Prologue

"What?"

"You heard me, Ms. Lopez," the senior graphic designer, a man in his forties, stated with an authoritative tone.

"Why am I being fired?" Maddie questioned, incredulous. She rose from her seat, her gaze fixed on him.

They were alone in the senior graphic design team's main office, the tension in the room thick and palpable. Maddie wasn't about to leave without a fight, without understanding why.

"Didn't you hear what I said, or are you drifting off again?" he asked, dismissively, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Last night's incident was sufficient proof," he answered, his expression serious.

"Mr. Lee was being unreasonable! He kept dismissing my design proposal for the election campaign without even looking at it, without offering any constructive criticism," Maddie argued, her frustration mounting.

"It's hardly reasonable to throw a cup of hot americano at him," he retorted, his tone sharp.

"He made unprofessional comments! He said my work belonged in the dump," she countered, her voice laced with indignation.

"And not only that," she continued, her resolve hardening, "Mr. Lee has been disregarding my work for weeks, ever since I confronted him about the mistreatment of my female colleagues."

"Speaking up is commendable, but expressing yourself through childish outbursts is not," he corrected, his gaze stern. He leaned back in his chair, a picture of relaxed authority.

A long, heavy silence settled between them. Maddie sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation. She stood her ground, her eyes unwavering.

"I won't argue if this industry silences its workers," she said, her voice firm, masking the turmoil within.

She turned, a dismissive scoff escaping her lips, and walked toward the door. As she reached the threshold, she paused, glancing back at him. "And fuck you all."

"Maddie, why are you packing?" a female coworker asked, her voice filled with concern.

"Got any parting words before I escape this hellhole?" Maddie replied, her focus on packing her belongings into a large blue box.

"So, they actually fired you..." a male coworker said, his voice laced with disbelief.

"I thought they'd come to their senses. Isn't it their fault you reacted that way?" another male coworker chimed in, rising from his seat.

"Yeah, well, that's the system for you. I doubt those dinosaurs will budge, even in forty years," Maddie retorted, her voice tinged with bitterness.

"Mistreatment is just a minor inconvenience, I guess," she added, sealing the box with duct tape, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

"Well, don't forget us, okay?" the first female coworker said, placing a comforting hand on Maddie's shoulder.

Maddie met her gaze, a small, genuine smile flickering across her face.

"Good luck with everything, Maddie!" a male coworker offered, his voice warm.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure Mr. Lee pays for this," another male coworker declared, his voice a touch too loud.

A chorus of "shushes" filled the air, a collective attempt to silence him before their conversation reached the wrong ears.

"Thank you, guys! I'll never forget you all," Maddie said, her eyes filled with gratitude.

Nods and encouraging smiles greeted her, a silent promise of support. Maddie bid her farewells, locking eyes with each of her close colleagues. With a final glance around the office, she hoisted the blue box and walked toward the door.

Outside the building, Maddie turned, her gaze lingering on the imposing structure. The unfairness of the situation gnawed at her, but she maintained her composure. Without dwelling on it, she turned and walked away, her steps resolute.

Maddie sank into the plush cushions of her apartment sofa, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. The day had been a relentless storm, leaving her adrift and battered. She hadn't expected her life to unravel so spectacularly, though a part of her, perhaps, had always known it was a possibility. Her dramatic exit from the office, the fiery confrontation, had sealed her fate. But Maddie, with her unwavering sense of integrity, wouldn't have changed a thing, consequences be damned.

"Well, at least they gave me my last paycheck," she murmured, her voice a low hum against the quiet of the room.

"Now that I think about it, the higher-ups handing me my paycheck, then the senior graphic designer calling me in to deliver the 'you're fired' speech… it actually makes perfect sense," she continued, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Foolish of me to think that my contributions would actually matter," she added, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her hands clasped loosely over her stomach. A heavy silence settled around her, punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her breathing.

"Usually, after a day like this, I'd treat myself to something nice," she mused, her voice trailing off.

