All Chapters of The Office Between Us: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Isabelle’s Monday began with the comforting, mundane rhythm of habit. The aroma of brewing coffee filled her small apartment, a stark contrast to the relentless gray of the morning sky outside. She was dressed in her sensible work uniform—a simple black polo and slacks—and was scrolling through her phone, a quiet ritual before she had to face the noisy reality of her coffee shop job. The world was still, peaceful, a temporary bubble of calm before the storm she never saw coming.A notification from Carla shattered the stillness. It wasn’t the usual cheerful emoji or a meme. It was a link, followed by a frantic, capital-lettered message: ISABELLE, ARE YOU SEEING THIS?!Puzzled, Isabelle clicked the link. It led to a news site she didn’t recognize, but the headline blazed in a jarringly familiar font: CEBU GETAWAY? BILLIONAIRE DAMIAN VILLAREAL SPOTTED WITH A MYSTERY WOMAN.Beneath the headline was a photo.Her blood ran cold. The photo was of her and Damian. It was from the private beac

Isabelle sat in the stillness of Damian's private office, the silence a stark contrast to the internal storm raging within her. She was a woman remade, at least on the surface. The simple black dress clung to her with a quiet elegance, a testament to the stylist's skill. Her hair, usually pulled back in a practical ponytail, now fell in soft, professional waves. Her face, a canvas of fatigue and worry moments ago, was now perfectly made up, her eyes defined with a subtle smokey shadow that made them look larger, more intense. She looked every bit the powerful socialite the tabloids were trying to brand her as, a cruel and twisted irony. The reflection in the darkened window was a stranger. She wasn't Isabelle. She was a meticulously crafted persona, a soldier for a battle she never signed up for.The thought of the upcoming press conference was a heavy, suffocating weight. She was terrified. But there was a different, more powerful feeling now, too: a fierce protectiveness over Damian

The gentle, persistent drumming of rain against the window was a mournful soundtrack to Isabelle’s spiraling thoughts. Damian’s embrace, the raw honesty in his eyes, the bone-deep weariness he carried—it had all been so real. He had given it all up for her. The thought, once a fleeting fear, was now a crushing, undeniable truth. The news headline, emblazoned on her phone screen, felt like a public accusation. CEO DAMIAN VILLAREAL RESIGNS IN SHOCK MOVE. Her name wasn't in the article, but she knew it was there, a silent, damning asterisk.He was sleeping now, his head resting against her shoulder on her small couch, the exhaustion of the day finally claiming him. She had run her fingers through his damp hair, feeling the faint tremor of his body as he surrendered to sleep. He looked younger, softer, without the weight of his empire on his shoulders. This was the man she had fallen in love with—not the CEO, but the man behind the cold facade. And it was this man she had to save from his

The silence of Isabelle Dela Cruz's small apartment was no longer the comfortable stillness of a safe harbor. It was a vacuum, a hollow void left by the absence of a man who had, for a brief, glorious period, filled every corner of her life. The rain had stopped, and the hazy sun now streamed through her window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air—a quiet, mundane scene that felt like a mockery of the storm that still raged within her. Two weeks had passed since she had walked away from Damian. Two weeks of sleepless nights, of forcing down lukewarm coffee, and of a heart that felt like a bruised, heavy stone in her chest.The guilt was a physical thing. It was in the way her stomach knotted every time a news alert popped up on her phone, a constant, nagging reminder of the chaos she had created in Damian’s world. The headlines were relentless: "Villareal Holdings Stock Volatility Continues," "Board Seeks to Recalibrate," "The Void Left by Damian Villareal." She was not men

The world believed Damian Villareal had vanished. The media speculated, his family panicked, and his friends worried. But they were all wrong. Damian had not fled the country, nor had he retreated to some private, sun-drenched island. His vanishing was an illusion, a self-imposed exile in the very heart of the city he had once commanded. He was a ghost in his own penthouse, a man haunting the halls of the life he had so willingly discarded.His days were a quiet, repetitive ritual of pain. He existed in a perpetual state of twilight, the heavy curtains of his bedroom drawn against the glare of the day. The vast, luxurious space, a testament to his ambition, now felt like a gilded cage. He barely ate, and the few hours of sleep he managed were plagued by dreams of Isabelle’s face, of her tear-filled eyes, of the sound of her voice as she said goodbye. He had lost everything, but his obsession with the woman who had caused his fall was his only tether to the world he had left behind.Hi