I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

The morning hum of Sentinel HQ was already beginning to rise by the time Matthew Borja stepped through the glass-paneled entrance on the 41st floor. Despite the hour, the space was already alive—engineers tapping away at terminals, lead officers murmuring over schematics, and the subtle undertone of logistics wheels moving crates into the underground elevators.

Matthew walked past them with a nod, greeted absently by those who passed. He was dressed clean and sharp as ever, but there was something new in the way his shoulders moved—less weight, maybe. Or maybe a different kind entirely.

He reached his usual workstation and flipped open a report showing overnight progress from TBM Aurora. The metrics were strong. Breakthrough rates were improving. But his eyes barely moved across the numbers. His mind was elsewhere.

He thought of the way Angel had looked over her shoulder while pouring coffee yesterday morning. Of the way she had kicked off her slippers and wandered barefoot through her kitchen, humming under her breath. Of the way she had simply said "stay"—and how that word had done more to steady him than any hundred-point progress plan.

He smiled to himself. Still not used to it. Still stunned by the fact that the woman who had once been nothing but poise, precision, and unreadable confidence was now someone he could call his—his partner, not just in title, but in truth.

By 9:00 AM, the transit control briefing had begun. Angel entered with a brisk nod, her tablet tucked under her arm and a pen already clicked between her fingers. She wore her usual navy blouse and slacks, her hair pinned up in that effortless way that only Angel Cruz could make look both tactical and elegant.

Matthew didn't say anything at first. He didn't need to. Their eyes met across the room—just for a second. But that second was enough. It anchored him.

The briefing went by smoothly. Updates on Cebu Pulse alignment revisions. NAIA corridor's magnetic guide testing. Discussions on integrating drone data with Subic's inland port proposals. They moved through the agenda like they always did—measured, effective, and sharp. But this time, their rhythm had a different undercurrent. Like two hands turning the same wrench, without having to speak.

A few colleagues exchanged looks—nothing suspicious, just curious. Maybe they picked up on it. Maybe they didn't. It didn't matter. For now, the work kept moving, and so did they.

By midday, the two had slipped away from the chaos for a quiet lunch on the Skydeck Lounge. The rooftop space was one of the few places in HQ not overrun by data feeds or screens. Just open skyline, garden planters, and the occasional courier drone zipping by in the distance.

They sat under one of the steel awnings, shaded from the sun but warmed by its reflection on the tiles. Angel had brought up two boxed meals—teriyaki rice and miso soup—and Matthew, for once, didn't protest her stealing half his gyoza.

"You've been unusually thoughtful today," Angel said, nudging his leg beneath the table.

Matthew glanced over, smile soft. "I'm just taking it all in."

She toyed with her chopsticks. "You know it's okay to be scared, right? I am too. This thing between us… it's not exactly built into the job description."

Matthew leaned back. "You think I'm scared?"

"No," she said. "I think you're aware. And that's almost worse."

He looked at her seriously then. "I've never doubted us in a control room. But this—this is new. And I want to do it right."

"There's no map," Angel replied. "Just turns and corners. We make it real one step at a time."

And as the breeze tugged gently at the edge of her sleeve, Matthew reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

They returned to their respective posts after lunch, but something was different. Lighter. Easier. Matthew found himself moving through the afternoon schedules with a quiet hum under his breath. The day's drone feed errors didn't irritate him the way they usually might. The site report backlog felt manageable, even predictable.

Every once in a while, he'd glance toward Angel's corner office through the glass wall. And more than once, she looked back.

By 3:30 PM, he sat at his desk, scrolling through thermal load data from Leyte's northern loop, when he opened his notes app. Not for minutes. Not for action items. Just… for a thought.

He typed, slowly, without overthinking: "Not everything needs a blueprint. Some things are worth building blind—with the right person."

He saved the note and leaned back in his chair, eyes on the skyline.

And for the first time in years, Matthew Borja—chief strategist, engineer, builder of tunnels and timeframes—realized he wasn't just planning transit anymore.

He was planning a life. One that wasn't built in silence or concrete.

One that spoke back. One that smiled.

And her name was Angel Cruz.

By late afternoon, Angel sent him a message through the internal chat: "Team dinner at 7? The new Japanese place downstairs. My treat if you promise not to check tunnel stress logs during appetizers."

Matthew grinned at his screen. "Only if you promise not to bring up hydrodynamics during dessert."

She replied instantly: "No promises."

When 7:00 rolled around, they met outside the building. No blazers. No briefcases. Just two people walking side by side toward dinner, laughing about nothing in particular. The city was alive around them, but in that moment, it felt quieter—like it, too, had paused to let them have this time.

At dinner, they didn't talk about work—not much. They talked about bad karaoke nights in college, about Angel's fear of frogs, about Matthew's childhood obsession with building bridges out of shoeboxes. When they left, the city felt brighter, the streets somehow softer under their feet.

Back at HQ, Matthew walked her to her car. This time, when she turned to face him, there was no hesitation.

"Still surprised?" she asked.

He nodded. "In the best way."

Angel kissed him softly—quick, but sure. "Then get used to it."

And as her car pulled away into the city's blur, Matthew stood alone at the curb for a moment longer, heart full, future clearer than ever. ​