"THE NEW BOSS 2"

SIX YEARS AGO...

“Hurry up and eat, I’m going to bed. You’ll take care of these, understand?” Aida’s sharp voice rang out, cutting through the quiet of the dimly lit kitchen.

Her stepmother’s tone was as strict as ever, leaving no room for argument or delay. Aida stood there, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing as if daring Isla to protest. But Isla had learned long ago that resistance was futile. 

“Yes, Tita Aida,” Isla replied obediently, her voice soft but steady.

She lowered her gaze, focusing on the plate in front of her. Two small pieces of dried fish sat atop a mound of rice, a meal that was simple but enough to fill her stomach for the night. As she began to eat, she could hear Aida’s footsteps retreating toward the bedroom, the sound of the door closing signaling her stepmother’s departure. 

The kitchen, though modest and cluttered, was a space Isla had grown accustomed to. At one end of it was an extension—a small, cramped area that served as the maid’s quarters. This was where Isla had her own room, a small corner of privacy in a household that often felt suffocating. Next door was the larger room shared by her father, Artemio, and Aida, a reminder of the clear divide between Isla and the rest of the family. 

It had been a year since Artemio and Aida started living together as husband and wife, a union that had changed Isla’s life in ways she had never anticipated. Artemio, though a hardworking and kind man, had shifted much of his focus to his new wife, leaving Isla to navigate the complexities of her new family dynamic on her own. Aida, on the other hand, was strict, demanding, and often seemed to treat Isla as more of a burden than a stepdaughter. 

Artemio worked tirelessly as the caretaker of the Del Carmen family’s mansion, a job he had dedicated himself to for many years. The mansion was grand, a stark contrast to the simple quarters where Artemio and his family lived. But Artemio wasn’t Isla’s biological father. That truth had always lingered in the back of her mind, a silent but undeniable fact that set her apart. While she respected Artemio for the stability he provided, there was always a sense of distance, a reminder that her place in this family was not entirely secure.

Her mother, Dina, had worked as a waitress at a club, a job that seemed far from glamorous but one that allowed her to survive. According to Artemio, it was there that he first met and fell in love with Dina, though he never dared to confess his feelings. He had always known he couldn’t offer her the kind of comfortable, decent life she deserved. His modest income and the uncertainty of his future made it impossible to imagine a life with her, so he kept his emotions hidden, fearing that she might turn away. Yet, life had a way of turning things around. When Dina passed away giving birth to Isla, Artemio didn’t hesitate to take her in and raise her as his own.

Isla often wondered if her mother had ever known how deeply Artemio cared for her, and if she had ever sensed his quiet love. She also wondered if Dina had known that she would never have a chance to live the life she might have wanted, one that could have been filled with the comfort and security Artemio always dreamed of giving her. For Isla, knowing the story of her mother’s love, and the silent sacrifice Artemio had made for her, had become bittersweet. But it also made her feel strangely connected to her mother in ways she couldn't fully understand.

Despite his devotion to her, Aida had always been a constant, looming presence of tension and hostility in their home. Isla had come to realize over time that Aida’s resentment wasn’t just because of her, but because of her mother. Aida’s jealousy was deep-rooted, and she seemed to project it onto Isla. While Isla had always tried to be respectful and obedient, there were times when she couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, the product of a love story that had been snuffed out before it could truly bloom. And Aida had always made it clear that Isla was nothing more than a reminder of that love—a love that had never been realized.

Lost in these thoughts, Isla was jolted from her reverie by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, familiar and comforting. Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could process the moment, the kitchen door swung open, revealing a figure that made her breath catch. It was Vincent, the only child of Manuel and Ruby Del Carmen. He was tall, with a confident yet easy-going smile that seemed to light up the entire room. His presence was always like a breeze in the middle of a sweltering day—refreshing, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Miss Beautiful! Good to see you here. I haven’t had dinner yet,” Vincent greeted her warmly, his smile wide and genuine.

He always had a way of making Isla feel noticed, in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. She couldn’t help but feel her pulse quicken at the sound of his voice. It had been a while since they’d shared a conversation, and the familiarity of his presence caused a warmth to spread through her chest.

“Alright, sir, I’ll cook something for you,” Isla replied, standing up as though the words were automatic, but before she could move, Vincent gently reached out and placed his hand on her arm to stop her. 

