HHWM | Chapter 13: She’s No Longer Mine

When the fever of the night finally broke, Saya was left alone in the heavy silence of the office. The only sound was the clinical hum of the air conditioning, a stark contrast to the wreckage on the floor—discarded clothes and pearl buttons torn away in the heat of the moment. Greg’s silk tie hung limply from the arm of the sofa, a jagged testament to his surrender.

A throw pillow lay on the carpet, damp with the salt of their skin. The air was thick with him—the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of their shared transgression.

Greg was gone, but the fire he had left under Saya’s skin refused to cool. She sat on the edge of the leather cushions, slowly fastening the remaining buttons of her blouse. She had served him for half her life as a shadow, a silent observer of his discipline. But the reality of Greg Santiago had far exceeded the fantasies she had nurtured in the dark.

“Greg…” she whispered, her breath hitching. She closed her eyes, still feeling the phantom weight of him, the deep, rhythmic pulse that had rewritten her world in a single night. There was no guilt in her heart—only a sharp, predatory triumph.

Across town, Greg sat motionless in his car, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He stared into the darkness of the parking lot, his chest heaving as he fought for air.

He couldn’t go home. Not yet. He couldn’t look into the innocent eyes of his son, Gio, while his own soul felt like it had been dragged through the dirt. And Mayette—his anchor, his peace—he couldn’t bear to face her while the scent of another woman was still etched into his pores.

His phone vibrated. He answered with a leaden heart.

“Hon? If you’re too exhausted to drive, don’t force it,” Mayette’s voice was a soft balm of concern that made him wince. “Stay at a hotel nearby. Get some rest.”

Another lie caught in his throat. “I think… I think that’s best. Tell Gio not to wait up. Tell him I’ll see him in the morning.”

“I will. Sleep well, Greg.”

When the call ended, he felt like he was drowning. He checked into the nearest hotel and stood under a freezing shower, but the water couldn’t wash away the heat or the shame.

“Damn it, Greg… you’re a pathetic bastard!” he roared, punching the tiled wall.

The physical sting in his hand was nothing compared to the rot in his chest. First Selene. Now Saya. How many lives was he willing to ruin to satiate a hunger he couldn’t name? He sought out the hotel gym, needing to punish his body, needing to replace the moral decay with physical agony. He hammered the punching bag until his hands bled, but the weight remained.

Women like Selene and Saya played games. They were calculated, cold, and manipulative. Only Mayette was safe. She was the one who had rescued him from his own rebellious, directionless youth. She was his heaven, yet he was the one setting fire to the gates.

In a VIP suite at the Celeste Royale, Selene sat at her vanity, her expression unreadable as she brushed her hair. The door burst open, and Era stepped in, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Guess who I just saw coming out of the gym?”

Selene’s hand paused mid-stroke. “Who?”

“Your godfather,” Era smirked. “And he’s alone.”

The tension in the room spiked. Selene stared at her reflection, a bitter smile touching her lips. She wasn’t the girl who waited anymore. Greg had killed her. He had abandoned her in the dark. So why did the mere mention of his presence make her heart feel like a trapped bird?

“He aged so well,” Era whispered, leaning against the bedpost. “He looks like a man who’s tamed his demons, but you can tell they’re still there, just beneath the surface. Sharp. Dangerous. I finally see why you were obsessed.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Selene warned, her voice cold.

“Touché,” Era laughed. “But he’s in the suite next door. What’s the plan?”

The next morning, Greg stood at the hotel reception, weary and hollowed out. As he waited for his receipt, the world seemed to stop.

Selene walked past him. She was a vision in a form-fitting black dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked exquisite—and she wasn’t alone. She was with a man—tall, handsome, with a face that promised kindness and a coat that draped with effortless wealth. Their fingers were interlaced.

Greg’s eyes dropped to their joined hands.

“I could get any man I want… better than you. No baggage. No escape.”

He had no right to the jealousy that roared through him, sharp and humiliating. He watched her walk away, realizing that the girl who had clung to him for promises was gone. She was free. She was moving into the light.

And he? He was the one retreating into the shadows of his own making. He had to go back to the office. He had to face Saya, a living reminder of his latest sin.

He climbed into his car and shut his eyes, but the ghosts followed him.

“Ninong… please don’t leave me.”

He gripped the wheel, his veins bulging with the force of his own self-loathing. He should be happy for her. He should let her go. But as he watched her disappear into the elevator with another man, the air in the car felt like it was running out.

Selene was moving on. But Greg was still a prisoner of the memories they had made in the dark.

The tables have turned—Greg is the one haunted while Selene appears to have moved on. Is her new companion a genuine romance, or just another piece on her chessboard to make Greg suffer?