The Fort Bonifacio Global City

The sun was dipping low when Marisse settled into the leather seat at the back of his black Mercedes. The city’s hum blurred into the background as the car glided through the streets, headed toward the exclusive Japanese restaurant where he was to meet Enrique Villamor. The interior was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and the steady beat of Marisse’s thoughts.

Marisse took a deep breath, bracing himself. Tonight’s meeting wasn’t just about business. It was about Rose. Her disappearance, the mystery that had haunted him for years. He knew Enrique was a tough man, one who guarded his family’s secrets jealously. But Marisse had to know. He had to find out what Enrique really knew.

Back at the office, the hours before this dinner had been consumed by Rose’s digital ghost. Betita’s remarkable organizational skills had once again outdone themselves, presenting Marisse with a meticulously curated dossier on Rose’s disappearance. It was a labyrinth of newspaper clippings, social media archives, police reports, and whispered rumors. All compiled into one comprehensive soft copy file. As Marisse sifted through it, his resolve deepened.

For five years, Enrique Villamor had courted him with offers to merge their shipping companies. RPV2, Marisse’s firm, was thriving while Enrique’s had been steadily losing money. There was no real reason to refuse the proposal. Yet, Marisse had avoided Enrique’s calls and invitations like a man dodging a storm. The reason was simple yet complicated: every tie to Enrique was a tie to Rose’s shadow…A past Marisse wanted desperately to keep buried.

But irony was a cruel companion. Now, desperate to save the woman he loved, Marisse was chasing every thread he could find. Every whisper of Rose’s life before she vanished. The day spent diving into her past only confirmed what he feared most: he was still madly, irrevocably in love with Rose Villamor. And now, nothing could stop him from trying to save her.

******

The Japanese restaurant was a discreet enclave, tucked away on the top floor of a gleaming skyscraper. Its minimalist decor, soft lighting, and the faint aroma of sake made it an unmistakable favorite of Enrique Villamor, a fact Marisse knew well. The moment Enrique stepped inside, his sharp eyes landed on Marisse, a flicker of surprise, and suspicion, crossing his face.

“Marisse,” Enrique greeted, his voice gruff but controlled. “I have to say, I’m surprised you set this up so suddenly.”

Marisse smiled faintly, setting down his briefcase. “I thought it was time we cut through the usual formalities.”

Enrique chuckled dryly, “Cut through the bull, you mean. So, what is it that you want?”

Marisse pulled out a folder. “I’m willing to offer you the merger you’ve been after.”

Enrique’s eyes gleamed. “Then it’s done?”

“Not quite,” Marisse said, locking eyes with him. “In exchange, I need you to answer one question, no matter how awkward or difficult it might be.”

Enrique’s smile turned into a low growl. He flipped open a contract folder. “The board of RPV2 will need to sign this, Marisse.”

Marisse leaned forward, voice steady. “I have veto power over all four major shareholders. I only need one signature…mine…for all of them.”

As sushi and sake were brought out, the atmosphere shifted. Enrique relaxed after a few rounds, laughing at a wry comment from Marisse. The tension began to dissolve, just enough for Marisse to strike.

Marisse met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m here to talk about Rose.”

The name hit the table like a gunshot. Enrique’s eyes narrowed into slits, the mask of controlled civility cracking to reveal a snarling beast beneath.

“Rose.” He spat the name like a curse. “Why would you, Rickarte, want anything to do with my daughter’s disappearance? You’re barely a man of consequence at the time. What right have you to ask me anything about her?”

Marisse’s jaw tightened but he held steady. “I was a deckhand assigned to the Maverick’s Rose on that cursed cruise.”

Enrique’s nostrils flared, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “I remember, but what do you want with all that I have left of my daughter?”

The tension between them was palpable, thick enough to choke on. Enrique’s glare was lethal, but slowly, a grudging respect crept in. After all, few dared to confront him so directly, especially not about his family’s darkest wound.

Marisse didn’t flinch. “We have an agreement. You’re known for being vindictive, Enrique, but never for breaking your word.”

The room grew heavy as the two titans stared each other down, a battle of wills playing out beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns.

Enrique exhaled, voice rough with reluctant concession. “Fine. Since you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. But don’t expect me to make it easy.”

“About Rose,” Marisse said quietly. “Tell me everything you know about her disappearance. And if she was killed, did you have any suspect at all?”

Finally, Enrique sighed, defeated but resolute. “Fine. Here’s what I know.”

He recounted the last known details: Rose’s yaya, Matilda, had seen her shortly after the big gala aboard the cruise. Rose had told her she was meeting someone. A young man, on the promenade just outside the atrium where the event was held. Matilda went to the restroom for a moment, but when she returned, Rose was gone.

