Chapter 3 the envelope and the echoes

The letters leaped before her eyes. Marriage. Proposal. One year. Payment.

Elira read the letter five times, and still it didn't make sense.

The diner had shut down, the chairs turned upside down onto tables, the floors half-mopped and drying. The only light in the backroom flickered ever so slightly, and the sound of the refrigerator hum was all that remained as the diner's heartbeat at last slowed.

She gazed once more at the last line.

"If you accept, phone the number below. We will start preparations straight away."

Her fingers curled with the urge to crumple the letter and shove it in the trash. Her instincts shrieked scam. Joke. Some kind of sick prank by a man with more power than brains.

But the name. Caelan Ferrer. That was not just anyone.

She recalled the article now—Ferrer Holdings CEO Announces No Interest in Marriage. Too Busy for Love, He Claims.

And here he was, appearing in a grease-stained diner inviting her to sign on to marry him?

A wealthy man soliciting a struggling waitress for an arranged marriage. It was too ridiculous, too over-the-top, like one of those W*****d novels her younger cousin read like candy. But this was not fiction. This was reality. And frightening.

She picked up her phone.

But instead of dialing the number, her hands seemed to move themselves in dialing another.

It rang twice.

"Ate Leni?"

"El?" Leni's voice on the other line was tired and strained with concern. "Finally. Are you all right? I've been trying since this morning."

"I was working. I just read your message."

There was silence. Then, quietly: "Mama's not good. The doctor says that her kidneys are failing again. The dialysis isn't as effective as it used to be."

Elira sat back against the wall, her eyes closed. "How bad?"

"She needs to change hospitals. Private treatment. But El, we can't pay for it. I've already borrowed money from everybody I can. I just… I didn't know who else to turn to."

Elira bit the inside of her cheek hard. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You always say that.”

This time, Elira didn’t promise. She hung up, heart aching. No tears. There was no time for that anymore.

She stared at the envelope again. Marriage of convenience. One year. No intimacy. No obligations beyond appearances. Full medical expense coverage.

Her conscience screamed. But the math was too loud.

---

The next morning, Elira didn’t go to work.

She phoned Mariz and informed her that she had an emergency to take care of. Mariz, to her credit, didn't ask any questions. Just grunted and said "don't die out there.

Elira showered, pulled out her cleanest blouse, the one she usually reserved for job interviews, and paired it with faded slacks that had seen better days. She tied her ponytail higher, swiped on the thinnest layer of lipstick, and stared at herself in the mirror.

“You’re not crazy,” she told her reflection. “You’re just… considering options.”

She dialed the number on the letter.

A woman's voice picked up on the second ring. Tidy, brisk.

"Ferrer Holdings. You've reached Mr. Ferrer's private assistant."

"Hello. This is Elira Cruz. I got. something from Mr. Ferrer yesterday."

"Please hold."

The line clicked.

Then: "Miss Cruz?"

The voice was certain. As though Caelan had known she would call.

"I—yes."

"Good. I'll have a car pick you up an hour from now. We'll discuss details in person."

And that was it. No warm-up. No hesitation. Pure certainty.

---

At precisely 9:43 AM, a black town car pulled up in front of her apartment building. She stood there, awkwardly holding onto her bag, aware of every wrinkle in her outfit.

The driver opened the door silently.

The trip to Makati was smooth, quiet, and dreamlike. They drove past banks, glass skyscrapers, and towered-over branded edifices. The nearer they were to the financial center of the city, the tinier Elira felt.

When the vehicle stopped in front of the round driveway of a high-rise, she nearly turned back.

But then she thought of her mother. And she stepped out.

Inside, she was taken to the top floor. The elevator was glass, giving a slow, dizzying panorama of the skyline.

She entered a realm of black marble and chrome. A receptionist waved discreetly toward the double doors in front.

They swung open for her without a knock.

Caelan Ferrer stood at the window, hands in pockets, gazing out over the city as if he owned the very air.

"Elira Cruz," he said, turning.

"Mr. Ferrer," she replied, not knowing what to do with her hands.

"Sit," he waved to a sleek white couch. "We have a lot to talk about."

She sat, her shoulders stiff, heart racing. He strode over and gave her a binder.

"The letter was just a summary. This is the complete contract."

She opened it. Thicker than she'd anticipated. Legalese, provisions, timelines.

"It's real," he stated flatly.

"I don't get it," she whispered. "Why me?"

Caelan paused. Then sat across from her, his elbows on his knees.

"Three reasons," he replied. "First, I have to be married by the end of this quarter. It's part of a trust I'm trying to access—one that will decide the fate of a very big merger."

Elira blinked. "And…?"

"Second, I require someone who isn't a socialite, or in the tabloids, or trying to make it to the top of my world. You're clean. Invisible. Private."

"And third?"

His jaw clenched a little. "You were involved in something. personal. Years ago. You just didn't know it."

Her blood turned cold. "What do you mean?"

"My brother. Matteo Ferrer. He died six years ago."

Elira's eyes widened. "I—I'm sorry. I don't know anyone named Matteo."

"I know you," Caelan said, voice level. "But he knew you."

He gave her a creased photograph.

It was her. In college. She was laughing, holding a load of books. And next to her, smiling as if the sun had just risen for him—was a man she did not recognize.

"That's Matteo," Caelan said. "He was obsessed with you. Infatuated, even. You were his secret. He wrote about you in his journals."

Elira could hardly breathe.

"I just found out myself," he went on. "After… certain things were made clear."

"Why would that result in… this?" she said, rattling the photo.

"Because I don't want this business transaction to be dirty. Unseemly. But I also don't want to know what my brother saw in you."

"That's ridiculous," she exclaimed.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But so is life. And presently, this could be advantageous to both of us."

Elira stood. “You want to dig into your brother’s ghost by marrying me?”

“I want to fulfill the terms of a trust, maintain appearances, and possibly. learn something.”

“And you’re willing to pay for that?”

His gaze was ice. “I’m always willing to pay for results.”

Elira’s throat tightened.

“You’d be free after a year,” he added. “And financially stable.”

She looked back at the contract.