"But, I don't know… I just want to rest. I don't feel well," she admitted, a weariness settling deep in her bones.

A heavy lethargy crept over her, a gentle pull toward sleep. Without another thought, her eyelids fluttered closed, and she drifted into the welcoming embrace of slumber.

The night air in Poblacion, Makati, vibrated with a restless energy. Streetlamps and the neon glow of storefronts painted the scene in a kaleidoscope of light. I walked, a solitary figure, toward the newly opened jazz club where I worked. The streets teemed with life: office workers, foreign tourists, and students, their youthful exuberance spilling onto the sidewalks. It was Monday, yet the city pulsed with a frenetic rhythm all its own.

As I strolled, I couldn't help but notice the groups of high school students, seemingly unburdened by curfews. A pang of wistfulness tugged at me. My own high school days had been marked by quiet solitude, a stark contrast to their carefree revelry. I was the quiet one, the one who rarely ventured beyond the familiar.

But adulthood had taught me a different lesson. It was okay to be alone, to explore the city's hidden corners, to wander to Quezon City or Taguig without needing a companion. Independence had become my solace.

Reaching the jazz club's entrance, I grasped the cool metal of the door handle and pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit interior. My gaze immediately found two coworkers, and a wave of relief washed over me when I spotted Monica.

Monica, my steadfast college friend—and gloriously, unapologetically gay—was a constant source of comfort.

"Hey!" she called out, her face breaking into a welcoming smile.

I waved in response, closing the door behind me and approaching her.

"I've got something to tell you," Monica said, her voice laced with intrigue.

"What is it?" I asked, my curiosity piqued, though I tried to appear nonchalant.

"Do you remember that woman who came in here yesterday, wearing a red bodycon dress?" Monica asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Hmm..." I frowned, trying to conjure the image. "Yeah, I think I remember her... vaguely."

"The slightly middle-aged woman, the one who looked like she'd never set foot in the grittier parts of Makati?" Monica clarified, raising her voice slightly, determined to jog my memory.

I remained silent, my eyes drifting, lost in a sea of fragmented recollections. My memory for faces was notoriously unreliable, especially if the person hadn't particularly caught my attention.

"Yeah, no, I give up," I said, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. "I need to change." I began to walk past her, heading towards the employee room.

"Hey, I haven't told you the whole story yet!" Monica called after me, her voice tinged with exasperation.

"Later," I replied over my shoulder, disappearing into the employee room and closing the door behind me.

I emerged from the employee room, clad in my standard service uniform, and found Monica leaning against the front desk, her attention wholly absorbed by her phone.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I chided, giving her a gentle reprimand.

"Oh, right, but about that woman..." Monica began, her eyes flashing with renewed enthusiasm.

"We'll talk about it later. I need to flip the open sign," I said, cutting her off as I headed towards the entrance. I turned the sign, the simple action signaling the start of the evening.

"But it's more fun if I share it now!" Monica called out, her voice laced with annoyance. She crossed her arms, a picture of frustrated resignation.

The sound of wind whistling through my window roused me from a deep slumber. My eyelids fluttered open, and I realized I’d slept far longer than intended. My body felt relaxed, yet strangely heavy, a testament to the extended rest. I scanned the room, the darkness outside the window confirming it was late.

"Damn, at least this sleep made up for all those restless nights at my old job," I muttered, a wave of contentment washing over me.

I rose from the sofa and shuffled towards the bathroom, my movements languid. I turned the doorknob and stepped inside, my gaze drifting lazily until it met my reflection in the mirror. I stared at my own image for a long, silent moment.

"One day, you're gonna be rich as hell," I declared, my voice a low, determined murmur.

"Richer than those ungrateful, fossilized dinosaurs," I added, a flicker of defiance in my eyes.

With that, I turned on the faucet, cupped water in my hands, and splashed it onto my face, the cool water a welcome jolt. I reached for my favorite charcoal and shea butter cleanser, lathered it onto my hands, and began to gently cleanse and exfoliate my skin.

