Chapter 3 2

Despite the hangover, I hurried through the bustling crowd on the streets. It was early in the morning, but the sun felt scorching on my skin. I was sure that by the time I reached the bank, my uniform would be drenched in sweat.

I work at a bank, specifically as a teller. The bank hired me the day after that coincidental encounter with Lazarus in the same bank. I had been contemplating sending a resignation letter to the manager when I found out that Lazarus' money was one of the supports for the bank.

This is a serious matter, especially after the conversation we had in an expensive bar last night. I'm not sure what exactly I said, since I was already thoroughly intoxicated, but I do remember insisting that he wasn't Zon's father.

I don't even know how I got home. He probably didn't accompany me, right? Because if he did, Irithel might either faint or go ballistic at the thought.

The important thing is that I'm alive and my son is still with me.

I've made up my mind. I won't resign, because I badly need the money for myself and my son. How can I support my child if I don't have a job? I can't always rely on the money my parents send.

Now, Zon is at home since Laki suddenly arrived and offered to look after the child. I have a feeling that Lazarus' brother has something unusual in mind, but I still let him do as he pleases. How could I not? He always threatens me that he'll report me to his brother.

Speaking of Laki and money, he supports his nephew by giving toys, favorite foods, clothes, shoes, and everything. Why only material things? Because I refuse to accept his money.

I want to make it clear to him and his incredibly arrogant brother that I don't need their money. I raised my child properly through my own sacrifices.

Their money is trash.

I passed through the back area of the bank where we enter. It's a backdoor exclusively for the staff.

I'll receive my first paycheck today. I'll spoil my baby, buy him everything he wants, but I'll make sure to limit the spoiling.

I don't want my son to grow up as a spoiled brat like his father. What he wants should be what he gets.

I really can't forget Lazarus, no matter how many times I've tried. How can I forget him when my son looks just like him? That's why I let my son's hair grow long. If I give him a boyish haircut, he'd practically be a photocopy of his shameless father.

How did all this happen?

One night stand? No. I can't call it a one night stand when he did it three times with me.

To be honest, I don't really know him.

I shook my head to clear my mind of all the thoughts and people I'm currently thinking about. It's time for work, I need to focus.

I turned the doorknob of the backdoor in front of me. The door swung open when I pushed it, so I entered.

I was about to get myself ready for work, maybe touch up my makeup or wipe away the sweat, but I hadn't even opened my handbag when my coworker appeared in front of me.

"Calista Belmonte, right?"

I'm not exactly friendly, even though I've been working here for a month, I still haven't made any friends.

"Yes. Why?" I responded formally to my coworker, a woman. I'm not sure how she views her workplace or why she's dressed like that. Her pencil skirt is incredibly short, and her tight-fitting top leaves little to the imagination, paired with a blazer that's equally short.

Meanwhile, me? Just the average formal attire. Not too short, not too loose.

She turned away from me before answering my question. "The manager is requesting your presence at his office."

How did she know? Maybe she overheard it. She probably just came from the manager's office.

I didn't bother fixing myself up and quickly left to enter the manager's office. I've spoken to the manager before, and he's strict, not bossy or mean, just strict.

Making my way through the corridor, I could see the white-tiled floor, plain white walls, and ceiling. The manager's office was at the far end. There's a room with lockers for our personal belongings, and that's where I would have gone if the manager hadn't called me.

Nervously, I knocked on the door before hearing the manager's cold, baritone voice.

"Come in."

I felt like the manager was about to deliver some bad news. Or maybe he was going to give me my salary early?

I opened the door and entered the manager's office with courtesy. I didn't bother scanning the entire room because nothing had changed since I started working here a month ago.

A wooden bookshelf in one corner, drawers for important files and papers, a long grey sofa for visitors to wait, and finally, the manager's desk with two chairs in front.

There was a nameplate on his desk.

Erosion Santos

"Have a seat, Ms. Belmonte," he offered formally.

He's too formal and professional. Sometimes, I'm not sure how to interact with him. He's intimidating if I keep thinking like that, but if I remind myself that he's just a person, human like me, he's not intimidating at all.

I took a seat in front of his desk. It felt like the first time he interviewed me, a feeling that returned now.

I was just staring at his face and at his hands, which were busy signing or flipping through pages. There was also a newspaper on the side of his desk, and a cup of coffee that would never be absent.

