Walking through the vibrant streets of Global City in Manila, the capital of the Republic of the Philippines, Sandra, now in her early thirties, carried a look of dazed melancholy. She was acutely aware of her average attributes – neither exceptionally beautiful, brilliant, nor gifted – but what she lacked in natural talent, she made up for with relentless hard work.
Her mid-range fashion brand, OS Allure, was the fruit of her labor and a touch of luck, now affording her a comfortable lifestyle and the promise of a secure retirement. Yet, another grueling day was behind her; she was set to go home, have a modest dinner, and sleep, only to start over the next day.
Tonight, however, the world seemed to slow down for Sandra. The fervor and zeal she had when launching her business five years ago had faded, leaving her feeling somewhat hollow. She had sacrificed her youth, remained celibate for her ambitions, but the satisfaction eluded her.
'Am I going through a midlife crisis?' she mused silently.
Before she could dwell on it, her phone rang, snapping her back to reality. She answered with a lazy drawl, "This is Sandra."
"Boss, don't forget Miss Jean's party tomorrow at 4 pm," her assistant, Rayna, reminded her.
Sandra had, indeed, forgotten. "How could I forget?" She lied with a hint of impatience.
"Good. I'll pick you up at your apartment at three in the afternoon." Rayna, knowing Sandra too well, had anticipated the forgetfulness.
"Okay, okay," Sandra responded, her tone edged with irritation. She continued her walk to her condominium.
Three years ago, she had chosen this place for its proximity to her office. It was a modest two-bedroom unit on the 24th floor, adorned with a minimalist Scandinavian aesthetic in soothing whites and beiges. The living room boasted a floor-to-ceiling window, offering a panoramic view of the city and plenty of natural light.
Dinner was simple: pasta with sauce she had pre-cooked days ago. After eating, she showered and retired to bed, her mind already on the social battle awaiting her at the party.
Miss Jean's event was a strategic ground for Sandra; a socialite in the upper echelons, her party would host the elite and influential. Sandra needed to be sharp, every word and action calculated to advance her brand while navigating the treacherous waters of high society politics.
She spent the evening going through paperwork until her brain could take no more.
Shutting her laptop, she switched on the TV.
The business news highlighted the arrival of Roland Fleming, Chairman of Fleming Corp., a global conglomerate now venturing into cybersecurity with a new headquarters in the country.
"What a handsome and stable man," Sandra murmured with a chuckle before turning off the TV and going to bed. The night passed without dreams, leaving her to face another day.
...
In a high-rise building at the Ayala Center in Manila's capital, a man stood before a floor-to-ceiling window on the top floor of his office. He gazed over the horizon where buildings stretched endlessly, and cars moved in a slow, relentless flow through the streets below.
Despite his intent observation, Roland's eyes betrayed a deep disinterest.
The only pulse of excitement in his life came from his work; nothing else stirred him quite like the thrill of business.
Now, with all his tasks completed, he found himself with little to do, enveloped in boredom. He had received numerous invitations from the country's elite, but he dismissed these gatherings as nothing more than the superficial facade of high society.
While lost in thought, his office door swung open, revealing a man in a tuxedo. He was Andreas Lee, Roland's secretary, exuding reliability and amiability through his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Mr. Fleming, I've accepted the invitation for the Jeans party tomorrow at four," Andreas announced.
"Understood," Roland replied, walking to his desk to collect his coat before heading out, followed by Andreas.
Manila's traffic was unparalleled; it was already nine at night, yet the streets were still bustling as if it were peak hour. Roland, looking out through the car window with cold, detached eyes, felt as though the world itself was in slow motion. He despised this feeling.
After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the hotel, each retiring to their respective rooms. After showering, Roland was about to settle into bed when his phone vibrated—an incoming call from his mother.
He answered, and before he could speak, she questioned, "Rolly, have you scheduled a meeting with the owner of that clothing brand I mentioned?"
"Not yet, Mom. What's the rush?" he responded, his tone cold but softened with a hint of gentleness.
"Are you rebelling against me? You treat my command like a side quest," she said, feigning anger.
Roland chuckled, "Tsk. Mom, I promise I'll definitely meet with them next week." He knew better than to lose his temper with her; if he did, he'd never hear the end of it from his father.
"Alright, you better keep that promise. Take care of yourself, eat well, and don't drink too much," she advised. "Yes, Mother," he replied, aiming to appease her.
After the call, Roland walked over to his hotel office desk to pull out an envelope from a drawer. Inside were documents detailing OS Allure, a clothing brand his mother had taken a liking to, hoping for a collaboration with her U.S.-based textile company, which was part of his corporation.
From a business perspective, OS Allure was far too small to consider for such a partnership, but his mother's admiration for its style and vision left him no choice but to fulfill her wishes. What a willful mother he had.
On the second page of the file was the owner's information: Sandra Romualdez, 31 years old, with a Bachelor of Science in Mass Communication. 'There's nothing much to see,' he thought dismissively, tossing the papers onto the desk before heading to bed. It was a night as boring as any other.