After a few minutes, I finished my routine and headed out of the bathroom. I walked to my bedroom door, turned the doorknob, and stepped inside.

"Good evening, miss. May I take your order."

"Hey, Kris. I'll take your spot; they need you in the kitchen," Monica called out, sidling up to me and nudging my shoulder.

Kris glanced at Monica, offering no argument, simply nodding in acknowledgment. She turned and headed toward the kitchen, her expression neutral, yet expectant.

"Kris, can you please put these in the storage room?"

No sooner had Kris stepped into the kitchen than she was met by their manager, Scott, who was struggling with three boxes of extra plates and utensils. Without a word, Kris took the boxes from Scott's hands, her movements effortless.

"Thanks. Let me know when you've put them away; I need you for something. But boxes first, then come find me," Scott said, tapping Kris's shoulder as he walked past.

Kris, taken aback by the rapid-fire instructions, merely nodded to herself. She turned and headed toward the storage room, weaving through the bustling kitchen. Reaching the door, she realized she couldn't open it while carrying the heavy boxes. She shifted her weight, bracing herself against the wall, and used her body to nudge the door open.

With a slow, determined push, she managed to slip through the narrow opening, her strength belying her slender frame.

"Shit," Kris muttered, now inside the cramped storage room. She moved carefully, the weight of the boxes a tangible burden, and quickened her pace when she spotted an empty space. Without hesitation, she dropped the boxes with a soft thud.

"Finally," Kris sighed, a wave of relief washing over her. She then crouched down, organizing the boxes, slightly struggling with the sheer size and weight.

Maddie settled at her vanity, her gaze meeting her own in the mirror. She gently combed her long, straight blue hair, a soothing ritual. She'd changed into a casual ensemble: a blue off-shoulder top and matching blue shorts.

Setting the comb aside, she reached for a large pink pouch and extracted a rose nude lipstick, a compact powder, and a baby pink blush. She began with the compact powder, dabbing the puff lightly onto her cheeks, forehead, and the bridge of her nose. Next, she applied the rose nude lipstick, carefully outlining her lips.

 Finally, she added a touch of baby pink blush to her cheeks, completing her look.

Maddie studied her reflection, a small, determined smile spreading across her face. She was trying to lift her own spirits.

"That's life. I have to move on," she murmured to the mirror, her voice filled with a quiet resolve.

She gave herself one last glance, then turned away, rising from her seat and heading out.

"Scott, hey, you said you needed me for something?" Kris asked, her eyes meeting Scott's back.

Scott turned, a friendly, yet slightly strained smile spreading across his face. He seemed hesitant, his eyes darting away.

"Right, well, I'll make this quick," Scott began, his voice slowing, a clear sign of his inner conflict. He seemed unsure whether to proceed.

"Is something the matter?" Kris asked, noticing his unease.

"Before I ask you to do this, I just want to tell you that you're such a good and diligent worker here, and I don't think I can find anyone like you—"

"Scott, cut the bullshit. What is it?" Kris interrupted, her voice detached, her hands clasped behind her back. She had no patience for pleasantries.

Scott looked at her, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air. He pursed his lips, his body language radiating shyness, as he searched for the right words.

"Listen, I know this might sound weird, and I know you find me… strange, but that's totally understandable..."

Is he  on to something? Kris thought, her suspicion growing with each passing second.

"And the reason I'm telling you this is because I really, really trust you, and I admire your work..."

"I'm a lesbian," Kris stated bluntly, cutting him off.

"What?" Scott stammered, his expression shifting from awkward to bewildered.

"Yeah, so, we can't, you know..." Kris clarified, wanting to dispel any misunderstanding. The situation was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"What? No, no..." Scott began, his voice rising defensively. "No, you misunderstood..."

"I misunderstood?" Kris repeated, crossing her arms and taking a step back, her skepticism evident.

"Yeah, well, my approach earlier was stupid, but you know what... here's what I wanted to say," Scott said, his tone sharpening, his demeanor shifting from sheepish to stern.

"I need you to buy me a pregnancy test."