Matilda reported Rose missing immediately, but a sudden storm had closed off all the open decks. Despite a thorough search, Rose’s body was never found.

Instead, a female steward was discovered in a pool of blood near the crew staircase leading to the promenade on the port side by the bow. Around her wrist was the bracelet reported missing from Rose.

Enrique’s voice was cold. “No one knows what truly happened that night, all I  have from years of investigation is a worn-out folder of the last traces of my missing daughter.”

"Were there no suspects at all?"

"There was one, a man same age as Rose. A guest on that cruise. I investigated him myself.”

Marisse leaned in, holding onto Enrique's every word.

“He was Rose’s high school classmate,” Enrique continued, voice heavy with disdain. “I thought maybe he had answers. But the man was seasick for almost the entire voyage, barely left his cabin. He did go out with Rose at one of the ports for lunch. But that was it. Nothing in his behavior matched what we feared. I found nothing.”

Marisse’s brow furrowed. “So, you're only suspect was a dead end?”

Enrique shook his head slowly. “At least from what I could gather. No connection to Rose’s disappearance. But don’t think the mystery stops there.”

The weight of Enrique’s words settled over Marisse like a storm cloud. The power struggle had given way, momentarily, to raw, unsettling truths.

And Marisse absorbed every word, the weight of the truth settling heavily on his shoulders.

******

Later that night, alone in his office, Marisse poured over every detail. His journal lay open, a sprawling tapestry of dates, names, and clues meticulously ordered by the days of the cruise. Every entry was a thread woven into the fabric of Rose’s disappearance, each piece a beacon in the fog of uncertainty.

As he worked, a knock at the door broke the silence. Zeke stepped in, nodding toward the chaos of files and photos spread across Marisse’s three monitors.

“You’re still chasing ghosts, I see” Zeke said, voice low.

Marisse glanced up. “I’m following the trail of the disappearance of Rose Villamor. Ever heard of her?”

Zeke’s eyes hardened. “Betita told me, and yes, I do remember that I was part of the Navy team escorting the Maverick’s Rose back to her home port after Rose disappeared. I remember it well.”

“When was that?” Marisse asked, voice tight with urgency.

“The final day of the cruise,” Zeke replied. “By then, the coast guard had taken over security. It was clear we were never going to find her through that storm. I was stationed off the coast of Davao, the last port of visit, so I joined the search team from there.”

Marisse nodded, the puzzle pieces slowly clicking into place. The truth was murkier and darker than he’d imagined, but now, more than ever, he was certain. He would see it through to the end.

Tonight, the boardroom deal was more than just business. It was a step closer to unravelling the mystery of Rose Villamor…And maybe, just maybe, saving her.

Marisse glanced at the antique clock hanging by the corner of his office wall. 11:50 PM.

He closed the journal softly, running his fingers along its worn leather binding, as if sealing a promise. The energy in the room had shifted, something unspoken stirred in the air, electric and strange.

Zeke, who’d been leaning against the bookshelf, stretched. “Boss, you should get some sleep. You’ve been at it since morning.”

Marisse nodded, rising from his chair and grabbing his coat. “I’ll drive myself home. Get some rest, Zeke. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Zeke opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “Alright. But take it easy, yeah?” He turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Marisse reached into the drawer and retrieved the Polaroid camera. The one that had brought him back to his past last night, with still six films on it.

Six chances to save Rose, and Marisse is still unsure how and where to use the information he’s gotten so far but he must use the film now before he loses his window at midnight.

So tonight, instinct pulled him to try again.

He stood near the center of the room, held the camera at chest height, and aimed it at the corkboard, a web of red string, timelines, and photos of Rose, the Maverick’s Rose, and Enrique Villamor.

Click.

The camera whirred.

Just then, the door slammed open again. “Wait, Marisse, Boss,” Zeke burst into the room, brows furrowed. “I forgot to tell you something I---”

His voice caught.

His body froze.

Because right there, before his eyes, Marisse vanished.

One second, he was standing---solid, real, alive---and the next, he dissolved like smoke being sucked into some invisible current, leaving behind only a fluttering sheet of Polaroid film drifting to the carpeted floor.

Zeke stood in stunned silence, blinking at the empty space where Marisse had just been.

Then he staggered forward, slowly kneeling to pick up the photo that had finished developing in the silence.

The image made no sense.

It wasn’t the office. Not anymore.

It was... a deck. A cruise ship’s deck. Lit by moonlight and mist. And in the far distance, barely discernible but unmistakable, was a woman in a silver dress standing with her back to the camera.

Zeke’s mouth went dry. His voice, when it came, was hoarse and barely a whisper.

“...What…the…fuck…”

*******