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

November 19, 2024 — 7:15 AMBohol, Private Villa

The second morning broke softer than the first.

Angel stirred to the distant cry of seabirds and the slow rush of the tide against the rocks. She blinked awake, her body still tucked under the linen sheets, Matthew's arm heavy across her waist, anchoring her to the mattress like he was afraid she'd slip away in her sleep.

For a few long, lazy moments, she didn't move.

Just listened to the sea, felt the weight of him, the warm steadiness of his breathing.

No alarms. No sprinting through timetables. No early check-ins with site engineers.

Just this.

Just them.

Matthew shifted slightly, his voice still raspy with sleep. "You're awake."

"So are you," she whispered, smiling against the pillow.

"Hard not to be," he murmured, tightening his hold on her briefly. "You think I'm going to let my wife escape a second morning without stealing breakfast?"

Angel chuckled low in her throat. "You're clingy."

"And proud of it," he said, finally lifting his head to press a kiss against her hair. "Come on. Sunrise pancakes wait for no one."

Angel groaned but smiled wider, allowing herself to be pulled—slowly, lazily—out of bed.

Neither of them was in a hurry.

There was nowhere else in the world they needed to be.

—

8:30 AM — Outdoor Villa Patio

The small table was already set by the villa staff—thin golden pancakes stacked neatly under a cloche, syrup warmed in a tiny ceramic pot, slices of pineapple and papaya arranged like little sunbursts.

Matthew poured coffee into two mismatched mugs, then handed one to Angel as she flopped into her chair with a dramatic sigh.

"This is dangerous," she said, inhaling the scent. "I might never leave."

He grinned. "Not a threat. A goal."

Angel dug into her food like someone who hadn't eaten in days—which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth given the chaos of the past week leading up to the wedding.

Matthew just watched her for a moment, elbow on the table, chin resting against his fist.

"I can feel you staring," Angel said around a mouthful of pancake.

"Appreciating," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes fondly.

They ate slowly, without hurry, the way people do when time finally stops mattering.

At some point, Matthew reached across the table, lacing his fingers with hers without a word.

Angel squeezed back.

There wasn't anything to say.

They were already fluent in this new language between them.

—

11:00 AM — Bohol Inner Island Roads

The idea of staying in the villa all day had been tempting, but after a second cup of coffee and some light coercion from Angel, they decided to rent a scooter and explore.

Matthew, being Matthew, insisted on inspecting the vehicle like they were about to enter a mechanical endurance race.

"Brakes, check. Tire pressure, check. Helmet straps, double check," he muttered as Angel laughed, slipping on her helmet with a wink.

"You know this isn't a tunnel boring machine, right?" she teased.

"Protocols apply," he said solemnly, adjusting his own helmet.

Angel climbed onto the back seat and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin lightly against his shoulder. "Lead the way, Captain."

Matthew revved the small engine with exaggerated gusto, and they took off down the dusty coastal road, the wind pulling at their clothes, the salt-sweet air rushing past their faces.

They didn't have a map.

They didn't have a destination.

They just drove.

Past rice fields and tiny churches, fishermen mending nets under the sun, kids chasing after chickens on dirt roads.

Life moved slower here, softer.

And for once, they matched its rhythm perfectly.

—

2:15 PM — Forest Clearing

Somewhere inland, they pulled over when they spotted a wide grove of towering mahogany trees, their canopies forming a living tunnel overhead.

They wandered under the green shade, hands brushing together lightly, sometimes clasping, sometimes swinging apart and back again.

Angel tilted her head up, watching the sunlight scatter through the leaves in shifting patches.

"Feels like being inside a living pulse," she murmured.

Matthew turned to look at her, smiling quietly. "Trust you to turn a forest into a system metaphor."

"Everything's a system," she said with a grin. "Even this."

He thought about that for a moment.

Then he reached for her hand again, threading their fingers together properly this time. "Then I like our system."

She squeezed his hand. "Me too."

They didn't rush.

Didn't need to.

There was no schedule. No project manager waiting. No countdown clocks blinking in the corners of their eyes.

Just time.

Just them.

—

5:30 PM — Villa Private Beach

By the time they returned, the sun was low on the horizon again, painting the sea in molten gold.

Angel slipped off her shoes the moment they reached the edge of the porch, racing Matthew barefoot down the sand.

He let her win.

(He would always let her win.)

They collapsed onto the beach towels they'd left earlier, lying side-by-side, chests rising and falling in sync.

For a long time, they just watched the sky change colors.

Then Angel turned onto her side, propping her head up with one hand.

"You know what I realized?" she said, tracing lazy patterns on his arm with her fingertip.

"Hm?"

"You never asked me the cheesy honeymoon question."

Matthew tilted his head. "Which one?"

"You know." She lowered her voice dramatically. "'How does it feel to be Mrs. Borja?'"

He laughed, the sound rich and unguarded.

"Probably because," he said, pulling her a little closer, "you're not just Mrs. Borja."

She blinked, surprised.

"You're still Angel Cruz. You're still the woman who rebuilt a subway system, outran supply chain chaos, and made me fall in love with her without even trying."

Angel's throat tightened.

"You're still you," he said simply. "I didn't marry you to change your name. I married you because you built a place in my life no one else could."

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then buried her face against his chest and punched his arm lightly.

"You're such a sap," she mumbled.

"You love it," he said smugly, wrapping both arms around her.

"I do," she whispered back.

And the waves kept rolling in.

And the stars began pricking through the deepening sky.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't have to be strong or brave or perfect.

They just had to be.

Together.

—

9:30 PM — Villa Bedroom

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, limbs tangled, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and mangoes through the open shutters.

No alarms.

No crises.

No rush.

Just heartbeats, steady and sure.

Matthew's hand found hers under the covers, even in sleep.

And Angel's breathing shifted to match his, without either of them thinking about it.

Systems didn't have to be cold or mechanical.

Some systems—like theirs—were alive.

Built with care.

Fueled by trust.

And here, in this quiet pulse between tides, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

Still building.

Still growing.

Still lasting.