ღHello, Exღ

It had been a year since the breakup, yet I felt like nothing had changed. I really thought I'd be better by now, but I was wrong. Every time I saw something familiar—something that reminded me of Mhyko—I broke down. I cried, screamed, and lost control.

It was hard. I cursed the world and drowned myself in liquor.

I constantly disturbed my younger brother overseas, calling him at random hours just to cry and reminisce. And as always, he just listened—never complained, even if I talked for hours. He said that listening was the only way he could help me as his big sister.

But that's all in the past now.

After losing him, I somehow found a bigger sense of hope. Tragic, yes—but it pushed me. I threw myself into modeling, and little by little, my tears dried up. I was finally able to remember him without falling apart.

I picked myself up.

The pain I once carried slowly began to heal.

But just the thought of him—and that girl—still made my blood boil. I couldn’t forgive them. Not now. From this moment forward, it’s war. They messed with the wrong woman.

“Hey, bitch!”

Speaking of war, look who just showed up—the girl. Standing right in front of me in her thrift shop clothes. So cheap.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you just greet yourself?”

She scowled. “Oh, shut up!”

Did she just gesture for me to shut up? Me? The ever-gorgeous, goddess-level me? How dare she?

“You… shut your dirty mouth.”

“Oh, I’m scared. Still bitter, I see?”

I flashed her a fake smile. Bitter? Oh, please. I wanted to stab her with my stiletto—straight to her esophagus. Tss. Bitch.

“I would only be bitter if Mhyko downgraded to someone above my level,” I said as I gave her a head-to-toe scan and then stared at her face again, obviously unimpressed. “But I’m disappointed. Tsk.”

“You—!” she lunged, but I sidestepped her with ease.

“What? I’m just stating facts. Based on how you look right now, you barely measure up to my fingernail.” I held up my index finger for her to see. And yes—that finger had double meaning.

“Excuse me, for your information, I am also a model here in your studio. Last month I entered modeling because I know I am deserve to be a modeling.”

Pfft— Seriously? Four years later and she’s still murdering the English language? My God, she’s a walking embarrassment.

She noticed my laughter and gave me a nasty look, hands on her hips. Then she added, “What the—why are you laugh? I am not making funny!”

Ugh. She actually said “making funny.” Iconic.

I couldn’t stop myself—I raised my hand to her face, trying to silence her with a chuckle. “Pfft… wait… hahaha…” She was being serious, which made it even funnier. I swear I almost cried from laughing.

Before my lungs collapsed from the comedy that she is, I walked away, leaving her fuming with smoke coming out of her ears. What a wrong-grammar mess. A walking joke.

I entered the studio without sparing her another glance. Her? A model? And here, of all places?

No way she’ll ever measure up to who I am now. She’s a lost cause.

Sure, maybe her poses were okay. But her English? Never. I’d laugh myself to death before I could ever take her seriously.

“You’re more beautiful when you laugh. I love the sound of your voice when you laugh,” said a deep, warm voice behind me.

I turned—and my jaw nearly dropped.

There he was. Tall. Built. Moreno. Broad shoulders. Killer abs. And a charming, sly smile. A living Greek god.

“Pfft—done checking me out?” he teased.

I blinked hard and faced him again. That voice... that smirk... No way.

He pulled off his cap and shades, and that’s when it hit me—him. The same guy from the café.

“You?! What are you doing here?” I pointed at him, clearly rattled. Everything around me went slow-mo the moment he laughed. His laugh... it was almost musical. Calming. Dangerous.

“I’m a model, just like you.”

“W-why? W-when? H-how?” Why was I stuttering? We’d already met twice before—but why was I acting like this now?

“Whoa—one question at a time,” he chuckled. “Okay. Why? Because I wanted to try it. When? About five years ago, when a friend asked me to model for her debut magazine. How? A production director from your studio reached out to me and asked if I’d be a regular model.”

He paused, smiling like it was nothing. “At first, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t really need the money—I've got a business abroad that keeps me more than stable. But then I thought… maybe this could be my reason to come home. Every time I visit the Philippines, I usually don’t have much to do. So I said yes. And now, I’m one of the most requested models here and abroad.”

I was stunned. Completely speechless.

He’s a businessman? A globally requested model? How could I not have known?

Oh right… I never cared for magazines or newspapers. How dumb of me!

And to think—I treated him like a total jerk the last time we met.

“By the way,” he called out with a grin as I walked away, “I’m Ezekiel Buenavista. I’m really glad we met again.”

He sounded thrilled about our reunion.

Me? I was just completely mortified.

ღTo Be Continuedღ