Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.

Maybe it was just the contrast to the electric heat and humidity of Palawan, but the air conditioning in the Makati office felt cooler than usual. At precisely 8:30 AM, Elizien Mallari entered the company through the glass doors, her heels tapping against the polished marble with a rhythm that seemed far more assured than she actually felt.

Her hair was put into a tight bun that felt like a facelift, and she was dressed in her best charcoal blazer. The armor was necessary for her. After the "Dragon" had claimed her in front of his billionaire father during the hangar confrontation, she anticipated... something. A rush of rosy slippers? A guard of security?

Rather, she discovered the "weirdness."

As she approached her cubicle, she realized she couldn't actually see her desk. It was buried. Not under audit files or tax circulars, but under an avalanche of white lilies and sampaguita. The scent was so thick it was dizzying.

"Uhm, Elizien?" her work-bestie, Nikki, popped her head over the partition, her eyes wide enough to fall out of her head. "A delivery crew came in at 6:00 AM. They said these were 'standard cockpit maintenance' for your desk. What does that even mean? And why is there a man in a barong standing by the pantry holding a tray of Jollibee breakfast steak like it's fine dining?"

Elizien blinked. Indeed, there was a muscular man in a formal barong standing near the water cooler. He resembled a presidential bodyguard and was stoically carrying a peach mango pie and a paper bag.

With a heated expression, Elizien questioned, "Is he... with the flowers?"

"He hasn't moved in two hours," Nikki muttered. "He said his boss hates it when 'precious cargo' forgets to eat breakfast. Elizien, did you accidentally audit a cult leader?"

Elizien's desk phone rang before she could reply. Then her own cell buzzed. The intercom in the office then crackled.

The receptionist's voice repeated, "Ms. Mallari," with a terrified tone. "There is a... Captain Zayrius Tan on Line 1. He says it's an emergency regarding a 'navigational error' in your spreadsheet. Also, Line 2 is the Senior Partner, and he sounds like he's about to faint."

Elizien grabbed her phone from her desk. "Zayrius? What are you doing? My office is a jungle of lilies!"

"The lilies are for air purification," Zayrius' voice thundered along the line. She could hear the faint whine of a jet engine in the background, but his tone was clipped and professional, and he sounded impossibly grumpy. "And the steak is for brain function. You're four minutes late to your desk, Elizien. If you can't manage your ground time, I'll have to intervene."

"Intervene? Zayrius, people are staring! You sent a bodyguard to the pantry!"

"He's not a bodyguard. He's a logistics coordinator," Zayrius snapped. "And he's there to ensure nobody assigns you extra work today. I've already 'audited' your manager's schedule. He's currently busy with a surprise inspection of the basement archives. He won't bother you."

Elizien rubbed her temples while leaning back. "You are impossible. You can't just billionaire-bully my workplace because you're in a bad mood."

He grumbled. "I'm not in a bad mood," he said. "I'm in a 'protective' mood. There's a difference. Now, eat the pie. I'll be there at 5:00 PM. Not 5:01. If you're not at the curb, I'm landing the chopper on the Ayala Triangle."

He hung up.

Meanwhile, The Tan Holdings Headquarters, Bonifacio Global City

Zayrius Tan was making the board of directors' lives miserable while Elizien navigated a flower-filled office.

He was still wearing his black pilot's jacket over a fitted dress shirt as he sat at the head of the obsidian conference table. He had a famous mood. In addition to dismissing a consultant for "having an inefficient tie knot," he had already turned down three growth plans and was now glaring down the head of logistics.

Zayrius continued, "The Batanes route is lagging," his voice falling to a very low pitch. With the sound of a ticking bomb, he repeatedly tapped a gold pen against the table. "I want the landing permits cleared by Friday. If I see one more delay, I'll personally fly the cargo and bill this department for my hourly rate. And trust me, you can't afford me."

There was silence in the room. Don Victorino, his father, sat at the opposite end of the table and observed his son with a mix of pride and annoyance.

"You're being difficult, Zayrius," Victorino made a cool observation. "Is this because I threatened your little accountant?"

Zayrius tapping of the pen ceased. The room's temperature appeared to drop by ten degrees. His eyes were like obsidian when he gazed at his father. "I don't make threats, Dad. I make flight plans. And right now, my flight plan involves making sure everyone in this building understands that Elizien Mallari is off-limits."

The meeting was a tense disaster. Zayrius was once again the "Dragon"—sharp-tongued, gloomy, and completely inaccessible. Fearful of delivering his lunch, his aides lingered outside the door. His sour disposition radiated off him in waves, and he looked like a storm cloud dressed in a three-piece suit.

Until his phone chimed, that is.

He made a screen swipe. It was one of Elizien's pictures. She had a peach-mango pie in her hand, a little, hesitant smile showing through a huge bouquet of lilies. The caption read: "The 'logistics coordinator' is staring at my stapler. Please call him off. Also... thank you for the flowers, Captain."

Suddenly, the "Dragon" was gone.

The grim, scary Zayrius Tan, who hadn't smiled in ten years, suddenly huffed a gentle breath that was nearly a giggle, and the board members looked in utter disbelief. The flinty look in his eyes softened, becoming helplessly affectionate and warm.

Zayrius quickly stated, "Meeting adjourned," getting to his feet and picking up his jacket.

The head of finance yelled, "We haven't discussed the Cebu merger!"

"Email it to me," Zayrius said over his shoulder as he arrived at the door. "I have a 5:00 PM arrival to prioritize. And someone tell the kitchen to send a crate of those mango pies to the Ayala office every Monday. Permanent standing order."

He strode out of the boardroom, leaving the most powerful men in the Philippines blinking in confusion.

Zayrius walked toward the elevator, his thumb hovering over the "Reply" button. He typed back: "Eat the pie, Elizien. And tell the man in the barong to give you my private jacket. It's in his bag. Wear it. The office AC is too cold for you."

When he entered the elevator, the "grumpy" pilot had long since left and had been replaced by a man who was already figuring out the fastest way to go back to the only "precious cargo" that mattered in Manila traffic.