He's not that old. I think he's below the age of thirty-five. Good-looking with those reading glasses and a perfect formal office attire, not too fair but attractive. Every girl who sees him would feel the sex appeal behind those coats he's wearing, which is why many are drawn to him. From what I've heard around here, he's still single.

He opened the drawer beneath his desk and took out two white envelopes.

The first one was the size of paper money, and the other looked like a letter.

He placed the envelope that seemed to contain money on his desk and slid it using his index and middle finger, stopping it at the edge of the desk, right in front of me.

"What's this, Sir?" I didn't immediately accept the envelope placed in front of me.

I furrowed my brows while looking at him, waiting for his response.

"Your salary, Ms. Belmonte."

I was completely baffled, my expression showing it. "Pardon, Sir? Correct me if I'm wrong, but today's not the last day of the month-"

"Take it, Ms. Belmonte, because you're fired."

I was dumbfounded by what he said, even more so by the abruptness of it. Am I deaf or am I just in disbelief?

"F-Fired? How?" I swallowed to get rid of my stutter. Mr. Santos had a serious expression, still looking at me. "I mean, where did I go wrong? I do my job on time and I usually work overtime. So, what's wrong?"

He didn't speak and simply placed the second white envelope. It's a letter, I suppose.

He gestured for me to open it and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

I didn't waste any time and opened the white envelope, reading the neatly printed and perfectly folded contents.

The first thing I saw was the company name printed on the envelope.

Cavanaugh Finance Corp.

Should I continue reading or not? Maybe Mr. Santos made a mistake in giving me this letter. But no, because my name is written here.

It's not surprising that this letter is really meant for me.

To fill my curiosity, I read the letter.

Work in my company.

That's it.

Damn. That's it? Seriously. What kind of letter is this? And what does he think of himself? Who is this? There's no name mentioned. Which office or company am I supposed to go to?

"Well? Ms. Belmonte, is there something between you and this billionaire named Mr. Lazarus Cavanaugh?"

I rolled my eyes before looking at Mr. Santos.

"Is that man related to this, that you're firing me?" I couldn't hold back the irritation. I was losing respect for this manager.

He straightened in his seat, resting his elbows on the table while holding his hands beneath his chin. "You know what, Ms. Belmonte? I'm just doing my job and being practical about all the things around me. I can't keep you in this place if this billionaire said so. He'll fire me if I didn't fire you."

"This is unbelievable!" I slammed the letter on his desk, causing a sharp noise. "I'll-I'll-" I pointed at Mr. Santos with my trembling index finger. "I'll kill that bastard!"

I was about to turn away from Mr. Santos when I remembered something. I faced him again and took the envelope containing my salary.

My heart was filled with anger and frustration as I stormed out of the manager's office. I grabbed my personal belongings from the staff locker and left.

My co-workers stared at me while I packed my things. No one dared to block my way.

Fuming with anger, I hailed a taxi. I didn't use my car because I could walk the distance from the subdivision to my workplace in the bank, and besides, it would save gas.

I wanted to take a jeepney to save money, but it would be faster if I took a taxi. I couldn't wait to confront that man.

When I stood in front of the massive building of Cavanaugh Finance Corp., I kept walking without stopping, even when the guard chased after me.

"Ma'am! Ma'am! You can't enter without an appointment slip-"

I stopped walking and slammed the envelope against the guard's chest. "That's not an appointment slip, but it should be enough for you to let me in." I didn't wait for the guard's response. I continued walking towards a reception desk, I think. There was a woman receptionist facing a computer, dressed formally.

"Good morning, Ma'am. How may I help you?" she greeted cheerfully, with a sweet dimpled smile.

"What floor is Mr. Lazarus Cavanaugh's office?" I sarcastically smiled. I wasn't the only one with dimples.

The thin-lipped receptionist's smile vanished when she heard what I said. She seemed to pale. "M-Mr. Lazarus Cavanaugh, Ma'am? Are you sure-"

"Do I look unsure to you?"

"No, Ma'am," her expression turned serious when she saw that I was serious. "The CEO's office is located on the fifteenth floor."

I didn't linger and took large strides towards the elevator.

There were three elevators, but I chose the one that no one was using. It struck me as odd that they were still crowding into the other two.

I pressed the fifteenth floor button and the door closed.

I furrowed my brows when I saw a woman yelling and running towards the elevator I was in.

"Wait, Ma'am! Please step out! That elevator is exclusively for the Cavanaugh family only-"

She was too late. The elevator had already closed.

I just scratched my head.

