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Chapter 4: A restaurant, a Maserati, but no Sofia
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2025-02-16 11:23:01Rios checked his watch for the third time in a minute, but the sleek silver wrapped around his wrist only mocked him. Only five minutes had passed, yet it already felt like an hour.
Exhaling slowly, he adjusted the cuff of his tailored blazer, as if trying to appear relaxed.
The luxurious restaurant hummed with quiet conversations. He had specifically told Sasha to make a reservation at this high-end place to impress Sofia Morales. Not that he wanted to prove anything to that woman. He was heir to both the empire of the Estrada and Alcaraz families. If he wanted to, he had all the resources to make her obey him. And yet, Rios wouldn’t do that to her. She seemed like a challenge. Nowadays, he felt he needed Sofia to stay that way.
However, first impressions still mattered. If Sofia showed up, he needed to seem like a man in control.
But this agonizing waiting left him with a little anxiety. He attempted to divert his attention by listening to the clinking of plates and the low hum of jazz music in the place. Before he knew it, ten minutes had passed and he was still alone at the special table Sasha had chosen for them.
He reached for the brandy in front of him. The slow burn sliding down his throat only fueled his mood.
“Sir, are you ready to order?”
Rios barely glanced up. A waitress stood beside him, looking confident and expectant.
“No.” His voice was low, tight. “I am still waiting for someone.”
She hesitated. “Perhaps I can bring you some appetizers while you wait?”
Rios finally looked at the girl sharply, irritation swiped across his face.
‘Maybe Sofia got cold feet. Maybe she was playing him. Or maybe—just maybe—this had been a terrible idea from the start.’
Rios hated waiting—hated it more than loose ends, more than disloyalty. His patience had already thinned to a dangerous edge. And this waitress wasn’t helping.
“I need you to stop hovering.”
The waitress shifted on her feet. “I—of course, sir. I’ll check back later.” She turned quickly, shoulders stiff, vanishing into the hum of the restaurant. Rios watched her go, his jaw clenched. The brandy burned less now, but the irritation in his chest smoldered hotter.
Suddenly, his phone rang. The shrill tone only added to his frustration. He pulled it from his pocket and answered with a clipped voice. “What’s taking her so long?”
“B-Boss, Miss Morales is not in her apartment.”
Rios’s grip on the phone tightened. “What?”
Some customers turned their heads in his direction. Rios exhaled sharply, lowering his voice. “I specifically instructed Sasha to pull every string we have to clear Sofia’s schedule tonight. What do you mean she’s not in that dingy apartment of hers?”
“Y-yes, Boss. Everything was set for Miss Morales, b-but—”
Rios didn’t let him finish. He stood up, tossed a few bills, and walked briskly out of the restaurant. It seemed like Sofia was indeed playing a game with him. And that only pissed him off.
As he got out of the restaurant, the Manila air clung to his skin, thick and humid. He went straight to his Maserati and yanked the door open. His mind was already two steps ahead. Of course, he knew where Sofia was. She should have been waiting for the car he sent for her like she was supposed to. But she wasn’t. And that didn’t sit right.
Rios accelerated, drowning his anger in the roar of the engine. Before he knew it, the skyline faded as he turned onto the narrower streets of Sofia’s living conditions.
Vendors crowded the curbs. Through his tinted windows, he caught glimpses of the people in this part of Manila—some watching his car with curiosity, others with wariness. He ignored them.
His phone buzzed again.
“Boss,” a voice crackled through the line, almost hesitant. “You sure you want to be driving through here alone?”
Rios let out a slow breath, willing himself to keep his temper in check. “If I needed a damn body guard, I’d ask. Besides, I am already here. I’ll handle it. Don’t do anything unless I said so.”
The goon cleared his throat. “Understood, Boss.”
Rios ended the call, rolled his shoulders, and clenched his neck. “Hmm, patience, Rios.” He muttered.
As his car came to a slow stop in front of Sofia’s three-story apartment building, his grip on his steering wheel only intensified as he saw her—still in her pajamas—descending the stairs. But what bothered him most was the man following her.
An older guy.
Judging by the furrowed brows and angry faces, it seemed like the two of them were arguing.
“Who the fuck is this prick, Sofia Morales?” He said loudly to himself.
Rios didn’t think further. He pushed open the car door and stepped out through the humid night.
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