"THE NEW BOSS"

A sweet smile spread across Isla’s lips as she opened the magazine, and the face of a familiar family greeted her. It was none other than Chef Vincent Del Carmen, the most handsome man she had ever known. Seeing his picture felt like uncovering a treasured keepsake she had long forgotten. There he was, standing tall and proud, his signature charming smile lighting up the page. The sight of him stirred something deep within her—a mix of nostalgia and quiet admiration. She couldn’t help but marvel at how the boy she once knew had become such a celebrated figure.

The thought lingered in her mind: It feels like it was just yesterday, and now you're so famous. I wonder if you still think about me?

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly brushing the edges of the magazine. It was a silly thought, perhaps, but one she couldn’t shake. Memories of their time together came flooding back, vivid and full of life. She remembered the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about his dreams, how he always had a knack for turning the simplest ingredients into something magical. Those were the days when their worlds were small, yet full of endless possibilities.

Like her, Chef Vincent was also from San Jose, a small town in Pampanga. It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where life was simple but full of warmth. Isla’s mind wandered to the afternoons they spent walking along the dusty roads of their hometown, sharing stories about their hopes and fears.

Vincent often spoke about leaving San Jose one day, making a name for himself in the world of culinary arts. Back then, she thought his dreams were ambitious, almost too big for their little town. But looking at him now, she realized how wrong she had been to underestimate his determination.

As she turned another page, her smile softened. San Jose, despite its simplicity, had shaped both of them in ways they probably didn’t fully understand at the time. It was the backdrop of their shared laughter, their quiet moments, and their parting. Isla couldn’t help but wonder if Vincent still carried a piece of their hometown in his heart. Did he ever think about the life they once imagined, or about her, the girl who had quietly supported his dreams? She sighed, closing the magazine and holding it to her chest, allowing herself a brief moment of longing before tucking it away, along with the memories it had stirred.

Pampanga is a province in Central Luzon, famously known as the Culinary Capital of the Philippines. Its rich culinary heritage, passed down through generations, is celebrated not just locally but across the country. For Isla, the mention of Pampanga always brought a sense of pride and nostalgia. It was her home, the place where her dreams were born and where her story with Vincent began. Seeing Vincent in the magazine reminded her of how deeply their shared roots were tied to this province, where food was more than just sustenance—it was an art, a passion, and a way of life.

She knew a lot about Vincent, more than she had ever dared to share with anyone. Their history was something she kept close to her heart, like a secret diary hidden away from prying eyes. What would people say if she told them she once knew the great Chef Vincent Del Carmen? That they used to laugh together, talk about their dreams, and plan for a future that now seemed like a far-off fantasy? Isla shook her head slightly, dismissing the thought. No one would believe her anyway, and even if they did, she wasn’t sure she wanted to share those memories with anyone. They were hers alone, precious and untouchable.

Lost in her thoughts, Isla barely noticed the faint voice calling her name. It wasn’t until the sound grew louder, accompanied by a soft knock on the pantry door, that she snapped out of her reverie. She turned her head to see Lorrie, her co-worker and fellow cashier at the restaurant, peeking through the doorway. Lorrie’s expression was a mix of curiosity and impatience, her brow slightly furrowed as though she had been calling Isla for a while.

“What is it?” Isla asked, masking the wistfulness in her tone as she placed the magazine aside.

“Miss Cherry said we have a staff meeting in a few minutes. Let’s go?” Lorrie replied, her voice light but insistent.

Isla nodded, standing up and brushing off her uniform. She grabbed her notepad and pen, preparing herself for the usual staff updates and reminders. As she followed Lorrie out of the pantry, her mind lingered briefly on the magazine she left behind. The glossy pages contained a story she could never fully escape, but for now, there were other things to attend to. Life had a way of pulling her back to the present, even when her heart remained tethered to the past.

