemates threw glances my way. Some were disappointed. Some were pitying. Most were indifferent.

And then I opened the deck, revised everything, while my hand stung from the coffee burn, while my stomach growled from not eating, while my chest felt so heavy it might explode.

But I made it. I sent him the new file at exactly 9:48 a.m. At 9:52, my Slack pinged.

Tirso: "Better."

Just one word. But I felt like I was floating in the air.

Why did that word feel like a win?

I looked at his office, glass walls and all. He was staring at his screen, one hand on his chin, unreadable.

Was he looking at my work? But he said, "Better," which means it’s okay with him.

But I thought, even though he always scolds me, why hasn't he fired me yet?

I blinked and immediately looked away when he suddenly looked in my direction.

Did he catch me looking at him?