Forbidden Legacy

I had exactly forty-eight floors to compose myself before I'd have to face him.

The Marina Bay Sands elevator climbed higher, each ping of passing floors matching my thundering pulse. Fourteen years of expertly avoiding Archer Hidalgo, and Singapore had finally cornered me. No escape routes. No excuses. Just me, trapped in a gilt-edged box rushing toward the one person who could still make my carefully constructed world crumble.

"The future of sustainable development in Asia," Papa had said, his tone leaving no room for argument. What he'd conveniently failed to mention was that Hidalgo Holdings was co-sponsoring.

I'd spent the past week orchestrating the perfect avoidance strategy – different panels, opposite breakout rooms, carefully timed meals. I'd even memorized which elevators he typically used, a habit born from years of ducking out of family gatherings the moment his Range Rover pulled into the compound.

The doors opened on the forty-eighth floor, and my heart stopped. The one person I did not want to cross paths with.

There he stood, devastating in a charcoal Tom Ford suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. His dark hair was artfully tousled – that same deliberate mess that used to drive me crazy during family Sunday brunches, making me wonder if it was as soft as it looked.

I stepped aside, intending to wait for the next elevator, but his eyes caught mine. Honey-gold and knowing, like he'd been expecting this exact moment.

"Going down?" His voice carried that familiar hint of amusement that always made my skin prickle.

Trapped. The conference keynote started in ten minutes, and this was the express elevator. I stepped in, positioning myself in the opposite corner, pulling out my phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

"I didn't see you at the welcome dinner last night," he said casually, as if we were still those kids who used to share mango shakes by the pool instead of two people who'd mastered the art of occupying the same spaces without acknowledging each other.

"Late flight," I lied, not looking up. In truth, I'd ordered room service and triple-checked my presentation, anything to avoid the inevitable networking circus where he'd undoubtedly hold court.

The elevator dropped smoothly, but my stomach lurched when his cologne hit me – something expensive and uniquely him that made me think of summers in Siargao, of surf lessons and secret smiles and heartbreak by the beach. Fourteen years, and he still wore the same scent.

"The sustainable housing initiative," he said, his voice closer now. "That's your panel this afternoon?"

My head snapped up. He'd memorized my schedule? "How did you—"

"I make it my business to know what's happening in Asian real estate." His smile held an edge I couldn't quite read. "Especially when it involves revolutionary design concepts from brilliant architects."

The elevator stopped at the thirty-second floor. A group of developers from Hong Kong stepped in, forcing me closer to him. My shoulder brushed his arm, and electricity shot through me. His breath caught – so quietly I might have imagined it.

"Ms. Aguilar!" One of the Hong Kong developers brightened. "We're looking forward to your presentation. The integration of traditional Filipino architecture with modern sustainability practices is fascinating."

"Thank you, Mr. Chiu." My voice came out steady, professional. Years of practice. "I hope it meets expectations."

"More than expectations, I'm sure," Archer cut in smoothly. "Sofia's designs have always exceeded those."

The way he said my name – soft, almost intimate – made heat crawl up my neck. He never called me Sofia at family gatherings, respecting the careful distance I'd built. It was always "Ms. Aguilar" or a polite nod. This deliberate use of my name felt like a gauntlet thrown.

The elevator opened at the conference level, and I practically bolted out. But his voice followed me: "Save me a seat?"

I pretended not to hear, heels clicking rapidly against marble as I made my way to the grand ballroom. Inside, my assigned speaking position near the stage meant I couldn't strategically hide in the back. I settled into my chair, spreading out my presentation materials, creating a barrier of laptops and tablets.

Of course, he found me anyway. "This seat taken?"

Before I could answer, he was sliding into the chair beside me, his thigh brushing mine as he sat. The contact, even through layers of silk and wool, sent sparks racing across my skin.

"I believe you're meant to be on the panel side," I said, proud of how disinterested I sounded.