The warmth of his touch sent a shockwave of electricity through Isla’s entire body, as if the very air around them had shifted. She could feel the warmth of his palm against her skin, the pressure of his fingers creating an unspoken connection that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Her heart raced, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and her breath became shallow as the simple contact seemed to electrify her entire being. She had to pull her arm away quickly, feeling flustered and almost embarrassed by the intensity of the sensation. For a moment, Isla stood there, her eyes lowered, trying to regain her composure, while her mind struggled to process what had just happened.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of my dinner. I can see you’re hungry. Wait, why are you eating just that? There’s plenty of food in the fridge,” Vincent asked, his eyes lingering on the two pieces of dried fish on Isla’s plate.

 His concern was evident, and Isla could feel the weight of his gaze on her. It wasn’t just the question that made her uneasy; it was the way he noticed, the way he cared. It wasn’t something she was used to, especially not from someone like him. She quickly swallowed, trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves in her stomach. 

“It’s fine, sir. I’m used to it,” Isla replied, offering a soft laugh in an attempt to brush it off. She wasn’t sure why she felt embarrassed, but there was something about his concern that made her feel both seen and vulnerable.

She wasn’t used to receiving attention, not like this, not in such a tender, genuine way. The dried fish had been enough to fill her for the night, though it wasn’t much. It was the kind of meal she had learned to accept in silence, not expecting anything more. But here he was, asking questions, taking notice of something she often kept to herself. 

She liked dried fish, the salty taste and the simplicity of it. It reminded her of her roots, of the humble meals she grew up with. But eating the same thing two or three times a week, especially when there was so much more available, began to wear on her. Yet, Isla couldn’t bring herself to ask for more, to make any demands. She had learned to live with little, and that little was enough. Still, when Vincent commented on it, she felt an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment. 

Vincent clicked his tongue, as if he couldn’t let her continue with such a meager meal. “Hold on, I’ll cook something for you. Look at you—you’re losing weight because of what you’re eating. Although it suits you since you’re beautiful, you still need to eat healthy, especially since you’re studying,” he said, his voice warm with genuine care.

There was no trace of pity in his words, only concern, and it made Isla’s heart flutter in an unfamiliar way. His words were more than just an observation; they were a subtle compliment, one that made her feel both special and vulnerable at the same time.

Isla smiled shyly, the warmth of his words sinking deep into her chest. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she lowered her head, trying to hide the deep flush that had spread across her face. Her cheeks felt like they were burning, and she found herself fiddling with the edge of her plate to keep from meeting his gaze. Vincent had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room, his attention focused solely on her, and it made her more self-conscious than she cared to admit. Yet, beneath the embarrassment, there was also a warmth she couldn’t deny. For the first time in a long while, someone cared enough to notice.

Isla knew Vincent loved cooking. It wasn’t just a hobby for him—it was a passion. He was always experimenting with different ingredients, perfecting recipes, and coming up with new twists on old favorites. His talent was undeniable, and she had seen him work his magic in the kitchen many times. Yet, despite his obvious skill, Vincent was still bound to take over his parents’ business someday. It was a business that had little to do with food, focusing instead on distributing high-end cars and motorbikes. The pressure was on him to take on the family legacy, which was why he was pursuing a business degree in college. Isla often wondered how Vincent felt about this, caught between his love for cooking and the expectations of a future that was already laid out for him.

She couldn’t help but admire him for trying to balance both worlds. Despite the weight of his family’s expectations, Vincent seemed determined to pursue his own path, whether it involved cooking or managing a business. Isla liked the idea that someone could carve out their own place in the world, even when they were destined to inherit something so big. She often wondered if Vincent had dreams beyond what others saw for him—dreams that involved more than just cars and business deals. She found herself wondering if his heart was really set on the family business or if he secretly longed for something different, something more in line with his love for food.

Lost in these thoughts, Isla didn’t notice Vincent had finished cooking. His voice pulled her out of her musings.

“It’s done. Come here, let’s eat,” he called out, his tone light but warm.

Isla blinked and looked up to find him standing by the stove, a plate of freshly cooked pasta in his hand. She hadn’t realized how quickly he worked. The rich aroma of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, and for a moment, she forgot all about the dried fish she had been eating earlier. The scent of a home-cooked meal, made by Vincent no less, felt like a comforting embrace.

“Pasta for dinner? Are we even still Filipino, sir?” Isla teased with a soft laugh as she walked over to the table.

