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

May 2nd, 2024 — 3:30 PM

Sentinel HQ, BGC — Strategic Review Room

Angel sat cross-legged on one of the long leather sofas in the glass-walled strategic review room, her laptop balanced on her knees and a banana muffin slowly disappearing from her plate. Matthew was at the whiteboard a few steps away, half-focused on their updated phase transition flowchart, half-focused on trying not to grin like an idiot every time he looked at her.

"You've written 'core integration' three times in the last ten minutes," Angel said without looking up. "Either that's a very serious phase or you're distracted."

Matthew tossed the marker on the table. "You keep making jokes about wedding planning in the middle of fiber-optic procurement meetings. How am I supposed to concentrate?"

Angel smirked. "I'm just saying—if we can launch eight Pulse stations in five months, we can probably handle a venue reservation."

Matthew chuckled and collapsed onto the sofa beside her, his tie already loosened. "God, imagine the investor reactions if our engagement went public mid-conference."

"Oh, I'm ready for it," Angel said. "The moment someone asks why I didn't disclose our relationship, I'll just show them the seating plan. That's operational transparency."

He groaned. "You're dangerous."

She bumped his shoulder with hers. "You love it."

He looked at her, more serious now. "Yeah. I do."

For a moment, the room stilled. Just them, the warm hum of the building around them, and a spreadsheet blinking gently in the background.

4:45 PM — Sentinel HQ Rooftop Garden

The rooftop wasn't a formal space—just a wide terrace with scattered benches and young planters, overlooking the sunset-drenched skyline of Bonifacio Global. It had become a quiet retreat for off-the-clock execs and overworked engineers alike.

Matthew leaned on the railing, eyes tracing the sun dipping behind Taguig's towers. Angel stood beside him, sipping milk tea from a paper cup.

"So," he began, "if we weren't working fifteen hours a day, what would your dream wedding look like?"

Angel turned, eyes playful. "You're asking for a blueprint?"

"Call it early feasibility scoping."

She laughed. "Alright. I want a beach. Somewhere south. Not Boracay—too many tourists. Maybe Bohol. Small. Private. Just family, friends, and our weird engineer circle."

Matthew nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. What time of day?"

"Golden hour ceremony. Sunset reception. Live music. No speeches unless someone has metrics."

"And the dress?"

Angel sipped her tea. "Classic. Off-shoulder. Not white. Maybe champagne. Something I can dance in."

Matthew grinned. "I can already picture it."

She looked at him, her voice softer. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "I want you smiling. Everything else is logistics."

Angel blinked, her smile slow. "Damn, that was smooth."

He mock-bowed. "I've been practicing."

6:00 PM — Sentinel HQ, Parking Deck

They walked toward their cars slowly, not quite ready to part ways for the day.

"So when do we tell people?" Angel asked.

Matthew stuffed his hands in his pockets. "That we're engaged to be engaged?"

She chuckled. "Basically."

"We wait," he said. "Let this be ours a little longer."

She nodded. "Agreed."

At her car, she turned and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "But someday?"

He smiled. "Someday."

She got in, the engine humming to life.

As she pulled away, Matthew stood alone for a few moments, hands still in his pockets, that same soft grin lingering on his face.

He was still trying to believe it.

But slowly—surely—it was becoming real.

Just like everything else they'd ever built.

7:45 PM — Matthew's Apartment, Rockwell

The moment he stepped inside his unit, the silence was oddly comforting. The kind of silence that didn't feel empty—but earned. He placed his bag on the counter, loosened his shirt collar, and opened the fridge with no real intent. A half-empty bottle of cold brew. Leftover takeout. A bag of grapes Angel had left there "in case of scurvy."

He poured a glass of water, leaned on the countertop, and opened his phone. No new messages.

He stared at her contact for a moment.

Then typed:

> If we got married on a beach, would we need a Plan B in case of monsoon season?

She replied thirty seconds later:

> Yes. You'd build a temporary waterproof canopy system using spare tunnel scaffolding.

He snorted.

> That actually sounds brilliant.

> We're terrifying.

> We are.

> I like it.

He set the phone down and smiled into the quiet.

May 3rd, 2024 — 7:30 AM

Sentinel HQ Cafeteria

Angel was already seated at their usual table with a tray of eggs, longganisa, and black coffee. Her hair was in a low ponytail, and she had a pen tucked behind one ear. When she saw him, she raised an eyebrow.

"You look like a man who only got four hours of sleep."

"I was up late thinking about your ridiculous idea of wedding scaffolding," he said, grabbing a tray of his own.

"Ridiculous or genius?"

"Dangerously both."

He sat down across from her. They ate quietly for a few minutes.

Then she looked up and said, "You're really thinking about it, aren't you?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah. I am."

She studied him for a beat. "Same."

A small pause.

Then Matthew leaned in slightly and said, "Two years is a long timeline."

Angel shrugged. "Maybe we reevaluate the target milestone."

"You want to build ahead of schedule?"

She grinned. "It's been known to happen."

He raised his coffee cup in salute. "Then let's build it right."

And they clinked their cups together—quietly, without ceremony, in the middle of a regular weekday surrounded by other people too busy to notice that something had just shifted.

Again.

Because this wasn't just love in theory anymore.

It was practice.

It was partnership.

And it was moving forward—one milestone, one smile, one blueprint at a time. ​

As they stood to leave, trays cleared and schedules calling, Angel slipped her hand into his for just a second—brief, unnoticed, but real. A gesture that said more than any morning memo could.

Matthew glanced sideways, his voice low. "So… do I start blocking out potential venue options on the shared calendar?"

Angel grinned. "Only if you make a Gantt chart for the honeymoon."

He laughed. "Deal."

They walked out of the cafeteria side by side, ready for another day of tunnels, reports, and controlled chaos.

But somewhere in the blueprints of their future, a little line had just been drawn bolder.