Chapter 1

She was halfway through her overpriced airport latte when she heard the voice she least wanted to hear.

“Late for your own mother’s engagement party?” Smooth. Icy. Familiar.

She turned slowly, already bracing for the smirk. How did he even know about the engagement party? Then it clicked—she had filed for vacation leave and listed her reason as her mother’s engagement. Of course, Andres had the final approval for all their vacations. She shook her head at her own carelessness.

Andres Bernardino stood beside her, suitcase in hand, tailored coat slung over one arm like he’d just stepped out of a luxury ad. His eyes scanned her outfit—black jeans, oversized blazer, messy bun—and settled on her face with amused disdain.

“You look… efficient,” he said.

She should have seen that coming. Andres never missed a chance to tease her, especially when the opportunity was perfect.

“I’m traveling,” she replied. “Not auditioning for a cologne commercial.” She rolled her eyes. She should be used to his barbs by now.

They’d known each other since childhood, and even then they were like cats and dogs.

He chuckled. “Still bitter about the proposal?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Still smug about rejecting it?”

They’d been sparring for months—over budgets, timelines, and the community housing project Ainara had poured her soul into. Andres, her boss, had dismissed it as “idealistic.” She’d called him “emotionally constipated.” HR had stopped intervening after the third round.

Now, apparently, they were flying to the same destination: Manila. Same flight. Same gate. Same emotional migraine.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to the Del Carmen engagement,” she said, already dreading the answer. It was impossible he’d be a guest at her mother’s engagement. Sure, their families knew each other, but he wasn’t close to her mom.

He raised an eyebrow. “I am. My father’s fiancée insisted.”

What? Her brain short‑circuited. His father’s fiancée?

Ainara blinked. “Wait. Your father’s fiancée?” Her heart pounded. “Is he getting married too?”

He nodded. “To Celia Del Carmen. Elegant. Former beauty queen. Likes orchids.”

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” she whispered. Her mother couldn’t be marrying Andres’s father. No way.

“Yes,” he said.

“No.”

Andres frowned, unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed. “Yes. You didn’t know?”

She stared at him, refusing to answer.

“Tell me you’re joking.” She still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It felt like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

“I don’t joke. Especially about family mergers.”

Her mouth went dry. Her mother—who had refused to name her fiancé for months—was marrying Andres’s father?

Which meant…

“You’re going to be my stepbrother,” she said, horrified. Ainara felt sick. How many times had she dreamed of Andres? Too many. And in every dream, it was always hot and—God. If her mother was marrying Jaime, Andres was really going to be her stepbrother. She shouldn’t be thinking these things.

He tilted his head. “Technically. Legally. Emotionally? God, I hope not.”

She grabbed her suitcase. “I need a drink.”

At the back of her mind, Ainara knew alcohol wasn’t a good idea. But right now, what choice did she have? Her life was spiraling, and all she could do was watch it happen.

He followed. “You already have one.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he only raised a brow.

“I need a stronger one.”

He trailed her to a wine bar inside the terminal.

“A glass of Pinot Grigio, please. Thank you.”

“And you, Sir?”

“Just Perrier.”

When their orders arrived, Ainara stayed silent, processing the news. Her mother had promised never to remarry. Her father had died of cardiomyopathy, a disease of the heart muscle. He’d taken medication but neglected his health—always working, eating irregularly, rarely exercising. It started with palpitations and shortness of breath. Five years later, Joaquin Del Carmen suffered a fatal heart attack.

Ainara was only twenty‑one, still in New York, not yet graduated. Devastated didn’t even begin to cover it.

“You really didn’t know they were engaged?” Andres asked.

She glared. “You think my surprise was fake?” She exhaled sharply. “My mother promised not to remarry, okay? So this wedding is just—God!” She drained her glass in one go.

“Can I have another one, please? Thanks!” She ordered again, pulling out cash.

“I don’t think you should have another drink.”

“And I think you should know you’re not the boss of me.” She shot him a look. They weren’t in the office. She was on vacation. He wasn’t her boss here. He wasn’t even her friend. Just her almost‑stepbrother.

Fuck.

Andres raised his hands. “It’s hard to travel when you’re tipsy. You don’t want people taking advantage of you. You don’t know who you’ll sit beside.”

She rolled her eyes and lifted her refilled glass. “I’d be more scared if I were sitting next to you.”

She glared again, but he only shook his head with a suppressed smile.

“What are you smiling about?” she snapped.

“Nothing. Why are you so cranky? You don’t even have jetlag yet.”

She ignored him. Then, without thinking, asked, “Who’s your plus one?”

“I don’t have one. You?”

“I don’t want to be your plus one.” She kept snapping, still furious at her mother. She thought her mom was marrying some random man. But Jaime? Her father had known him.

Andres laughed at her answer. Then, with a sigh, he reached out, tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

Ainara felt something. Like electricity.

“I wasn’t asking you to be my plus one—I was asking who’s yours.”

Cold water poured over her.

“I was being sarcastic. I don’t have a plus one. I don’t even approve of this engagement.”

“Your mother is a grown woman. She deserves to be happy.”

“She promised not to marry again.”

“If you got married and your husband died, would you never marry again?” he challenged.

“If I marry, it means I love that man. And I’ll only marry once. If he dies, my heart dies with him.”

“That’s… interesting.”

Ainara frowned. “You don’t believe in marriage?”

“I think marriage is overrated.”

“Whatever.”

When their flight was called, she finished her wine and stood. Andres caught her when she nearly slipped off the high bar stool.

“See what I mean? You shouldn’t drink. You almost fell—” He stopped when their eyes met. Their bodies pressed together, heat radiating. Andres swallowed. Ainara’s gaze was magnetic, pulling him in. He leaned closer, and she didn’t move away.

Then the announcement broke the moment. They pulled apart quickly, adjusting themselves.

At the gate, the attendant smiled too brightly. “Mr. Bernardino, Ms. Del Carmen—you’re seated together. Business class. 3A and 3B.”

Ainara groaned.