 Her voice was playful, but there was a hint of admiration behind it. Filipinos were known for their love of rice, so the idea of having pasta for dinner seemed almost sacrilegious. In fact, there were many Filipinos who would pair pasta with rice as if the two were inseparable, considering rice to be a necessary part of any meal. Isla found it amusing that Vincent, a Filipino himself, had opted for something so different from what she was used to.

Vincent glanced at the ceiling briefly, as though contemplating her question. A mischievous grin spread across his face, and with a dramatic pause, he declared, “Isla’s Pasta!” His voice was playful, and it made Isla burst into laughter. The name was ridiculous, but it was exactly the kind of thing Vincent would say. It was like him to take something simple and turn it into an inside joke, a little bit of fun in an otherwise serious world. Isla laughed again, the sound light and carefree, as she took a seat at the table. It was moments like this, small and simple, that made her appreciate his company more than she realized.

“Seriously? What is it really called?” Isla pressed, her voice filled with playful curiosity as she stared into Vincent’s dark, intense eyes.

There was something magnetic about his gaze that always seemed to draw her in, making her lose track of time and place. Every time their eyes met, she felt as though he could see straight through her, uncovering every hidden thought and emotion. Isla couldn’t deny that she admired Vincent—not just for his good looks, but for the depth and mystery that seemed to surround him. She could feel her heart skip a beat, as though each glance from him sent a wave of electricity through her body.

Every time Isla looked at Vincent’s face, her breath always caught in her throat, as if her body couldn’t quite handle the pull he had on her. His features were striking, a perfect blend of his Italian, Filipino, and Arab heritage, giving him an exotic charm that no one could ignore. It wasn’t just his handsome face, although that was certainly part of it; it was the way he carried himself, the way he exuded confidence and charm effortlessly. His presence was so commanding, yet there was something soft about him, a warmth that balanced out the intensity. Isla found herself utterly captivated by him, unable to tear her eyes away, and every moment spent with him felt like a small eternity in a world all their own.

And then there was his smile. Vincent’s smile—every time he flashed it at her, Isla felt like the earth itself stopped spinning for just a second. It wasn’t just a simple smile; it was a smile that seemed to freeze time, to hold her in its warmth. She felt a flutter in her chest, like a thousand butterflies taking flight, every time he grinned at her. It was a smile that made everything else fade into the background, a smile that made her feel like she was the only person in the room, the only one who mattered. And in those moments, Isla would lose herself entirely in him, completely absorbed in the magnetism of his presence. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but gape at him, completely unaware of how obvious it was. His smile had that effect on her, rendering her speechless and breathless all at once.

“I’m serious,” Vincent replied, his tone gentle but firm, his eyes meeting hers with a sincerity that made her heart skip. “I’m calling this Isla’s Pasta because I just thought of making it for you right now.”

There was a quiet confidence in his words, and Isla could see that he wasn’t just making a joke or trying to be playful—there was a genuine intent behind them. The way he said it, with such thoughtfulness, made Isla feel like she was the most important person in his world at that moment. It wasn’t just about the pasta; it was about the gesture, the fact that he had put his effort into something meant just for her. That simple act of kindness touched her deeply, more than she could have expected.

Vincent’s sincerity shone through not only in his words but in the way he looked at her, his eyes full of admiration and warmth. It was as though he could sense her unease, her uncertainty, and was offering her a piece of himself to calm it. Isla could feel the pull between them, the way her heart raced in her chest as she took in his gaze. It wasn’t just the way he looked at her—it was the unspoken understanding between them, the silent connection that felt stronger with every passing second. As Vincent held out a forkful of pasta to her, she hesitated for a moment, struck by the intimacy of the gesture.

“Here,” Vincent added, his voice soft but unwavering. Isla took the forkful of pasta, her fingers brushing against his ever so slightly, sending a jolt of warmth through her.

She wasn’t sure if it was the food or the way Vincent made her feel, but her heart fluttered in her chest as she leaned forward to take the bite. As she did, she couldn’t help but smile shyly, feeling a warmth spread through her body—both from the meal and from the way Vincent had made her feel so special, so seen. It wasn’t just about food; it was about the kindness and care he had shown her, and in that moment, Isla felt more than just grateful—she felt cherished.

Isla’s eyes widened in surprise at what Vincent had done. Her gaze darted to the forkful of pasta he was offering her, then back to his playful, yet determined expression.

“W-What?” she stammered, unable to believe what was happening.

