Chapter 2:
Pretend We Never Met

The sky had bleached pale silver by the time they stepped out of the building, the first faint streaks of dawn bleeding soft pink and gold across the horizon. The air held the crisp, quiet chill of early morning, sharp and clean after the stale warmth inside the penthouse. Arthur's car was parked right at the portico-a sleek, matte black sedan that gleamed even in the dim light, its lines smooth and powerful, looking like it belonged to another world entirely.

Hannah hesitated by the passenger door, her fingers brushing the cool metal handle, suddenly hyper‑aware of how she looked: her uniform slightly rumpled, her curls frizzy from sweat and humidity, faint smudges of cleaning solution still on her cuffs, and her worn sneakers scuffed at the toes. She felt small beside this car, beside everything that belonged to him. She pulled her bag tighter against her chest, took a quiet breath, and slid in.

The interior smelled of expensive leather, faint cedar cologne, and something warm and clean that was just him. The seats were soft, the dashboard polished, every surface neat and unmarked-so different from the cramped, crowded jeepneys she rode every day, where bodies pressed close and the air smelled of diesel and sweat. She kept her hands folded carefully in her lap, afraid she might leave a smudge or a mark on something.

Arthur settled into the driver's seat, turning the key so the engine purred to life-quiet, steady, barely a vibration through the floorboards. He adjusted the gear shift, checked the mirrors, and pulled smoothly out of the driveway, the heavy gates sliding shut behind them like they were sealing away another life.

For a little while, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the distant rumble of the city slowly waking up: the first tricycles starting their rounds, vendors rolling out their carts, streetlights flickering off one by one as the sun crept higher. Hannah watched the buildings slide past, her mind still foggy with exhaustion, her limbs heavy, but her heart beating a little faster than it should have.

Every now and then, she glanced sideways at him-quick, stolen looks, before she turned her eyes back to the road.

She'd seen him before, of course. Everyone at Ateneo knew Arthur Chen. He was the kind of person you noticed without trying: tall, broad‑shouldered, always dressed like he'd stepped out of a magazine, surrounded by friends and noise and attention. But she'd only ever seen him from far away, across a crowded quadrangle or through the glass walls of the student lounge. She'd never been this close.

And now, in the soft half‑light of dawn, she realized something she'd never stopped to think about before: he was actually breathtaking.

His profile was sharp and clean-strong jawline, straight nose, dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he watched the road, his hair still slightly messy from the night before, falling over his forehead in a way that should have looked careless but only made him look more striking. His hands rested easy on the steering wheel-long fingers, steady, no rings, no flashy accessories-and the faint glow of passing streetlights played over his face, softening the edge of his exhaustion.

Hannah felt a strange little flutter low in her chest, a twist of something warm and unwelcome, and she quickly looked away, scolding herself silently. Stop it. This is Arthur Chen. He's everything you aren't. He lives in towers; you work to clean them. He has the world handed to him; you fight for every peso. You're nothing to him but a stranger he gave a ride to. Don't be stupid.

She brushed the feeling aside like it was nothing, straightened her shoulders, and told herself firmly: Intimidated or not, this doesn't change anything. He's just a guy who made a huge mess. That's all.

Then he glanced over, catching her gaze for a second, and a faint, lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"So. First year at Ateneo. You clearly know exactly who I am." His voice was low, still rough around the edges from the alcohol and the late hour, but softer now-gentler, like he was talking to someone equal, not someone he'd hired. "But I don't know your name."

Hannah kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, her fingers tapping nervously on her knee.
"Doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," he said, tilting his head slightly, amusement clear in his tone. "I let you use my shower. I gave you the strongest coffee I own. I'm driving you all the way across the city before the sun's even up. That's at least worth a name, don't you think?"

She turned to look at him then, eyebrows raised, that familiar stubborn fire sparking back to life, pushing past the quiet intimidation she'd felt.
"Look, Mr. Chen-let's be realistic. You're a graduating senior, you're the heir to half the city's businesses, everyone knows your name and your face. I'm just... someone who cleans houses to pay for school. We move in completely different worlds. We're never going to cross paths again after this drive. So why bother exchanging names? It'll only make things awkward."

Arthur let out a low, warm laugh that filled the quiet space of the car, rich and genuine. "That has to be the most ridiculous, practical thing anyone has ever said to me."

"It is practical!" she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Think about it. If we never know each other, I never have to feel like I'm bothering you if I accidentally see you on campus. You never have to feel like you owe me anything or remember me. It's easier for everyone." She leaned forward a little, earnest now. "And if-if-we ever do bump into each other somewhere? Just walk past me. Pretend you never saw me. Pretend we never talked at all tonight. Okay?"

