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.

The 5:00 PM chimes of the Makati church bells were usually a signal for Elizien Mallari to settle in for another three hours of "voluntary" overtime. But today, the office of the "Big Four" firm was paralyzed. At exactly 4:55 PM, the "Logistics Coordinator" in the barong—whose name Elizien had discovered was actually Ernesto—had stood up from his post by the stapler and draped a heavy, scent-drenched pilot's bomber jacket over her shoulders.

"Captain's orders, Ma'am," Ernesto had said with a stoic nod. "The extraction team is downstairs."

As she gathered her belongings, Elizien felt the weight of the jacket and the weight of a hundred looking eyes. She felt her knees weaken before she even made it to the elevator because the jacket was too big, lined with sheepskin, and smelled so strongly like Zayrius Tan (sandalwood, pricey tobacco, and that stinging, high-altitude ozone).

The "carmageddon" of Manila traffic had been split apart like the Red Sea when the office building's gold-trimmed doors opened onto the curbside of Ayala Avenue.

The Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament of a matte-black Rolls-Royce Spectre was shining in the streetlights as it sat idle at the curb. It was an electric, silent beast that resembled a spaceship dropped amid a sea of yellow taxis and dilapidated jeepneys. The car was surrounded by a halo of empty tarmac as white-uniformed security officers hastily waved other vehicles away.

A chauffeur did not emerge when the rear door opened.

It was Zayrius. He had traded his pilot's whites for a charcoal-black turtleneck and tailored trousers. He looked every bit the "Dragon" of the Tan empire—dark, sleek, and dangerously handsome. His face was set in its trademark scowl as he checked his watch.

He complained, "You're thirty seconds late, Elizien," but as soon as he spotted her covered in his jacket, his eyes softened. "The traffic on Makati Ave is a disaster. I almost had the driver use the sidewalk."

Elizien growled and ducked her head as she noticed her Senior Partner looking through the lobby window. "Zayrius! You can't park a Rolls-Royce in a loading zone!" she said.

After guiding her into the buttery leather interior, Zayrius retorted, "I didn't park it. I'm occupying it." The noise of Manila was muffled by the gentle, costly thud of the door closing. "Where to? My father has a table reserved at Antoni's. They've flown in white truffles from Alba."

Elizien reclined in the seat, which was like a cloud hugging her. Thousands of tiny fiber-optic lights mimicked the night sky as she gazed up at the starry headliner above her. Despite its beauty, it felt like yet another cage.

"No truffles," she firmly stated. "And no French fusion. Zayrius, I spent the day being stared at like a museum exhibit. I've had enough 'high-end' for one lifetime."

Zayrius' sullen demeanor flickered with perplexity as he furrowed his forehead. "Then what? I can have the chef at the Manila Hotel whip something up."

Elizien remarked, "I want Sizzling Sisig," her eyes brightening. "And Bulalo. From that place in Guadalupe that stays open late. The one with the plastic stools and the orange lighting."

As though she had just proposed that they fly a jet into a volcano, Zayrius gazed at her. "A carinderia? Elizien, this car costs more than that entire street block. My security detail will have a heart attack."

"Then tell them to take a break," she challenged, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Unless the great Captain Zayrius Tan is afraid of a little street food?"

Zayrius sighed in frustration, yet his mouth twitched at the corner. He tapped the glass partition while leaning forward. "Change of plans, Dante. Head to Guadalupe. The hole-in-the-wall under the bridge."

After a brief moment of hesitation during which he probably questioned his life decisions, the silent beast of a car slid into the commotion of EDSA.

It was a humorous contrast. A shirtless man was fanning a charcoal grill in a smoke-stained restaurant when the matte-black Rolls-Royce drew up next to it. There was a real record-scratch moment when the automobile arrived. When the "Dragon" emerged into the steamy, savory-scented air, the diners, who were primarily tired office clerks and construction workers, paused in the middle of their bite.

Zayrius appeared completely out of place, yet he refused to give up. He approached Elizien, opened her door, and extended his hand.

He snarled, "If I get food poisoning, I'm auditing your medical bills," but he used his body to protect her from a passing motorcycle.

They occupied mismatched plastic seats, one blue for her and one red for him. The "napkins" were simply bits of cut bond paper, and the table was a little sticky. With a look of deep, analytical mistrust, Zayrius gazed at the chalk-written menu on a piece of plywood.

"Two orders of special sisig, one bulalo, and two ice-cold Cokes in the bottle," Elizien said with assurance.

The aroma was wonderful as the food arrived, bubbling and frying on a cast-iron platter. Elizien plunged in with an expression of unadulterated joy. Zayrius' sullen face gradually softened as he observed her. He reluctantly bit into the sisig.

His eyes grew wide. He had another. Then a third.

"It's... acceptable," he remarked, gesturing toward the calamansi.

Elizien mocked, "Acceptable? It's better than the truffles, admit it."

Zayrius fell silent. Setting down his fork, he turned to face her. His eyes regained that dark, eerie intensity under the flickering orange glare of the streetlights, far from the cockpits and boardrooms.

He continued, "It's not the food, Elizien," his voice lowering to a low, inward growl. "It's the fact that you're the only person who doesn't look at me and see a landing strip for their ambitions. My father sees a successor. The board sees a profit margin. Even the ground crew sees a paycheck."

He took her hand and reached across the little, oily table. His thumb touched her knuckles, and his skin felt warm.

"But you," Zayrius added, maintaining a fixed gaze. "You see a grumpy pilot. You make me feel... grounded. And for a man who spends his life in the clouds, that's the most terrifying, wonderful thing I've ever felt."

A knot formed in Elizien's throat. She recalled the reversed Ace of Pentacles from the tarot reading. Despite having a plethora of intellect, she lacked joy. Her pockets felt full, however, as she sat here in a clamorous Guadalupe street with a secret billionaire who was currently receiving a tiny drop of gravy on his black turtleneck.

Whispering, "Aling Rosa was right about one thing," Elizien said.

"What's that?"

"She said you'd change your flight path for me. But I think we're both off-course now, Zayrius."

Squeezing her hand, Zayrius finally broke his frown with a rare, sincere smile that was all hers. "Good. I always preferred the scenic route anyway."

The "Dragon" finally appeared to have found his home as they sat beneath a bridge in Manila, a billionaire and an accountant sharing a twenty-peso bottle of soda.

However, the tranquility was brief. On the table, Zayrius's phone buzzed. His face suddenly turned back into a mask of hard, cold flint as he looked at the screen.

Elizien's heart sank as she inquired, "What is it?"

"My father," Zayrius uttered in a strained voice. "The gala is being moved forward to tomorrow night. And he's leaked a 'special announcement' to the Philippine Tatler."

Zayrius gazed at Elizien, warning and protectiveness mixed in his eyes. "He's forcing our hand, Elizien. Tomorrow, the whole world finds out who you are to me. Are you ready for the turbulence?"

Elizien glanced at the guy who would burn the sky for her, then at the oily table. She nodded and inhaled deeply.

"I'm an auditor, Zayrius. I'm used to high stakes. Let's give them something to talk about."