Where would this elevator take me and why does it seem reserved for important people?

I took a deep breath when it stopped and the doors slowly opened.

My eyes widened, and I hesitated if I should step out or just go back down when I saw where it had taken me.

Didn't I need to go to his secretary's desk outside his office to gain access?

"Come in, Ms. Belmonte."

I shot a fierce look at the direction of that baritone voice.

The elevator had taken me directly to his office. So that's why the elevator I used was exclusively for the Cavanaugh family.

His office was surrounded by tinted glass walls, except for the side near the elevator.

My gaze landed on the man sitting neatly in a large swivel chair. His desk was immaculate. Everything I could see in this room was black, white, and expensive shades of green plants at the side.

No expression on his face. He gestured for me to sit in a comfortable dark gray chair in front of his glass desk.

I left my cheap handbag near the elevator when I exited, and it automatically closed.

I'm intimidated by the way he looked at me. The way his eyes follow my every move.

Didn't he want to see my face earlier? Now he's here, disrupting my life. I never bothered him since he turned me away.

I didn't sit when I arrived right in front of his desk. I won't leave any traces of me in this office.

"What's your problem?" I spoke calmly but with suppressed anger.

Mr. Santos' sex appeal fades when I looked at Lazarus. Behind those costly three-piece suits, his muscular body seems to scream.

I'm not checking him out. It's just sudden, and my eyes accidentally caught sight of it.

I regained composure when I heard his clearing of throat.

"I want you to work in my company," he said it with no emotion. He really has no heart.

"For what? I'm contented with my work in the bank," I answered casually.

I don't see him as the successful Chief Executive Officer in this company. I see him as the asshole who left me pregnant six years ago.

"Okay. Let's see if there's someone who'll accept you for work," he stood up and loosened his black tie while his scrutinizing gaze remained on me. "Who's that boy last month?"

I felt like my tongue got cut when he asked.

I really thought he had forgotten about what happened last month.

I think he's getting suspicious, but he chose to ask instead of assuming.

"H-He's-" I cursed in my mind and cleared my throat to stop myself from stuttering.

His eyes infinitesimally looked at me. His eyes narrowed as if observing me closely. "Tell me, Ms. Belmonte," his impatient voice made me nervous.

Annoying. Why was I so brave coming in here earlier? Now, it's like my courage ran away.

"He's my son."

He nodded slowly. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't ask further, but I was wrong.

"Who's the father?"

"None of your business, Mr. Cavanaugh."

Maybe I really need to keep my son away from his father. Lazarus has the connection, money, and all. With just a word from him, he could take my son.

Just like my job right now.

My heartbeats are almost numb, pulsing wildly.

Lazarus opened a drawer under his desk and took out a black folder. He didn't take his eyes off me while he did so, until he placed the folder on his expensive desk.

"Read it."

It's probably not just because of the cold air conditioning, but my palms are freezing now.

I approached his desk and boldly took the black folder.

I looked at Lazarus' cold expression before opening the folder.

It's a DNA test result.

I stared at the paper inside the folder for what felt like several seconds. I'm running out of breath, running out of strength, and I almost dropped the folder.

Luzon Belmonte

Combined Paternity Index: 533,475

Lazarus Cavanaugh

Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%

I see a lot of numbers, but these are the only two I read. The interpretation.

"It's a DNA Paternity Test," the authority in his voice made me want to jump out of this building. "What can you say? I'm the father of your child," he stated.

How did this happen when I didn't even get Zon DNA tested, let alone him?

Maybe he just fabricated this?

Despite my fear and nervousness, I held up the DNA test result. "This?" I slapped the paper onto his desk before pointing at the DNA test result. "Is fake," then I ripped it into two, crumpled it and threw it onto his chest.

He didn't move and stayed in his spot, even when the crumpled papers fell onto the shiny floor. His eyes bore into me, and I saw no anger.

Just the usual expression on his face. Intimidating with his fierce eyes. I haven't seen his eyes light up since the day my eyes landed on him.

"If you're the father of my son? I'd rather raise him without a father. Yes, every man deserves to be a father, but my son doesn't deserve you," I made sure to articulate every word that came out of my mouth.

I want him to feel what I felt before. The feeling of being rejected and unheard.

I turned and walked back to the elevator, grabbing my handbag from the floor.

I was about to enter the elevator but stopped midway when I heard him stoically say;

"I'll wait for the day that you'll come to me and beg, Calista. Remember that."