He shook his head, still smiling like he couldn't quite believe her, like she was the strangest, most wonderful thing he'd encountered in years. "You're something else, you know that? Most people practically trip over themselves just to get me to look at them, just to hear me say their name. And you're telling me to ignore you completely."

"Exactly. Smart, right?" she said, but the corner of her own mouth was twitching, fighting a smile she refused to let win. "No drama. No expectations. Just... nothing."

He watched her for a long moment then, his gaze slowing, softening, moving over her face like he was trying to memorize it anyway-despite everything she'd said. The amusement faded a little, replaced by something quieter, something that looked a lot like curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite name yet. Then his expression shifted, realization hitting him all at once, and he frowned gently.

"Wait-you said you're going straight to work after this?" He glanced at his watch, then back at her, truly stunned. "You spent two hours scrubbing my penthouse from top to bottom. You haven't slept. You have classes all day. And then you're going straight to another job?" He leaned back against the seat, shaking his head slowly, bewildered. How many jobs does this girl even have? How many hours a day does she work just to keep going?

Hannah shifted in her seat, suddenly picking at a loose thread on her sleeve, looking down at her hands. "It's just... extra shifts. I'm on full scholarship, but it doesn't cover everything. My parents are back home in the province, and I can't ask them for anything. So I work. It's fine. I'm used to it."

Arthur said nothing for a long time after that. He just watched the road, but his mind was turning over everything she'd said-every small, heavy thing she'd brushed off like it was nothing. He'd spent his whole life thinking hard work was something you did for pleasure, for status, for a goal you could choose. He'd never met anyone who worked just to survive, just to stay in school, just to keep breathing. And she did it all without complaining, without asking for help, without ever letting anyone see how tired she was.

He nodded slowly, finally, but he tucked every single detail away, safe and clear in his mind: First year. Full scholar. Sends money home. Cleans at odd hours. Works early shifts at a convenience store. Runs on nothing but grit.

They drove on in comfortable silence for a while after that, the sun climbing higher now, painting the buildings in soft amber light. Cars began to fill the streets, people walking fast toward offices and schools, the city waking up properly. When they neared the stretch of road beside the campus, Hannah leaned forward slightly, pointing ahead.

"Please-just drop me off there, at the 7‑Eleven right on the corner."

Arthur's brow furrowed again. "That's still ten minutes' walk from your building. Why not the main gate? It's safer. It's closer."

"I... I start my shift there right after my last class," she admitted quietly. "If I go to the gate first, I'll waste time. It's easier if I head straight there from here. And I can change in the back room."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her he could drive her all the way to her next stop, that he could wait, that she shouldn't be running herself this thin. But he saw the way she held herself-stiff, guarded, proud-and he knew she wouldn't accept it. So he just nodded, slowed the car, and pulled smoothly over to the curb right in front of the store.

The bright red and green sign glowed against the pale morning sky, the glass doors already reflecting the first light of day. He put the car in park, turned off the engine, but didn't unlock the doors right away.

Hannah reached for the handle, her fingers closing around it, then paused when he spoke again-softer this time, almost too quiet to hear.
"You still didn't tell me your name."

She turned back to look at him, and for a heartbeat, all her defenses slipped. She saw the way he looked at her-not like she was invisible, not like she was beneath him, but like she mattered. Like she was someone worth knowing. And for that one second, she almost told him. Almost let herself say it out loud.

But then she remembered the mess, the thong on the doorknob, the difference between their lives, the way this would only end in hurt if she let it go any further. So she offered him that bright, crooked smile-the one that was all hers, messy and real-and shook her head gently.

"Just... do as I said. Pretend you never saw me. Pretend we never met. Have a good day, Arthur."

She pushed the door open, slid out quickly, hoisting her heavy bag higher on her shoulder, and hurried toward the glass doors-so rushed, so flustered, so eager to get away before she changed her mind that she nearly tripped over her own feet on the little step up to the entrance. She stumbled, caught herself just in time, her cheeks burning hot, and darted inside without looking back.

Arthur sat there for a long minute after she was gone, the engine silent now, the morning sun warm on his hands where they still rested on the wheel. He watched the door swing shut behind her, watched her shadow move past the glass panels, and a soft, genuine laugh bubbled up in his chest-quiet, fond, and completely unexpected.

He shook his head to himself, a slow, sure feeling settling deep in his bones.

This girl, he thought, already turning the key to start the car again. Stubborn, messy, impossible, wonderful girl. You can tell me to pretend all you want. But I'm definitely going to find out who you are. And I'm definitely not going to pretend I never saw you.