She had never been the type to let herself be doted on like this, especially not in such a casual, intimate manner. But the way Vincent was looking at her, with his dark eyes sparkling with amusement and warmth, made her feel like the most important person in the world. She was caught between feeling shy and grateful, both of which were leaving her at a loss for words.

Vincent’s smile only grew wider, that irresistible grin of his making her heart race even faster. It wasn’t just any smile—it was the kind of smile that seemed to brighten the entire room, the kind of smile that made everything feel lighter and more fun. And this time, Isla couldn’t help but notice his perfect set of white teeth, gleaming against the backdrop of his handsome face. He looked like he had just come up with some clever trick, and the way his smile lingered made her feel like he was enjoying every second of her confusion. For a moment, Isla forgot about the pasta, too entranced by the way Vincent’s presence seemed to command her attention.

“Come on now,” Vincent insisted, his voice a playful mix of teasing and sincerity.

The way he spoke made Isla’s heart skip a beat, and she could sense his determination in his words. There was no backing out now. The way he looked at her—almost challenging her—left her no room to refuse without feeling like she was disappointing him. The thought of rejecting his offer seemed like a much bigger deal than it should have been, and for the first time, Isla felt an unfamiliar sense of hesitation. She didn’t want to disappoint him, especially not after everything he had done. So, with a reluctant but sincere smile, she finally gave in.

“There you are, good girl,” Vincent said in approval as Isla finally accepted the bite of pasta from his fork.

His words, along with the warm pinch of her nose, were enough to make her entire face turn bright red. It wasn’t just the simple act of eating from his fork—it was the way Vincent made it feel like something special, something intimate. His touch, even as light as it was, seemed to have an electrifying effect on her. Isla’s heart raced, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed the way her cheeks flushed every time he called her "good girl" with that playful yet affectionate tone.

Isla’s mind was in a whirlwind as she accepted the bite. The warmth from his hand, the softness of his smile, and the tenderness in his voice all combined to make her feel like she was standing on the edge of something entirely new and exciting. It wasn’t just about the pasta anymore—it was about the connection between them, the closeness that seemed to build every time they shared a moment like this. She quickly took the bite of pasta, but it didn’t feel like it was about food anymore; it felt like she was accepting more than just a meal. She was accepting something deeper, something that Vincent seemed to offer without hesitation, and it made her feel even more vulnerable—and more alive—than she ever had before.

As the pasta settled in her mouth, Isla couldn’t help but smile shyly. She was embarrassed, but there was also a warmth spreading through her, the kind that only came when she was around Vincent. He had this way of making her feel like she was both safe and seen in a way no one else had ever made her feel. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on her; she realized that in every small gesture, Vincent was somehow reaching a part of her she hadn’t even known was there. And as she met his gaze, her heart gave a little flutter, knowing that no matter how embarrassed she felt, this moment with Vincent was one she would remember for a long time.

“Now it’s my turn,” Vincent said, his voice playful and teasing.

Isla blinked, a wave of confusion washing over her as she stared at him, unsure of what he meant. His smile was wide and mischievous, and she could see the excitement in his eyes, as if he were thoroughly enjoying this little game they were playing. She tilted her head slightly, trying to decipher his intentions. Vincent’s aura was so easygoing and confident that it made her feel both nervous and oddly comforted by his presence.

“W-What?” Isla stammered, her voice betraying a mixture of confusion and amusement.

 She couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight before her. Vincent had suddenly opened his mouth wide, as if he were a child eagerly awaiting to be fed. His exaggerated gesture was so comical that Isla had to fight the urge to giggle, but at the same time, she found herself caught up in the odd charm of the moment. She stared at him for a moment, the situation feeling strangely intimate in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“Aaaa…” Vincent said with a grin, pointing to his mouth and widening it even more, urging her to feed him.

He seemed utterly serious, yet his playful demeanor made it impossible for her to take him entirely seriously. Isla’s mind raced as she processed what was happening. She had never been in a situation like this before, where she was expected to feed someone else, especially Vincent, of all people. She was sure her cheeks were turning red, the odd mixture of shyness and curiosity swirling within her. What was this? A game? A test of some sort?

“Come on!” Vincent urged, his tone light and almost teasing, but there was an undeniable warmth behind it.

