Gigi had always believed that a woman's greatest power wasn't beauty, charm, or even intelligence - it was the ability to walk into a room and not need anyone's approval.

She wore that belief like armor as she entered the 32nd floor of Santillan & Co., one of the country's top marketing firms. The glass doors gleamed. The air smelled like imported coffee and deadlines. Every click of her heels echoed like a promise: You're not here to impress. You're here to win.

The receptionist glanced up. "Miss Santiago?"

"Yes. I have an interview at ten."

"Mr. Santillan will see you now."

Wait - Mr. Santillan? Not HR?

She followed the assistant through a hallway of framed campaigns and award plaques, her spine straightening with each step. She expected to meet a corporate fossil. Someone older, with silver hair and a tailored ego. Instead, the office door opened to reveal a man barely in his thirties - tall, clean-cut, and devastatingly self-assured.

Raymond Santillan.

He stood as she entered, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "You're early. That's rare."

"I don't believe in wasting time," Gigi replied coolly.

"Neither do I," he said, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

She sat, adjusting her skirt with practiced precision. His eyes, sharp but not invasive, took her in like she was a slide under a microscope - an interesting specimen, but not yet understood.

"Your resume is impressive. Top of your class. Editor-in-chief. Multiple internships. Why apply here?"

"Because I plan to run my own agency someday," she said without flinching. "But first, I want to learn from the best. Or, at least, from the most established."

He raised a brow at her subtle challenge.

"You're direct."

"I'm honest."

He smiled. "I like honest."

She didn't respond to that. Compliments were distractions, and distractions were dangerous.

"I noticed you interned at Novax Media. That's a rough crowd. How did you handle their CEO?"

"By pretending he wasn't talking when he got inappropriate."

Raymond leaned back, eyebrows lifted. "Good answer."

The rest of the interview moved like a sparring match - punches in the form of questions, dodges in the form of clever replies. He was sharp. She was sharper.

When it ended, he stood and offered his hand.

"Welcome to the team, Gigi. You'll start Monday."

Just like that?

She shook his hand. Firm grip. Warm skin. She pulled away quickly.

"Thank you, Mr. Santillan."

"Call me Raymond. I don't like titles outside the boardroom."

She offered a polite nod but said nothing. She liked titles. Boundaries. Walls.

As she stepped out of the office, her phone buzzed. A message from Caloy.

Caloy: How'd it go? Did you impress the boss or punch him in the face?

She smirked, typing back:

Gigi: Neither. I got hired. No bloodshed today.

Caloy: Proud of you. Drinks later?

Gigi: Sure. I'll bring my resume and crush your self-esteem.

She smiled at her own joke, but her mind drifted back to the moment Raymond had looked at her - not like a boss. Not like a man circling a woman.

Just? intrigued.

That was worse.

Because intrigue leads to interest.

And interest leads to something she didn't have time for.

Not now.

Not ever.

She pressed the elevator button and stepped in, her reflection in the mirrored wall staring back at her like a dare.

Don't fall, Gigi.

You know how this story ends.