Chapter 2: An envelope, a dingy apartment, and an email

SOFIA’s POV

The gentle hum of Mr. Lee’s luxurious SUV faded into the background as his kind eyes lingered on me.

“You—very beautiful tonight, Miss Sofia,” he said in his broken English, his Chinese accent curling around the words. He reached for my hand, planting a soft kiss on it before flashing his signature toothy smile.

“Good company. I feel good, good…” He nodded after each word, his warmth almost childlike despite his old age.

I returned his smile with my usual, well-rehearsed demureness. “It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Lee. You know you’re my favorite client.”

We sat comfortably in the buttery-soft leather seats in the back of his SUV, a setting that was suitable for a man of his stature.

“Ah, good to know.” He gestured to his driver who handed him a white envelope. “This is for your service, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lee,” I replied, taking the envelope with a practiced grace.

After one last polite exchange, the driver opened the door and I stepped out into the cool night air. “Take care, my old man.”

He chuckled, and the car sped off, leaving me standing there, my smile fading the second the car completely disappeared.

In an instant, the makeup on my face suddenly felt unbearable, as though it were suffocating me. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything else.

Even though I felt proud wearing this beautiful dress that perfectly fit my figure, I still bought this gold body-con dress with my escort earnings along with this stiletto on my feet. For some, it wasn’t the kind of job that any good woman would pick but poverty led me here—there’s simply no other choice.

Heaving a sigh, I crouched and slipped off my heels, the cool pavement a welcome relief against my sore feet.

Heels dangling from my hand, I climbed the cement stairs to my third-floor apartment. There were no elevators, of course. This was Manila and I lived in a cheap apartment.

Even at this hour, the city was alive and I could still hear a symphony of distant laughter, honking cars, and muffled karaoke drifting from neighboring streets. But inside the apartment building, all was quiet. Most of my neighbors were call center workers, their nights spent at offices far from here. Their absence made the space feel empty, but I welcomed the isolation.

Just as I reached my door, my phone buzzed. I answered without checking the caller ID. “Yeah?”

“You whore, how did it go with Mr. Lee?” came Mina’s teasing voice.

I chuckled, too tired to protest the nickname. “It went fine, as always. I just got home.”

“Girl, you sound dead tired,” she quipped. “Did the old Chinese mogul finally ask you to twerk?”

“Mina! What are you even saying?” I laughed despite myself. “I told you, he’s sweet. He doesn’t want me as some… sex object. He just hires me to make him look good at events. And we’ve had intellectual conversations. He’s nothing like the others.”

“Lucky you,” Mina said with mock envy. “At least your agency screens the creeps and sticks to your no-sex rule.”

I entered my dingy apartment, letting the door creak shut behind me. Peeling wallpaper, a barely functional kitchenette, and a pile of unpaid bills instantly greeted me.

“Yeah, well, it’s not forever,” I said, tossing my bag onto the lone chair in the room. “Once I land an acting gig, I’m done with this.”

Mina went quiet for a beat. “How’d the audition go today?”

“Awful,” I admitted, collapsing onto my bed. The sheets were clean, but the fatigue clinging to me wasn’t so easily washed away.

“They didn’t even see me, Mina. Just like all the others. Same bored director, same sassy producer, same fake smile: ‘Thanks, we’ll let you know.’” I exhaled sharply, staring at the brownish ceiling above me. “I just want to pack my bags and go back to the province.”

“Well, you better not give up!” Mina said, her tone fierce. “You just said you’re quitting escorting the second you get an acting job.”

“I know. I’m complaining but I’m still determined.”

We talked for a few more minutes, her pep talk helping in the smallest of ways before she hung up.

Left alone, I stared at the ceiling again, my mind wandering toward useless things. Maybe I should shoot another "Get Ready With Me" TikTok. I just reached 500 thousand subscribers last week, hoping I’d get another hundred in the next month.

My daydreaming was disturbed when I heard someone at the door. I glanced at the digital clock on my phone. It was already 1:05 A.M. With my anxiety shooting up to the roof, I got up and grabbed the nearest possible weapon—my hairdryer.

“Sofia, it’s me,” said a familiar, raspy voice.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Him again!’ Fully aware of his reputation, I decided not to open the door.

“Mr. Donato, it’s late. What do you want?”

“I waited for you all day, but you’re just getting home now,” he grumbled. “I came for the rent.”

Shit. My hand flew to the envelope from Mr. Lee.

I opened it quickly, my heart sinking as I counted the bills. Enough to cover rent, but barely. There’d be nothing left to send my family to the province.

“I-I’ll pay tomorrow, Mr. Donato,” I stammered. “I need to… budget everything first.”

“If you’re short,” he said, his voice slick with a suggestion, “we can work something out. You know what I want—”

“Not tonight, Mr. Donato,” I cut him off sharply. “I’m exhausted. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He did not respond for a long while, just enough for my heart to drum even more wildly in my chest.

“Tomorrow then,” he finally said before going away.

My stinky landlord had been wanting me to do sexual favors but I just couldn’t do that.  Escorting might pay the bills, but it didn’t mean I was for sale.

Feeling a little discouraged, I got up to start my night routine. Scattered across my night table were various skincare products and gifts from small brands that had reached out months ago when my social media following started to grow. 

“You are very beautiful, langga (my love). I am sure you will be a famous actress.” 

I shook my head, trying to drown out her voice.

“I tried to follow your dream, Mother. But it feels like I’m failing,” I whispered, staring at her picture. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not ready to give up. It’s still our dream, isn’t it? You wanted me to be the next Kathryn Bernardo.”

I chuckled softly, brushing the photo with my finger. A tear threatened to spill, but I blinked it away and turned my focus to my email—a habit I’d developed since juggling life as a content creator and an aspiring actress. 

Only ten emails. But one immediately caught my attention. I clicked it open, and my heart nearly leaped out of my chest as I read aloud. “Miss Morales, we’ve already met before, at the restaurant. I have a job proposition. Meet me tomorrow at the location I provided. Wear something nice.” 

My blood boiled. Suddenly, the embarrassing encounter at the restaurant crossed my mind. That guy...

Even with his so-called invitation, he still sounded like the same arrogant but irresistible jerk I met last week!