Chapter 1: Dive (Walter)

Walter's Point of View

The fingers of my left hand tapped the desk one by one, like horses itching to sprint from the starting line, while my eyes stayed glued to the closed door. A slow grin stretched across my face the moment Samantha walked in.

Her smooth, sun-kissed skin seemed to glow, perfectly complementing the crisp white blouse she wore. Her round brown eyes, so expressive that it always betrayed her emotions. Her nose was delicately sculpted, fitting perfectly with those small lips. Her hair, long with soft curls at the ends, usually rested on her shoulders like gentle waves. She wasn’t particularly tall; when she stood beside me, her chin barely reached my shoulder. She looked exhausted—devastatingly stressed—but even then, her beauty didn’t dim.

“One hour late,” I said without looking away.

She shot me a glance but walked straight to her desk.

“I took my father to the hospital,” she replied as she set her bag down. Her voice lacked life. “Sorry. No one else could go with him.”

“Not my fault,” I said, rocking my swivel chair back and forth. She muttered something under her breath, but I didn’t catch it. Then she grabbed her laptop, opened it, and walked toward me.

“This is the data interpretation I worked on,” she said, placing the laptop in front of me.

I scanned the bar lines and numbers. There were paragraphs at the bottom—it was her written analysis.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, doubtful, lifting my gaze to her. “I’m having second thoughts because it feels like your mind is all over the place.”

She stepped closer, leaning in. Her shoulder brushed lightly against mine as she pointed to the line graph—specifically the downward curve representing the shifting demand in Visayas. Her vanilla perfume drifted over me, battling faint traces of alcohol still clinging to her clothes, probably from the hospital.

“You said here that Visayas is underperforming because of low demand,” she began before shifting her finger to the explanation she wrote. “But based on the shipment data and last quarter’s sales, Visayas isn’t underperforming at all. The fluctuation in demand is caused by shipment delays due to port congestion.”

She straightened and rested a hand on the back of my swivel chair, staring at me. Her eyes were burning with anger—rage intensified by what I’d said earlier. If looks could kill, I’d already be buried.

I smirked and placed my hand over hers. “You can leave now.”

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I placed one foot at the pool’s edge, stretched my arms forward, and bent into a dive. The cold water splashed upward as soon as it embraced my body. My arms carved a path through the water, slicing it cleanly while my legs fluttered in tight, rapid kicks—small but powerful—propelling me forward.

My chest tightened, but I didn’t stop. I stayed underwater and kept swimming until my hand brushed against the hard marble at the end of the pool.

I surfaced with a gasp, water streaming down my hair and back into the pool. Resting my arms on the edge, I turned to Sid—the heir of Marquez Jewelries and, more importantly, my best friend. He stood beside me with a phone in hand, wearing nothing but a pair of black swim briefs like mine.

He shook his head. “Forty-five seconds.”

I pressed my forehead into my palm. Forty-five? Earlier it was forty. My first one of the day was thirty-three.

A trained swimmer could finish this twenty-five-meter pool in eighteen seconds. Some professionals could do it in under fifteen. My average was twenty. And now it has doubled.

Pathetic.

“Is something bothering you?” Sid asked. Being my swimming partner, he knew exactly how fast I was supposed to be.

I looked up at him again. With both palms on the floor, I pushed myself up and sat on the poolside, turning away from him. My legs are still dangled in the water, stirring small ripples.

I watched the movement of my feet. “It’s Mom and Dad.”

I felt Sid sit beside me. He was the only person who knew everything weighing on me. He also knew about the promise I made to my parents last year.

“So? What now? Last time I checked, you still don’t have a girlfriend,” he teased, laughing. I shot him a look and elbowed him lightly. “Seriously, of all the things you could promise, why a girlfriend? You’ve been single for years.”

I fell quiet for a moment before I finally spoke.

“That’s what they want. A girlfriend. You know how old they are. They keep reminding me they still don’t have a grandchild,” I explained. “And they say I’m getting old. I’m only thirty-eight.”

“You’re indeed old,” Sid said, agreeing a little too fast—earning him a splash of water from me. He must’ve forgotten we’re the same age. “But really, why you? They could’ve asked Wesley. He could make them a grandchild in a week.”

He wasn’t wrong. If my younger brother were the one tasked with giving them a grandchild, they’d have ten by now. Wesley changed girlfriends like he's just changing his clothes—monthly, sometimes weekly.

But my parents, especially my father, didn’t trust him. They still thought he was immature.

“Actually, it's problem solved. I already found someone willing to be my fake girlfriend,” I said instead of answering him.

Sid turned to look at me. “Then what’s the problem?”

“With everything that’s going to happen at the event, and now that I’ll be introducing someone as my girlfriend . . . I don’t know how they’ll react,” I admitted. “What if they suddenly pressure me to get married?”

Sid burst out laughing and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Then make her as your fake wife too.”

“Idiot,” I muttered, grabbing his arm and shoving him straight into the water.