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

November 20, 2024 — 6:45 AMBohol, Private Villa

The third morning arrived not with a dramatic sunrise, but with a soft, misty haze rolling off the ocean.

Angel woke first this time, blinking slowly against the silvery light filtering through the gauzy curtains. She shifted carefully, mindful not to disturb Matthew, who was still sprawled across the bed in a way only men utterly at peace could be—half on his stomach, hair a messy halo against the white pillows, one hand lazily curled around her waist.

Angel smiled to herself.

Husband.

The word still felt new. Still wrapped in a kind of fragile awe.

Carefully, she slipped out from under his arm and padded barefoot across the wooden floor, pulling on one of his shirts from the nearby chair. It hung loosely on her, swallowing her frame, but she liked it that way.

Outside, the world smelled of wet earth and sea salt.

A light drizzle tapped softly against the porch roof, but beyond it, the horizon was already breaking into pale gold where the sun was trying to burn through the clouds.

She sat on the steps, knees pulled to her chest, just breathing it all in.

Behind her, the villa door creaked.

"You left me defenseless," Matthew's voice was low and half-accusing, half-laughing.

Angel turned her head slightly. "You were drooling on the pillow."

He sat down beside her with a mock-wounded expression. "Slander."

"You can check the evidence later," she said, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder.

They sat that way for a while, watching the drizzle fade into mist, the ocean lazily lapping against the shore, the sky slowly clearing into muted hues of rose and blue.

"You know," Angel said after a long beat, "it's almost scary."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

"This. Us. Being this happy."

He didn't answer right away.

Just reached over, sliding his hand into hers.

"It's not scary," he said after a moment. "It's rare. But not scary."

Angel twisted their fingers together. "I keep thinking it'll break somehow. Like we're living in a dream too good to hold."

Matthew exhaled, squeezing her hand. "Then we don't grip it too tightly. We don't force it. We just keep building. One sunrise at a time."

She smiled faintly. "You make it sound simple."

"It is," he said, his voice very soft. "Simple doesn't mean easy. But it's simple."

Angel leaned into him again, letting the truth of that settle somewhere deep inside her.

Simple didn't mean effortless.

It meant choosing.

Choosing each other.

Every day.

—

9:15 AM — Bohol Town Center

They decided to visit the local market after breakfast, curious to see something beyond the villa's manicured edges.

Angel wandered through the colorful maze of stalls—brightly woven baskets, tiny hand-carved trinkets, rows of fresh seafood laid out over ice.

Matthew followed close behind, occasionally stopping to haggle for small souvenirs, or examine unfamiliar fruits with the careful curiosity of an engineer encountering a new material sample.

At one point, Angel picked up a delicate little shell necklace, the kind usually sold to tourists, and looped it clumsily around Matthew's neck.

He stared at her, deadpan. "This is deeply unprofessional."

Angel laughed. "Good thing you're off-duty, Mr. Borja."

He plucked a flower from a nearby basket and tucked it behind her ear in retaliation.

"There," he said, satisfied. "Now we're even."

They moved through the market like that—quietly playful, wrapped up in their own small world.

Vendors smiled at them. Old women nodded knowingly.

Matthew and Angel hardly noticed.

They were too busy memorizing the ordinary beauty of it all.

—

12:30 PM — Seaside Café

They found a small café tucked along the edge of the water—nothing fancy, just wooden tables, salt-stained umbrellas, and the best grilled fish Angel had tasted in her life.

They ate with their fingers, laughing as the ocean breeze stole napkins and turned hair wild.

At one point, Matthew caught her staring at him over the rim of her glass.

"What?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Angel shrugged. "Just… you."

He set his drink down. "Good 'me' or bad 'me'?"

She tilted her head, studying him.

"Good," she said. "The kind that sneaks up on you."

Matthew reached across the table, brushing his knuckles against her wrist. "You still get that feeling?"

"Yeah."

"Me too," he admitted.

For a long moment, they just held each other's gaze.

Neither trying to rush past it.

Neither trying to label it.

Just letting the reality of them settle into something real.

Something permanent.

—

3:00 PM — Villa, Hammock

Back at the villa, they lazed through the afternoon in the hammock strung between two sturdy palms.

Angel lay sprawled across Matthew's chest, idly tracing random patterns along his forearm.

He was reading something on his tablet—something entirely non-work-related, for once—but kept losing his place because she kept distracting him.

Not that he minded.

Angel's hair smelled like ocean and sunshine. Her weight against him was grounding, a reminder that this wasn't some fever dream cooked up by stress and fatigue.

This was real.

Their life had finally expanded beyond schedules and system charts.

It had expanded into small moments.

Into days like this.

"Tell me something stupid you want to do," Angel murmured.

Matthew closed the tablet, setting it aside. "Like what?"

"Anything," she said. "No pressure. No planning."

He thought about it.

Then smiled crookedly. "I want to build a tiny wooden boat."

Angel blinked up at him. "A boat?"

"A terrible one," he said. "One that barely floats. Just for us. Just to say we did."

She laughed, delighted. "God, you're such a nerd."

He nudged her side lightly. "You love it."

"I married it," she corrected, grinning.

Matthew kissed her temple. "Your turn."

Angel considered.

"I want to race you up that ridiculous hill behind the villa."

He laughed. "You'll lose."

"I'll cheat."

He mock-gasped. "You'd sabotage our early marital trust like that?"

"Without hesitation," Angel said sweetly.

Matthew threw his head back and laughed properly this time, the sound echoing under the lazy sway of the trees.

And the world, already perfect, felt even fuller somehow.

—

6:30 PM — Beach Bonfire

That evening, a small bonfire crackled on the beach, set up by the villa staff at their quiet request.

Angel and Matthew sat barefoot in the sand, wrapped together in a shared blanket, watching the flames dance as night fully wrapped the island in indigo and silver.

The stars overhead were sharp and countless.

The kind of sky you forgot existed when you lived between concrete towers and fluorescent lights.

Angel leaned into Matthew's side, feeling the slow thud of his heart against her temple.

"You think it'll stay this easy?" she asked softly.

He didn't hesitate.

"No," he said. "But that's not the point."

She tilted her face up to look at him.

Matthew smiled.

"The point is," he said, "we'll keep choosing each other. Even when it's messy. Even when it's hard."

Angel smiled back.

"Every day?" she asked.

"Every day," he promised.

And there, under a sky strewn with stars, with salt air tangling their hair and firelight warming their faces, Angel believed him.

Not just because he said it.

But because they'd already built it.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Brick by brick.

Heartbeat by heartbeat.

The kind of system even the fiercest storms couldn't bring down.

The kind that could last forever.

Together.