The meeting was held in the sleek, modern office of their big boss, a room that exuded authority and sophistication. The walls were lined with awards and certificates, testaments to Festive’s success in the industry, while a long, polished wooden table dominated the center. Isla was startled to find Randy Villegas, the current CEO of Festive, already seated at the head of the table. His presence was unexpected; he rarely attended staff meetings unless something significant was at hand. His sharp suit and commanding demeanor made him stand out, and the subtle murmur of the staff quickly died down as his gaze swept across the room.

“Miss Madrid, please sit here next to me,” Randy said, his voice calm yet carrying the unmistakable weight of authority.

He gestured to the chair on his right, leaving no room for argument. Isla hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes darting around the room. The staff exchanged quick glances, some curious, others envious, as they watched the interaction unfold. She swallowed her discomfort, gave a polite nod, and took the seat he had indicated, feeling the weight of their stares on her back as she moved.

Across the table, Cherry, one of her colleagues, caught Isla’s eye and gave her a meaningful glance. It was a look that conveyed more than words could—equal parts teasing and intrigued. Cherry had always been quick to pick up on undercurrents, and this moment was no exception. Isla, however, met her with a warning look, her expression firm, as if silently saying, Don’t even start. She knew what Cherry was thinking, and she had no intention of entertaining such notions. Still, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier, thick with unspoken assumptions.

The attention Randy gave her wasn’t lost on anyone.

What kind of woman would reject their big boss?

The thought lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. Yet, Isla wasn’t like most women. She had no interest in office politics or in capitalizing on the CEO’s favor. Her sole focus was her work, and she intended to keep it that way. But as the meeting began, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being singled out. The subtle intensity in Randy’s gaze, the way he leaned slightly toward her as he spoke—it all left her questioning his true intentions. The room buzzed with professional conversation, but Isla’s mind wandered, trying to decipher the significance of her position at the CEO’s right-hand side.

Handsome, wealthy, and kind—Randy Villegas seemed to possess the perfect trifecta that would make any woman swoon. His chiseled features, paired with his tailored suits and undeniable charm, often left a trail of admiration wherever he went. His generosity with employees, from unexpected bonuses to genuine praise, only added to his allure. But while many in the office couldn’t help but fantasize about catching his attention, Isla remained firmly grounded. To her, Randy was like a distant star—brilliant, unreachable, and far removed from the realities of her life. 

Men like Randy, no matter how perfect they appeared, would never suit someone like her. Isla had no illusions about the invisible barriers that separated them. His world was polished and sophisticated, filled with grand opportunities and lofty ambitions, while hers was simple and unassuming. She had learned the hard way that love wasn’t a fairytale, especially not with men who belonged to a different universe. She knew her place and saw no reason to entertain impossible fantasies. 

How did she know this so deeply? Because experience had been her sternest, most unforgiving teacher. Years ago, she had dared to believe in something that had seemed too good to be true. A whirlwind romance, promises whispered under the stars, and dreams that had all come crashing down. That chapter of her life left scars, ones she couldn’t erase no matter how much time had passed. Those lessons had shaped her into the woman she was now—guarded, practical, and cautious when it came to matters of the heart.

The memories came flooding back unbidden, forcing her to wrestle with emotions she thought she had buried. Her mind painted vivid pictures of those painful moments, but before the sorrow could take root, Randy cleared his throat, his voice breaking the trance she hadn’t realized she was in. The subtle sound brought her back to the present, and she quickly blinked away the lingering thoughts. 

Isla straightened in her chair, determined to focus on the meeting. Randy’s gaze swept over the table, his eyes landing briefly on her before he began to speak. His deep, authoritative tone commanded attention, but Isla could feel her cheeks warming under his casual yet discerning glance. She mentally scolded herself for letting her guard down, vowing not to let her past dictate her present. Yet, even as she tried to concentrate on the words being said, the past hovered at the edges of her consciousness, whispering its reminders and warnings.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I know this meeting was unannounced, and since the restaurant is open, we decided to divide you into two groups,” Randy began, his voice steady and authoritative, yet carrying an undertone of gravity that made everyone sit a little straighter in their chairs.

