She had been staring blankly at her desk since she arrived at work. Troy wasn't in the office either. According to the receptionist, he had a meeting with an investor. Not that she cared. She was still annoyed thinking about how he locked himself up with Trina in his office the day before.
She scratched her head and sighed. Why on earth did she agree to have lunch with Seymour today? She could've just stayed inside the office. But maybe this wasn't a mistake. She had to admit, she enjoyed talking to him. For a while, he made her forget about Troy. Maybe this was why Seymour suddenly returned, to remind her that silence could feel like peace, not punishment.
11:55 AM
Just a few more minutes.
Her phone rang, and she couldn't help the small smile that formed on her lips. Seymour. She quickly grabbed her designer bag, turned off her laptop, and glanced at her reflection in the small mirror on her desk before answering the call.
"Hey," his voice said from the other end. "I'm downstairs."
"I'll be right there," she replied, grabbing her coat and heading out. She simply nodded at the receptionist as she passed.
Outside the building, Seymour was already waiting beside a sleek black car. He wore sunglasses, one hand in his pocket, looking like the kind of man women write poetry about. He gave her a quick glance and smiled.
"Wow!" he said, opening the car door for her. "I don't remember you dressing like this for me before."
She chuckled as she slid into the seat. "Maybe I didn't have a reason to."
He leaned over and fastened her seatbelt for her, giving her a playful wink that made her laugh. Seymour had always been like that —charming, attentive. That's what she used to like about him. Back when he courted her, he treated her like royalty. It was a shame how fast their relationship ended… and even more surprising how quickly she moved on. Or maybe she never really had to. Maybe she never loved him enough to grieve.
They drove to a quiet Italian restaurant in Taguig. The place was cozy, not too crowded. Some people were discussing business, others were out on dates, and some, like them, just there to catch up.
Seymour pulled her chair for her before sitting down. He placed their order but still asked what she preferred. He cut her truffle pasta when she struggled with it, offered his napkin when she dabbed sauce on her lip, and even called the waiter back just to get her favorite melon ice cream without her asking.
"Maxine," he said halfway through the meal, voice soft but firm, "I don't know what you've been through… but I can tell you've been surviving, not living."
She blinked, caught off guard. Why did he always seem to say things that hit too close to home?
"I just want you to know," he continued, "You don't have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to someone who doesn't even see you."
For the first time in days, she lowered her fork and looked straight at him.
"You still see me?" she asked, half-smiling.
"Clearly," he said, never looking away. "Maybe even more than I used to."
She smiled a little wider. "I'm okay, Seymour. Maybe a bit lost these past months, but I'm slowly getting back on track. You don't have to worry."
She leaned back and asked, "How about you? You never told me how you became CEO."
She thought she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes or maybe it was just the lighting. He began telling his story, throwing in jokes here and there to lighten the mood. And just like that, the weight on her chest loosened. For a brief moment, she forgot about Troy, Trina, and the closed blinds.
9:42 PM
"Max! Over here!"
Danica waved from a velvet couch inside a dimly lit bar in BGC. The place throbbed with low music, the lighting warm with hints of blue and gold, and the air smelled of expensive perfume from the people who were busy doing their own thing.
She made her way through the crowd, dressed in a black bodycon dress and her signature red lipstick, her one-inch heels clicking against the floor.
"You came," Danica grinned, handing her a drink. "I thought you'd bail on me."
"I needed this," she said, settling next to her. "Actually… I needed you."
Danica squeezed her hand. "I've always been here. You just forgot."
They drank, danced, and sang along to old songs like they were back in high school. For a while, she wasn't a secretary nor someone's second choice. She was just her — free, unburdened, alive.
But freedom always comes at a price.
Across the room, near the bar, stood a figure she knew too well.
Troy
His eyes darkened when he saw her, the way she laughed without care and ignored her phone. He cut through the crowd, stopping just a few steps away.
"Maxine."
She turned slowly, drink in hand, her hips still swaying to the music. She didn't ask why he was there. She doubted he came looking for her. More likely, someone dragged him into this bar — fate, perhaps.
"Well, look who decided to go out," she said, voice calm but biting.
"You don't even like bars," Troy said, his jaw clenched. He looked furious.
She took a sip of her drink and faced him fully.
"I thought you didn't like going to bars," she said with a soft smile. "Maybe you're mistaken, Troy. I'm not Trina. This is who I really am, not some saint you were hoping I'd be."
That hit him. Hard.
"Max…" he started, but she raised a hand.
"Don't ruin my night."
He looked stunned, like he didn't recognize this version of her — the version that no longer begged. She turned around and walked back to Danica, who handed her another drink without asking anything.
"They toasted to nothing, to endings, beginnings, and all the blurry in-betweens. And across the room, Troy just stood there."
For the first time, he was the one left outside the story.