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 following week, Zayden had insisted on taking Ysabella to the opening of a new luxury commercial complex in Bonifacio Global City. It was a "clean" venture—a high-end development of retail and office spaces that Zayden had spearheaded to further legitimize the Spencer name.
The lobby was a cathedral of white marble and glass, teeming with Manila's elite, business moguls, and the inevitable swarm of photographers. Ysabella felt more comfortable now, her hand tucked firmly into the crook of Zayden's arm. She wore a tailored black cocktail dress that hugged her curves, a stark contrast to the oversized shirts she favored at the penthouse.
"You're doing great, mahal," Zayden whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed her temple. He looked devastating in a three-piece charcoal suit, his golden hair perfectly coiffed, though his eyes remained sharp, scanning the room with the practiced caution of a predator.
"I just want to find the catering table, Zayden. I saw mini quiches," Ysabella teased, her eyes bright.
As they navigated the crowd, a voice cut through the hum of conversation—a voice Ysabella hadn't heard in nearly two years.
"Ysabella? Ysabella Ramirez? Is that actually you?"
Ysabella froze. She turned toward the sound and saw a tall, lean man in a well-fitted navy suit. He had a friendly, boyish face and a mop of curly brown hair.
"Marco?" Ysabella gasped, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Marco Valderama!"
Before Zayden could react, the man was in front of them, beaming. Marco had been Ysabella's senior associate back when she was a junior auditor at her old firm. They had spent countless late nights together in cramped conference rooms, fueled by cold coffee and the shared misery of tax season.
"I almost didn't recognize you!" Marco said, his eyes sweeping over her with unabashed admiration. "The last time I saw you, you were buried under a mountain of BIR forms and wearing a hoodie. You look... incredible, Ysa."
He reached out and instinctively took her hand, squeezing it warmly. "I heard you left the firm. We all missed you. The audit team hasn't been the same without our Human Calculator."
Ysabella felt a sudden, familiar warmth. "I missed you guys, Marco. It's been a crazy few months."
She felt the temperature in the room drop by twenty degrees.
Zayden hadn't moved, but his entire posture had shifted. He went from a relaxed partner to a silent, lethal statue. His hand, which had been resting gently on Ysabella's waist, tightened, his fingers splaying across her hip in a clear, possessive claim.
"And who is this?" Marco asked, finally looking at the man towering over Ysabella. He didn't seem to recognize Zayden—Marco lived in a world of spreadsheets and tax codes, far removed from the headlines of the "King of the Docks."
"Marco, this is... this is Zayden Spencer," Ysabella said, her voice wavering slightly as she felt the aura of pure, cold jealousy radiating from the man beside her. "Zayden, this is Marco. He was my senior at the firm. He taught me everything I know about forensic auditing."
Zayden didn't offer his hand. He stared down at Marco with eyes that looked like blue ice, his jaw set so hard it looked carved from granite.
"Is that so?" Zayden's American accent was low, vibrating with a dangerous edge. "So you're the one responsible for her 'naughty' obsession with balance sheets."
Marco blinked, confused by the hostility. "I... suppose so. Ysabella was my best associate. We were quite the team. Remember that three-day stint in Cebu, Ysa? The one where we lived on nothing but dried mangoes and cup noodles to finish the Ayala account?"
Marco laughed, leaning in slightly closer to Ysabella. "I still have that photo of you asleep on the ledger, Ysa. You were drooling on the 2023 projections."
Ysabella turned bright red. "Marco, please don't—"
"A photo?" Zayden interrupted, his voice dropping to a register that made the nearby guests glance over in alarm. "You have a photo of my woman sleeping?"
The "my woman" hit the air like a heavyweight. Marco's smile faltered as he finally registered the sheer power and underlying violence in Zayden's gaze. He took a half-step back, his hand releasing Ysabella's.
"It was just a joke, sir. We were friends. Close friends," Marco stammered.
"Zayden, stop," Ysabella whispered, reaching up to touch his arm. "He's just an old colleague. It was a long time ago."
Zayden didn't look at her. He kept his eyes locked on Marco. "I don't care how long ago it was. And I don't care about the Ayala account. What I care about is that you're still talking to her like you have a piece of her history that belongs to you."
He stepped forward, his 6'2" frame completely eclipsing Marco. "She doesn't work for you anymore. She doesn't eat cup noodles in Cebu with you anymore. She's with me. Do you understand the implications of that, Marco?"
Marco looked like he wanted to vanish into the marble floor. "I... yes. Crystal clear, Mr. Spencer. I'll just... go find my boss."
Marco practically bolted, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
Ysabella exhaled, a mix of frustration and amusement. She turned to Zayden, who was still staring at the spot where Marco had been standing, his chest heaving slightly.
"Zayden! You terrified him! He's just a nerd who likes taxes!"
Zayden finally looked at her, and the jealousy in his eyes was staggering. It wasn't just anger; it was a raw, primal territorialism. "He touched your hand. He talked about 'late nights' with you. He has a photo of you sleeping, Ysabella."
"We were working!" she argued, though she couldn't help the way her heart fluttered at his intensity. "It was purely professional."
Zayden grabbed both of her hands, pulling her into a secluded alcove behind a large floral arrangement. He pinned her against the wall, his body a hot, heavy weight against hers.
"I don't care if it was professional," Zayden growled, his face inches from hers. "The thought of some boyish auditor watching you sleep, or sharing meals with you, or knowing things about you that I don't... it makes me want to burn this whole building down."
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent as if to reclaim her. "You are mine, Ysabella. Past, present, and future. I don't want anyone else having 'stories' about you."
Ysabella felt a surge of heat. She reached up, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You're being ridiculous, Zayden Spencer. You're the King of the Docks. Why are you jealous of a senior associate?"
"Because he knew you when you were 'clean,'" Zayden whispered against her skin, his voice sounding uncharacteristically small. "He knew the girl who didn't have to worry about shootouts or mafias. Sometimes I worry that you'll look at someone like him and realize how much easier your life would be without me."
Ysabella's heart broke for him. She pulled his head up so she could look into his stormy blue eyes. "Zayden, look at me."
He looked.
"My life was 'easy' with Marco. It was also boring. I was a ghost, remember? I don't want it easy. I want the man who saved me. I want the man who makes me bite my lip just by walking into a room. Marco is the past. You are my forever."
Zayden stared at her, the ice in his eyes finally melting into a soft, burning blue. He let out a long, ragged breath and leaned his forehead against hers.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, though his hands remained possessively on her hips. "I told you... I'm a selfish bastard."
"I know," she smiled, pulling him down for a deep, reassuring kiss. "But you're my selfish bastard."
Zayden pulled away just an inch, his eyes dropping to her lips. "If I ever see him again, I'm buying his firm and firing him."
"Zayden!"
"I'm serious," he smirked, the predatory edge returning. "Now, let's get out of here. I'm done sharing you with Manila for one night."
He led her toward the exit, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. As they passed the catering table, Ysabella managed to snag a mini quiche, popping it into her mouth with a triumphant grin.
Zayden laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "You're a menace, Ysabella Ramirez."
"And you're a jealous shark," she countered.
As they stepped into the waiting Rolls-Royce, the photographers captured one last shot: Zayden Spencer, the most dangerous man in the city, looking at a girl with a quiche as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The "Human Calculator" had long ago finished the math. Marco was an old ledger, but Zayden? Zayden was the only investment she was ever going to make.