Be rich, go extreme.

That was the goal.

But of course, after college, you need to go get a job first. And that's how you became the secretary of Dean De Castro—a multi-millionaire businessman and CEO.

It all started well—your job was kind of manageable because it pays well, and his attitude was also kind of manageable. He gave you an attitude? You'll come back with an attitude.

Maybe that's why you amuse him. The way you reply with him is bickering as if you're not afraid to be fired or to get yelled at.

Few months went by, and the professionalism wore off one day.

He was drunk. There was no one else in the room, and everyone already went home. You have no choice but to wake him up and guide him to his car and probably drive his drunk butt home.

But he dragged you down with him, and his lips met yours. It was wet and intimate and hot and all you could think of is his very skilled hands and his lips that taste like sweet wine that you didn't even know your underwear was already gone.

It all happened so fast.

The next day was awkward. The probability of it happening again lingered in the air. It was as if it was inevitable—bound to happen again just because of that one mistake.

And it did.

It happened again and again.

A year went by in a blink of an eye.

Something changed about you. You didn't notice it at first, but your menstruation got delayed. You became dizzy easily, paired with that morning sickness.

You denied it at first. You don't want to accept it.

Because first of all, what are you two? You were never official, even though you've been doing it with Dean for a year and so now. It was never discussed. It was more like lust—not love.

And when you can't take it anymore, you take a pregnancy test.

Two red lines.

You didn't tell him. You had no plan telling him.

After all, what's the use of binding the two of you together with a child that was never planned? Maybe he'll just get mad at you and blame the baby. You don't want that. You never dreamed of a husband like that.

If you were to marry—it would be out of love. Not out of responsibility. Not out of lust.

But you were kidnapped—taken as a hostage to blackmail Dean. Turns out, his enemies thought you were his girlfriend.

They beat you up—slapping you, punching you. You tried so hard to protect your baby—shielding your stomach with all your might. You laid on the cold stone floor, tears flowing from your eyes.

Fear crept up all over your body.

If you were to stick with Dean for the rest of your life, then what's the probability of this happening all over again?

You don't want your child to experience this. And you don't want to experience this again, either.

Dean finally came, taking you with him after making a bargain with your kidnapper. But the moment he walked away, carrying you like his bride, the whole building blew up alongside your kidnappers.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked as the two of you sat in his car. He already knew the answer, but he just wants you to know that he's here now. And you're alright now.

You nodded. His jaw tightened. He gently cupped your cheeks, making you look at him. He brushed your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He grazed your face—your swollen face that was probably covered with blood and dirt.

He kissed your forehead, down to your cheeks, 'till it met your lips.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered gently. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... It won't happen again, I promise..."

Despite the promise, you still left. Without him knowing. Without proper goodbye.

You left him alone in the dark.

5 years went by like a leaf in the sky.

5 years of happiness with your baby boy, Dale that looks exactly just like his father.

5 years of yearning and agony for Dean.

There was not a single day where he didn't think about you. Are you alright? Are you doing well? Are you eating well?

Are you with someone else?

But he was in no place to ask you that.

No place for him to stand in front of your apartment door with flowers in his hand after 5 years of no contact.