 He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with the playful challenge. Isla could hear the unspoken invitation in his voice, making her heart beat faster in her chest. It was almost as if he was daring her to take the next step, to feed him, and to see how she would respond. Isla’s palms grew sweaty, her fingers trembling slightly as she held the fork. She had to admit, the moment felt charged with something more than just a casual meal. There was an intensity to it that made her pulse quicken, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous, unsure of how to react.

With a deep breath, Isla finally gathered her courage. Her hands shook slightly as she twirled the pasta onto the fork, her fingers brushing against the food as she carefully brought it up to Vincent’s mouth. The proximity of it all made her heart race even faster. She could feel her own breath coming quicker as she held the fork steady, not trusting herself to look directly at Vincent for fear of becoming even more flustered. As she leaned in, a feeling of vulnerability and excitement surged within her. Her mind raced, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them—her feeding him, his gaze locked with hers. The simple act of bringing food to his mouth suddenly felt more meaningful than she ever expected.

Vincent accepted the food with that signature charming smile of his, one that seemed to make time slow down just for a moment. As he chewed, Isla couldn't help but notice how the subtle gleam in his eyes appeared to intensify, almost as if he were savoring more than just the pasta. It was as though the simple act of sharing this meal had an unspoken depth to it, and Isla found herself caught up in the weight of the moment. She could feel the warmth of his gaze as he looked at her, but there was an odd sense of unease creeping up her spine. Why did he have that effect on her? She couldn’t quite understand it.

As Vincent finished chewing, he looked at Isla with an appreciative glint in his eyes. “Thank you for the wonderful dinner. I really enjoyed it,” he said, his voice calm but sincere, sending a little flutter through Isla’s chest.

 His words lingered in her mind, making her heart race. But before she could fully absorb the compliment, she felt his thumb gently brush the corner of her lips. It was a small gesture, but it felt like it had the power to make the whole room shrink down to just the two of them. Isla froze in place, her breath caught in her throat as his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

For a few moments, Isla could barely breathe, completely mesmerized by the softness of his touch and the way his eyes seemed to focus so intently on her. She wanted to speak, to say something meaningful, but the words escaped her. Her mind felt hazy, clouded by the intensity of the moment. She had never been this affected by anyone before, and it unnerved her. She wanted to act normal, to brush off the feeling as something trivial, but her voice betrayed her.

“T-Thank you too, sir,” she finally managed to stammer, her words coming out much shakier than she would have liked.

Her face burned with embarrassment, and she instinctively lowered her gaze, wishing she could disappear into the floor.

Vincent, however, didn’t seem to mind her reaction at all. In fact, he smiled even more warmly, the gesture making her heart flutter again. He stood up, his movements casual but confident, and for a brief moment, Isla thought she might finally be able to breathe again. But then, Vincent spoke, and his words caught her completely off guard.

“And by the way, just call me Vincent since we’re only three years apart. What do you think?” he asked, his voice low and sincere, making Isla’s stomach do a little flip.

There was something about the way he said it—so relaxed, so inviting—that made her feel at ease, despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

Isla blinked, trying to process what he had just said. She could feel a smile tugging at her lips, though it was shy and hesitant. The idea of calling him by his first name felt oddly intimate, like crossing an invisible line between formality and something more personal. She hesitated for just a moment, but then his warm, endearing tone melted away any doubts.

 “If that’s what you want, Vince?” she said, the words slipping out shyly, but with a genuine sincerity behind them.

Isla’s heart fluttered as Vincent’s words echoed in her mind. “Much better.”

 The way he said it made her feel like she had just passed some unspoken test, like she had somehow earned a special place in his world. The playful wink he threw her way before leaving only added to the effect, leaving Isla momentarily speechless. There was something about the way he made her feel both important and at ease all at once. As he walked away, the soft sound of his footsteps receding into the distance, she couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed, as though the air around her had shifted. Her smile lingered, and she found herself thinking that maybe this was the start of something new, something unexpected and exciting.

"Night and sweet dreams!"

 His cheerful voice reached her ears as he left, and for a brief moment, Isla felt a warmth settle in her chest. Those words, so simple and yet so kind, sent a surge of happiness through her. She was alone in the kitchen now, but she no longer felt lonely. His presence, his smile, and the way he made her feel special lingered in the air like an invisible thread connecting them. For the first time in a long while, Isla felt something beyond the routine of her everyday life—a spark of something she wasn’t sure she could name, but that she knew she wanted to explore further. As she cleaned up, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this night, this moment, marked the beginning of something much more meaningful.