Chapter 4
1958 Words
ALI
This wasn't my first encounter with a client, but the anxiety gnawed at my chest. It felt like a tumultuous stampede of emotions, wild and untamed, threatening to burst from my heart. I dreaded the notion that Sancho might be the source of this unease.
As I made my way to his office, I had no option but to confirm the sincerity of his threat to sabotage the project I'd devoted years to if I declined an in-person meeting. Even though it contradicted my wishes, I had no alternative; I was on the brink of losing everything.
Before entering his domain, I held my breath, fully aware that once I crossed that threshold, there was no turning back. Sancho had cornered me, leaving me with no choice.
Approaching the receptionist at his office, a woman bedecked in heavy makeup, I declared, "Miss, I'm here to see Mr. Dela Vega."
She scrutinized me with a thoroughness that felt like an investigation.
Is she a receptionist or an undercover agent? Her scrutiny was akin to a detective's, flaunting her looks despite the excessive makeup. I mused as I awaited her response.
"Do you have an appointment, miss?" she inquired, her eyebrow raised.
"Yes, indeed. He personally requested my presence in his office."
I'm not sure what compelled me to respond in such a manner, but I had a sense that my retort could serve as a retort to her earlier arrogance. She'd boasted about him personally summoning her. Her appearance, with its heavy makeup and barely concealed allure, suggested she wasn't just there to assist but to vie for his attention. Given Sancho's proclivities, I wouldn't be surprised if he entertained such advances. After all, anyone with feminine charms would probably capture his interest.
But, my dear, you'll be nothing but a plaything in his hands, used and subsequently discarded like a forgotten relic. Just as he did with me.
Why did I mention our past again? I thought I had left that behind and moved on.
I considered giving her advice, but who was I to tell her what to do? She might just laugh if I said I used to date Sancho Dela Vega. People would find it hard to believe that a regular person like me once caught the eye of one of the richest men in New York.
I heard some rumours that he recently came back to Manhattan after being in Italy for a long time. His time in Italy was a big secret, as he avoided the media and kept his life there very private. So, no one knew what Sancho Rodrigo Dela Vega was doing in Italy for the past ten years.
When I mentioned my connection with Sancho, she didn't hesitate, but I could see a touch of jealousy in her eyes, even though she tried to hide it professionally.
Envy can be quite consuming, my dear.
"Please wait, miss. I'll inform Mr. Dela Vega of your arrival."
A few minutes passed before she reappeared before me.
"You may wait here for a moment. Mr. Dela Vega is currently occupied."
I stood outside his office for what seemed like a short while. However, as time ticked away, it transformed into an entire hour, yet there was no sign of Sancho. Frustration and impatience were bubbling inside me, but I knew I had to keep my composure. Causing a ruckus, there would just draw unwanted attention.
When the door finally creaked open, my eyes fell upon a sight that made my heart sink. There he was, strolling out of the room, accompanied by a tall, stunning woman. Her face was somewhat familiar, having graced the pages of a few magazines in New York. But what caught my eye were the telltale signs of intimacy—her slightly tousled hair and smudged lipstick. It was evident they hadn't just been having a formal business conversation in there. She was shamelessly flirting with him, right in the heart of his territory.
Sancho, the way I knew him, was always drawn to such charms, whether they belonged to this woman or any other who possessed a similar allure. I wasn't surprised; I was well aware of his inclinations. However, my heart sank further as I realized that this young woman would be nothing more than a temporary amusement for him. Once he was done with her, she'd just be another name on his list, discarded and forgotten. Just like how he had treated me. Why, oh why, did I let our history resurface at this moment? I had long moved past that chapter in my life. I shouldn't have let it bother me.
I pondered whether I should offer some words of wisdom to the woman. But then again, who was I to counsel her? If I were to reveal that I was once Sancho Dela Vega's girlfriend, she would probably laugh in disbelief. After all, who would believe that a simple woman like me could have caught the attention of one of the wealthiest and most elusive men in the entire New York?
Rumours had been swirling about Sancho's return to the country after spending what seemed like an eternity in Italy. His life during his time in Italy was like a well-kept secret, shrouded in mystery. Not only was he evasive when it came to media attention, but he was also fiercely protective of his privacy there. As a result, nobody knew what Sancho Rodrigo Dela Vega had been up to in Italy over the past ten years. His life in that distant country was a complete enigma to everyone back home.
