Monday morning. Aila Briones stood in front of the mirror in the ladies' room, clutching a tumbler of artisan coffee with her name spelled wrong — "Isla" instead of "Aila." She sighed.
"Day 4. Kaya pa. Konting landi, konting bait, konting sipag... baka masira rin ang yelo ni Mr. Ice Prince," she whispered to herself.
She checked her lipstick, fixed her top, and walked out like she wasn't already tired from pretending to be effortlessly charming for the last three days.
At the office pantry, Ian Santillan stood alone by the sink, sleeves rolled, the top button of his white shirt undone. His tie hung loose around his neck — a sight rare enough to make Aila pause mid-step.
He didn't see her yet.
Aila cleared her throat and entered with confidence. "Good morning, Ryan. Or should I say... Mr. I-don't-smile?"
Ian turned, expression unreadable as always. "Good morning, Priscilla."
God, why did he have to say her full name like that? It made it sound like she was part of a corporate crime novel.
"Coffee?" she offered, raising her extra cup — the bribe she'd planned for the day.
He raised a brow. "Another coincidence?"
"Let's just say... fate likes caffeine," she joked, pushing the cup toward him.
He looked at the cup, then at her. And for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity? Amusement? Wariness?
"Fine," he said, taking the cup. "But I don't like sweet."
"Oh, don't worry," Aila smiled, "You look like the type who hates sugar."
He took a sip. His brow didn't twitch, which she took as a silent thank-you.
Then, silence.
She pretended to fix her tumbler, not expecting the sudden question.
"Why are you always so... friendly?" he asked, without looking at her.
Caught off guard, Aila blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Lahat ng tao sa office... puro pakitang-tao. Surface level. Pero ikaw — sobra ka mag-effort."
Her heart skipped. Was he suspicious already?
"Well, maybe I'm just naturally likeable," she said with a teasing smile, trying to mask the mini-panic in her chest.
Ian placed the cup down. "Or maybe you want something."
She laughed softly, deflecting. "What could I possibly want from the office's human iceberg?"
He looked at her, head slightly tilted. "Exactly."
Then something shifted. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and — for once — let his guard down, just a little.
"I hate office politics," he said quietly. "Gossip. Pretending. That's why I keep to myself. People act like they care, but they don't. They just want stories."
It was the most he'd said to her in four days. Heck, probably the most he'd said to anyone in the office ever.
And for the first time, Aila felt something she didn't expect: guilt.
Because she was pretending. Because there was a bet.
But the pain behind his words felt real.
"Not everyone's like that," she said gently. "Some people... they really do care."
"Maybe," he replied, eyes lingering on her longer than before. "But I stopped expecting that a long time ago."
The silence that followed was different this time. It wasn't awkward — it was heavy, meaningful.
Then Ian picked up the coffee again, took another sip, and looked at her with a softer gaze.
"This isn't bad," he admitted.
"Oh my god. Did you just compliment my coffee choice?" she gasped dramatically.
His lips curved into the tiniest smirk. "Don't let it get to your head."
But it already had.
He left the pantry a minute later, leaving Aila frozen beside the sink, heart pounding.
Because that wasn't just a win for the bet.
That was something else.
Something that scared her.
She stood there, staring at the sink, when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
Group Chat: Bad Bitch Barkada 💋🔥
Audrey: Day 4 update pls??
Maila: Kumagat na ba si Prince Elsa?
Aila: I think... he smiled. And he opened up. A bit.
Kimberly: GIRL. You're either winning or falling. Choose.
Aila stared at the screen.
That was the problem.
She wasn't sure which one it was anymore.
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