"Change of schedule. I'm moderating this session." His smile was pure sin. "Didn't you get the update?"

My phone buzzed – an email from the organizers confirming exactly that. Damn him. He'd orchestrated this, probably pulled strings with that Hidalgo charm that had half of Asia's business world wrapped around his finger.

The lights dimmed for the keynote, and I felt more than saw him lean closer. "You can't avoid me forever, Sof."

The nickname hit like a physical blow. No one called me that anymore. No one except—

"Distinguished guests," the conference director's voice boomed through the speakers, saving me from having to respond. But Archer's presence beside me was a living flame, making it impossible to focus on anything except the way his arm kept brushing mine whenever he shifted, the subtle way he angled his body toward me, the heat radiating off him in waves.

Two hours. I just had to survive two hours of this exquisite torture. Then I could escape to my breakout session, where hopefully—

"And now, to moderate our discussion on sustainable urban development, please welcome Mr. Archer Leon Hidalgo, who will be leading the Q&A with our distinguished speakers, including Ms. Sofia Ysabel Aguilar..."

I looked up to find his eyes already on me, dark with something that made my pulse race. That same look he used to give me across crowded rooms at charity galas, before I got better at avoiding his gaze.

"Ready to change the world?" he murmured, standing and offering his hand to help me to the stage.

I ignored it, rising gracefully on my own. "Try to keep up."

His low laugh followed me to the podium, and I knew with crushing certainty that my carefully constructed walls were about to be tested in ways fourteen years of distance hadn't prepared me for.

Game on, Mr. Hidalgo.

The breakout room felt smaller than it had any right to be. My pulse quickened as I scanned the faces around the table, only to land on the one person I'd been avoiding. Archer Hidalgo.

He was supposed to be in the sustainable financing track across the hall – I'd memorized his schedule specifically to avoid this – but here he was, watching me with those honey eyes I refused to remember. The same eyes that had once convinced me that fairies were real.

Focus on the presentation, Sofia. Not him. Never him.

"The living walls don't just reduce energy consumption," I explained, my laser pointer steady despite the flutter in my stomach. "They create microhabitats within the urban landscape, supporting local biodiversity while—"

The subtle brush of his knee against mine under the table sent an unwelcome jolt through my body. I shifted away, grateful for the years of boardroom negotiations that kept my expression neutral.

"While?" he prompted, his voice carrying that amused edge I remembered too well.

I forced myself to focus on the projector screen, not the way he leaned forward in his chair, not the familiar way his fingers drummed against the table when he was intrigued. Fourteen years of practice had taught me how to ignore these details. Most days.

"While providing natural cooling systems," I finished smoothly. Professional. Detached. That's who I was now.

His smirk told me he'd noticed. He'd always noticed everything about me, even when I wished he wouldn't.

"Fascinating approach," Choi from Hong Kong commented. "Though the maintenance costs—"

"Are offset by the energy savings," Archer cut in, his eyes never leaving my face. "Sofia's models show a forty percent reduction in cooling needs. Isn't that right?"

The way he said my name made my spine stiffen. Of course he'd memorized my data. Just like he still remembered how I took my coffee, or which flowers I'd carried at his sister's graduation five years ago.

Before I could respond, he was moving around the table, his presence drawing closer like an approaching storm. "Show us the Bonifacio pilot project," he suggested, and suddenly he was behind my chair.

His cologne wrapped around me – the same scent that still clung to a shirt buried in the back of my closet – as he leaned over my shoulder to gesture at my laptop. "The time-lapse of the installation process is particularly impressive."

I sat perfectly still, shoulders back, chin up. If my pulse quickened, it was just the caffeine. If my skin tingled where his arm brushed my shoulder, it was just the air conditioning. These lies were well-practiced by now.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and I pulled up the next slide before he could see how my hands trembled.

The rest of the presentation passed in a blur of technical questions and careful movements. When we finally broke for lunch, I gathered my materials with practiced efficiency, my heels clicking against marble as I made my escape.

