Chapter 5 : The Almost Second Encounter

Earlier That Morning

Lucas’ POV

I woke up feeling like someone had cracked my skull open and forgot to glue it back.

And just when I thought I could go back to sleep, a loud, annoying sound pierced through my eardrums.

Groaning, I reached blindly for the phone somewhere near my pillow and pressed it to my ear without opening my eyes.

“Yeah… talk to me,” I said, half-dead and fully irritated.

“Lucas! Where the hell are you?!”

My eyes flew open at the sound of that unmistakable voice.

Oh no.

Dad.

“D-Dad? Oh, uh—hi!” I scrambled up, only to regret it instantly as the world spun like a cheap carnival ride.

Damn those tequilas.

Two days and they’re still kicking.

Then again, maybe finishing two bottles straight wasn’t one of my brightest ideas.

“What happened to you?” my father’s voice barked through the phone. “Two days with no updates! Your secretary said you were back in New York, but you haven’t called. Not even once!”

I rubbed my temples and sighed. Seriously?

Two days of silence and the man’s already filing a missing person report.

Well, that’s my father—Mr. Anthony Daniels.

The kind of man who runs an empire like it’s a military operation.

Every hour of his life is scheduled… and apparently, so is mine.

“Uh, sorry, Dad,” I mumbled. “I just had a little get-together with some old friends. You know, the Arevellos.”

Then I froze.

Oops. Wrong name drop.

“Oh, you mean Dante’s lazy, good-for-nothing kids?” Dad snapped. “Well, that explains everything.”

Fantastic. Now my headache had backup.

“Dad, it was just a meet-up. We haven’t seen each other since graduation.”

I sounded defensive, even to myself.

“Alright then,” he said, dripping sarcasm. “What productive thing did you accomplish at this meet-up? Come up with new business strategies—or just chase women again? You’re thirty-six, Lucas!”

I rolled my eyes. Here we go again.

“When I was your age, I already had five companies, a hundred employees, and—”

Yeah, yeah. I’ve memorized this speech so well I could recite it in my sleep.

“Are you even listening to me?” he barked.

“Yes, Dad. Every golden word,” I replied dryly.

He let out a long, heavy sigh — the kind that carried years of frustration.

“I just don’t get it, Lucas. You used to be one of the brightest — top of your class in both Civil Engineering and Law.”

“People change, Dad,” I said casually.

“Well, I don’t want you to be one of them.Listen to me.”

He paused, which was never a good sign.

Pauses from Dad meant emotional monologues incoming.

“I’m getting old,” he said finally. “And probably sick sooner than later. I just want you to have a better life ahead of you. Two things, Lucas—success and a family of your own.”

“Dad, are you narrating your last will right now?” I teased.

“God damn it, Lucas! Can you take this seriously for once?!”

“Okay, okay! I’m listening.”

“I want you to get married.”

I nearly choked. “Dad, I haven’t even matched half your achievements yet, and you’re already throwing me into marriage? Let’s take this one crisis at a time.”

“And when exactly do you plan to get married? When you’re old and wrinkled? I want to see my grandchild while I can still walk, Lucas!” he shot back. “One thing I learned in this life—money means nothing if you have no one to love you. And I don’t want you ending up like that.”

“Dad…”

“After your mom passed away, my life was never the same. You know that.”

⸻

The mention of Mom hit me like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I suffered too. But him? He lost everything.

Maybe that’s why, no matter how much he nags, I still try to make him proud.

I became his friend, his therapist, his right-hand man—anything just to fill the hole she left behind.

Everything he asked of me, I did.

Everything except one thing.

The one thing he’s been asking since I turned thirty.

Marriage.

Damn it—I can run a multimillion-dollar company, but the idea of running a family?

That’s another story.

⸻

“But Dad,” I tried again, “I haven’t exactly met the woman who could be the mother of your grandchild yet. Can we skip that part for now?”

“What do you mean? You’ve dated dozens of women! Don’t tell me not one of them was serious?”

I rubbed my temple again. “There was someone… but she left.”

Just like all the others.

Same argument. Same ending.

Apparently, not giving your girlfriend quality time is relationship suicide. Who knew?

“So you’re saying you were just fooling around.”

“No, Dad—it’s just that…”

You’re the one who keeps filling up my schedule, I wanted to say.

But nope. I wasn’t suicidal.

“You need to fix your life now, son,” he said firmly. “Don’t make me add this condition to my last will and testament.”

I let out a dry laugh. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. Get yourself a wife before the end of this year—or I’ll donate all my money to charity.”

I blinked. “…You’re kidding.”

“Try me.”

“Well then,” I muttered, leaning back against my pillow, “guess I’ll have to pick someone soon.”

And then, for some reason, one particular face popped into my head.

A small Filipina cleaner… who somehow managed to drag me to a couch.

“How about a cleaner, maybe?” I muttered, half-joking.

“I don’t care,” Dad said. “As long as she’s respectful and strong-willed.”

Strong-willed, huh?

Yeah. She definitely passed that test.

“Anyway,” Dad continued, back to his business mode. “Since you’re there, check the visa of my new employee. The company attorney’s taking too long. Get it done immediately.”

“Okay, sure,” I said with a smirk.

And just like that, our emotional father-son moment ended—back to business as usual.

—

I walked straight into the reception area of my father’s law firm as soon as I get there— just one of the many companies my family somehow manages to own in the States.

Aside from the mandatory errand he’d dumped on me, I had a few side appointments here in New York that were supposed to be done two days ago.

Keyword: supposed to.

But no, thanks to those clowns I met the other night, my entire schedule went downhill.

Dad was right — hanging out with old “friends” only gave me two things: a pounding headache and a sore back.

“Hello, good morning,” I greeted the receptionist with my best I’m-not-hungover smile.

She flashed me a grin that was a little too flirty for 9 a.m.

“Good morning, Mr. Daniels. Mr. Rivera is waiting in his office.”

“Good,” I replied, adjusting my jacket. “Does he already know why I’m here?”

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to escort you to his office?”

I waved her off. “No need. I know the way.”

But the moment I turned toward the elevator, I froze.

Right there—standing by the corner of the lobby—was a face I definitely didn’t expect to see again.

For a full five seconds, we just stared at each other.

Wide eyes. Mutual shock. Awkward silence.

Oh, there’s no way I could mistake her.

That petite, cute Filipina.

The runaway cleaner-slash-illegal-alien I heroically saved from the cops.

“This way, ma’am,” said the woman beside her, motioning toward the exit.

The Filipina instantly looked away like I was the last person she wanted to see on Earth, clutching her bag and rushing off with another girl her size.

I blinked, tempted to call out—but the receptionist’s voice yanked me back to reality.

“Sir? Mr. Rivera’s office is this way.”

“Uh—yeah,” I muttered, turning back just in time to see… absolutely nothing.

They were gone.