Fifteen minutes later, Matthew stepped out of the building, dressed in a sharp black button-down and dark slacks. He had ditched the suit for something more relaxed, though his presence still carried its usual authority.
Angel was already waiting by the curb.
She had swapped her business attire for something more fitting for the night—a sleek, dark green dress that stopped just above the knee, paired with black heels. It was the first time Matthew had seen her in something other than her usual office wardrobe, and for a brief second, he almost didn’t recognize her.
"Surprised?" she asked, catching his glance.
Matthew smirked. "Not bad."
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
A sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up, and Matthew gestured for her to get in. As they drove through the city, the neon lights of Manila’s nightlife reflected against the tinted windows.
"So why here?" Angel asked. "You could’ve picked any high-end bar in the city, and yet you chose this place."
"Because sometimes you need chaos," Matthew said. "Corporate lounges are too quiet. I want something with energy."
Angel gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue.
The car pulled up in front of a club—one of the most exclusive in the city, where only the elite gained access. The entrance was lined with a velvet rope, guarded by men who looked more like military personnel than bouncers. A crowd of hopefuls lingered outside, some trying to bribe their way in, others giving up entirely.
But when Matthew stepped out, the atmosphere shifted.
The bouncers recognized him immediately, nodding as they unclipped the rope. "Mr. Borja, welcome."
Matthew barely acknowledged them as he led Angel inside.
The music was a deep, pulsing bass that vibrated through the walls. Dim, colored lights illuminated the space, highlighting the lavish décor and the sea of people moving to the beat. Private booths lined the upper floors, occupied by Manila’s wealthiest and most influential figures.
Matthew made his way straight to one of them. A waiter arrived within seconds, handing them a menu.
"Whiskey," Matthew said without looking. "The best you have."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "You don’t do half-measures, do you?"
Matthew smirked. "Never."
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
Angel leaned back, crossing her legs. "Alright, spill. What’s this really about?"
Matthew tilted his glass slightly, watching the golden liquid swirl. "For once, Angel, it’s exactly what it looks like. No business. No plans. Just a drink."
Angel studied him for a moment before finally relaxing. "Alright, then."
She grabbed her own glass and took a sip.
The night carried on, the alcohol easing the weight of the past few weeks. They talked—but not about work. It was the first time in years Matthew had a conversation that didn’t involve strategy, acquisitions, or corporate warfare.
Angel was sharp as ever, but without the tension of the office, she was different. More relaxed. More human.
They laughed about absurd client demands. Angel recalled the time she nearly told off a billionaire who insisted on meetings at three in the morning. Matthew, in turn, shared stories of his early days, back when he was still proving himself in an industry that didn’t take young entrepreneurs seriously.
At some point, Angel leaned back, exhaling. "I forgot what it was like to just… talk."
Matthew nodded. "You get so caught up in the fight that you forget there’s more to life."
Angel smirked. "And here I thought you lived for the fight."
Matthew took a sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. "I do. But even soldiers get leave."
Angel studied him. "And when this war is over, then what?"
Matthew chuckled. "Wars never really end, Angel. They just change form."
She shook her head, laughing softly. "You’re impossible."
Matthew smirked. "I’m inevitable."
The music shifted, the beat slower, heavier. The club felt hazier now, the warmth of the alcohol making everything seem a little less sharp, a little less urgent.
For a moment, just a moment, the world outside didn’t matter.
The city, the politics, the wars he was fighting—none of it existed here.
It was just him, Angel, and the night.
Angel finished the last sip of her whiskey, setting the glass down with a small clink. The music pulsed through the air, thick with a slow, hypnotic bass that vibrated in their bones. The hazy glow of neon lights reflected off the glass surfaces, casting everything in shifting hues of blue and red.
Matthew leaned back, watching as people moved to the rhythm, lost in the moment. For once, he let himself feel the pull of it—the weightlessness of just being present, of letting go.
Angel caught his gaze and smirked. "You’re thinking too much."
Matthew arched an eyebrow. "Am I?"
She nodded, tilting her head toward the dance floor. "Come on."
Matthew hesitated. He wasn’t exactly the type to dance—not in a setting like this, not when his nights were usually spent in boardrooms or high-stakes meetings. But tonight, he had allowed himself to step away from all that. And if he was being honest, the idea of moving with the music, of letting go of structure and control, intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
Angel was already on her feet, giving him a look that was equal parts challenge and amusement.
"Don’t tell me the great Matthew Borja is afraid of a little dancing."
Matthew smirked, finishing his drink in one smooth motion before standing. "You’re going to regret that."
She laughed. "We’ll see."
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They stepped onto the dance floor, weaving through the sea of people. The music had slowed into a deeper, more sensual rhythm, and the lights above flickered in sync with the heavy bass.
Angel turned to face him, her body already moving to the beat, effortless and confident. Matthew let himself ease into it, following her rhythm, matching her pace. It wasn’t about precision or perfection—it was about presence, about the unspoken energy between them.
Angel’s smirk softened into something else as she moved closer, the space between them shrinking. "See? Not so bad."
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Matthew chuckled, his hands settling at her waist as they moved in sync with the music. "I never said I couldn’t dance."
She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.
The moment stretched, the heat of the club pressing around them, but the only thing Matthew was aware of was Angel—her movements, the warmth of her skin beneath his touch, the slight smirk still playing on her lips.
For once, he wasn’t thinking about the next deal, the next move, the next war.
For once, he was just here.