"Ms. Aguilar!" The event coordinator's voice caught me mid-stride. "There's been a change to your schedule. The sustainable technology showcase has been moved to the fifty-second floor."

Of course it had. Because fate hadn't tested my resolve enough today.

The elevator waited, empty and promising, when I reached it. Just as the doors started to close, a familiar hand shot out to stop them.

"Going up?" Archer's smile should have been illegal as he stepped in, bringing with him that magnetic energy I'd spent years pretending didn't affect me.

I retreated to the far corner, suddenly fascinated by my phone screen. "Shouldn't you be at the financing panel?"

"Rescheduled." He hit the button for fifty-two, standing closer than strictly necessary. "Something about the moderator having a conflict."

"How convenient."

"I thought so."

The elevator lurched without warning. My heel slipped, and before I could catch myself, his hands were on my waist. The touch sent memories flooding back – sunset surf lessons, rooftop gardens, and wine cellars.

I wrenched away, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I don't need your help."

"Never said you did." His voice was rough. "But you used to let me catch you anyway."

I stared at the floor numbers, counting each one. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Each digit bringing me closer to escape, yet somehow making the elevator feel smaller.

* * *

When evening fell, the grand ballroom transformed into a masterpiece of crystal and candlelight. A perfect setting for a business dinner, I told myself, ignoring how the romantic lighting softened every edge except the tension between us.

My stomach dropped when I saw the seating arrangement. Someone – and I had a pretty good idea who – had placed me directly across from Archer at one of the VIP tables.

"You look beautiful," he said softly as I sat, his words carrying the weight of too many unsaid things.

I opened my leather portfolio, searching for safety in spreadsheets and projections. "I believe the first topic is sustainable infrastructure funding."

"The emerald suits you," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. He reached for the wine, deliberately letting his fingers brush mine as he filled my glass. "Remember that dress you wore to Jax's restaurant opening? The one with the—"

"Mr. Hidalgo," I cut him off, proud of how steady my voice remained. "We're here to discuss business."

"Are we?" His eyes darkened. "Because I've been trying to discuss a lot of things with you for fourteen years, Sofia. Business is pretty low on that list."

I forced myself to take a measured sip of water, ignoring how his gaze tracked the movement. This was just another business dinner. He was just another colleague. The lies were getting harder to believe with each passing moment.

Under the table, his ankle hooked around mine. Every nerve ending in my body sparked to life, muscle memory betraying fourteen years of careful distance.

Move your leg, Sofia.

I didn't move.

The universe, apparently deciding I needed saving from myself, sent an eager developer from Jakarta to materialize beside me. "Ms. Aguilar, your presentation was fascinating. Perhaps we could discuss it further over drinks?"

I felt Archer tense across the table as the developer's hand landed on my arm, lingering longer than strictly professional. Something dark flashed in Archer's eyes.

Perfect. A distraction. This was exactly what I needed.

Three glasses of sake later, the distraction had become its own form of torture. Too many eyes watching Dean Aguilar's daughter, too many expectations wrapped in polite smiles, and too many moments of catching Archer's burning gaze across the table as the Jakarta developer's hand kept finding excuses to touch my arm.

The air felt thick with unspoken words and memories I couldn't outrun. I needed space. Needed to escape the weight of pretending Archer's clenched jaw didn't affect me, that I couldn't still feel where his ankle had pressed against mine.

"Excuse me," I murmured, rising from the table. "I need some fresh air."

The garden beckoned through floor-to-ceiling windows, promising solitude and the chance to rebuild my walls. But as I stepped into the perfumed night air, a familiar set of footsteps followed.

Don't turn around, Sofia. Don't let him in.

But fourteen years of carefully constructed denial were starting to crack, worn down by a day of accidental touches and purposeful glances.

And maybe, just maybe, I was tired of pretending.