There I was, witnessing this scene unfold before my eyes, the echoes of our past relationship whispering in the back of my mind. I felt a pang of sorrow mixed with a tinge of resentment. I should have known better than to let these emotions resurface. It was like re-opening an old wound that had finally started to heal.
As I watched him, a man I once thought I knew so well, a man whose ambitions and desires had ultimately overshadowed any genuine affection he had once shown me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for the woman in his company. She was probably just another victim of his charms, falling into the same trap I had fallen into so many years ago.
I glanced away, unable to bear the sight any longer. It was a bitter reminder of a past I had tried so hard to forget. My mind raced with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but amidst it all, I knew one thing for certain: I had moved on. I had rebuilt my life, learned to stand on my own, and become stronger because of it.
As the whispers of the past slowly faded, I took a deep breath, pushing aside the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. This encounter was just another reminder of how far I had come and how much I had grown since the time I was entangled in Sancho's web of charisma and ambition.
I was both irritated and indignant when he casually suggested, "Shall we dine out?"
I couldn't fathom why he'd made me wait for hours to utter such a statement. "Shall we dine out?" I almost wanted to ask if he was joking.
An exasperated retort escaped me: "Is that all you're going to say? Why did you keep me waiting for hours just to propose dinner? Are you out of your mind?"
He chuckled. "You sound like a nagging wife. Are you jealous, by any chance?"
I stammered, "I—I'm not..."
"Well, the choice is yours. Either you join me for dinner this evening to discuss your presentation, or you can return tomorrow and schedule another appointment. You must remember, Ms. Martinez, I'm a very busy individual."
I knew he alluded to the presentation his assistant had delivered. He was making the point that I shouldn't employ that flimsy excuse to avoid him.
"Is this about my secretary delivering the presentation to you? Is that why you kept me waiting for three hours? Why do you insist on a face-to-face meeting with me?" I inquired.
He appeared taken aback by my words, seemingly carried away, under the impression that I yearned to see him, hence his refusal to meet with his assistant. It was as though he expected me to seek an audience with him. What was my significance compared to him? Nearly a decade had passed; why did I still harbor the notion that I might affect him? I was merely a relic of his past, nothing more and nothing less.
"Now, if you have nothing more to say, I'd like to proceed with dinner. The choice is yours whether to join me or not."
I contested, "Is this all because I delegated my secretary to make the presentation? Is that why you detained me for three hours? Why do you insist on a personal meeting with me?"
He was startled by my words, seemingly swept up in the idea that I sought to see him, which explained his resistance to meeting his assistant. It was as though he expected me to harbor the desire for a personal encounter. What relevance did I bear in comparison to him? Nearly a decade had passed; why did I entertain the notion that I could still exert an influence on him? I was but a fragment of his past, neither more nor less.
"In that case, I'll accompany you," I conceded.
He turned to me, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"After you, then," he said, gesturing for me to lead the way.
As we entered the elevator, he walked ahead of me. In the confined space, the tension was palpable, and I couldn't escape the feeling of being suffocated. I averted my gaze, avoiding looking in his direction. The atmosphere was oppressive, and the thought of being enclosed in this tight space with Sancho was overwhelming. I couldn't afford to display the extent of my unease.
Deliberately, he positioned himself behind me in the elevator. The small, crowded elevator gradually filled up as it descended, and I felt the pressure of his body against mine. I dared not turn around; meeting his gaze would have been a daunting prospect. The atmosphere was fraught with tension, making it difficult to breathe, and my knees wobbled. The close quarters felt as though he were closing in on me.
I sensed his lips drawing nearer to my ear, and he whispered, "At this moment, I wouldn't mind being stuck in this elevator."
His words sent shivers down my spine. I longed to collapse into his arms at that very moment, but the tight confines of the crowded elevator and the fear of exposing my vulnerability restrained me. I couldn't allow myself to betray the extent of my emotions.
I couldn't help but notice how his proximity quickened the pace of my heart. My heart remembered the love I once held for Sancho, and all the emotions I had tried to bury rushed back. The memories of our time together, the feelings I had harbored for him—they all flooded back, and it terrified me.
I gradually pushed his arms away from my waist. There was resistance, but I was determined to release his possessive hold. It was a bittersweet experience to be in his embrace once more, but I couldn't afford to surrender to it.
I had moved forward, and I couldn't risk falling for him all over again. I dreaded where these resurfacing emotions might lead. I had been shattered by my love for Sancho once before, and I couldn't allow it to happen again.
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- Writer