His gaze moved across the room, pausing momentarily on each staff member, as if gauging their reactions. For Isla, it felt like his eyes lingered just a second too long, sending an unspoken wave of tension coursing through her. 

Isla let out a subtle, nervous sigh, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron beneath the table. The sudden seriousness in Randy’s tone made her uneasy. She’d heard the whispers among staff about changes in the company, but rumors were just that—rumors. Now, it seemed, the moment of truth had arrived. Her mind raced with questions. Would their positions be affected? Would the new management enforce stricter policies? The uncertainty gnawed at her as she tried to maintain a composed exterior.

“Perhaps you’ve already heard rumors about the management change,” Randy continued, his expression neutral, though his voice carried a note of empathy. “The reason I called this meeting is to inform you that starting next week, someone else will be running the company. And—” 

He was abruptly cut off by a series of firm knocks at the door, drawing everyone’s attention. The sound reverberated through the room, momentarily breaking the growing tension. Heads turned, eyes flickering with curiosity, while Randy paused mid-sentence, his brows furrowing slightly. The unexpected interruption heightened the room’s anticipation, and Isla’s heartbeat quickened. She clenched her hands tightly, wondering if the person on the other side of the door was connected to the news Randy was about to deliver. 

The room fell silent as Randy’s secretary appeared at the door, peeking in with a mix of excitement and urgency. “Sir, he’s here,” she said, her voice low but distinct enough to command everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to Randy, whose expression remained calm and composed. He gave her a brief nod before stepping away from his chair, his movements deliberate as if signaling the gravity of the moment. 

“Everyone,” Randy began, his tone steady but brimming with significance, “I want to introduce to you the new CEO of Festive, your new boss—Chef Vincent Del Carmen!” 

For a moment, the room seemed to suspend in time, but to Isla, the announcement was a deafening crash, shattering the fragile normalcy she had managed to build over the years. The name struck her like a bolt of lightning, reverberating through her entire being. Her grip on the table tightened instinctively as her mind spiraled into chaos. Chef Vincent Del Carmen. The name that had once meant everything to her. The name that carried memories she had buried long ago. 

Slowly, almost mechanically, Isla stood, her movements stiff and unnatural. It wasn’t out of respect for the introduction, but rather the sheer force of shock propelling her to her feet. Her face turned pale, her knuckles white from how hard she clutched the table’s edge. The words being spoken around her faded into the background as her heart raced uncontrollably. It was as if the room had collapsed into itself, leaving her trapped in an overwhelming, suffocating void. 

The air shifted again as Vincent entered the room. His presence was as commanding as Isla had remembered, though now amplified by years of success and refinement. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, he exuded the confidence of someone who had achieved greatness, someone entirely out of reach. His dark, piercing eyes swept over the room with precision, assessing every face—until they landed on hers. 

In that instant, the world seemed to blur. Vincent’s gaze locked onto Isla’s with an intensity that rendered her immobile. His expression remained calm, almost unreadable, but there was no mistaking the flicker of recognition in his eyes. It was a look that said he knew exactly who she was, and perhaps, that he had expected her to be here. 

Isla’s chest tightened, and her breathing became shallow. Her hands began to tremble, the trembling quickly spreading to her knees. Every nerve in her body seemed to betray her, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She wanted to break away from his stare, to disappear from his view, but her body wouldn’t obey. The memories she had fought so hard to suppress threatened to surface, crashing into her like relentless waves. 

The walls of the room seemed to close in, the air thick and heavy, making it harder for Isla to catch her breath. She felt her heart pounding in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Her vision blurred slightly as she struggled to stay upright. The overwhelming mix of shock, fear, and something unspoken consumed her entirely, leaving her powerless against the storm of emotions. 

And then, with her knees buckling beneath her and the room spinning out of control, Isla finally succumbed. Her vision darkened, and her body crumpled to the floor as gasps erupted around her. The last thing she remembered was the faint echo of someone calling her name before everything went silent and black.