The universe has a strange sense of humor. Just ask Margarita Reyes Laurel—known to most as Maggie, known to Zia as 'Mags' 'Margherita Pizza' and once, unforgivably, 'Magmag.' Maggie had never exactly seen herself as the mall-and-club type. She liked books. She liked plants. Her Spotify playlists were eighty percent lo-fi beats and twenty percent sad girl acoustics. And yet, here she was—putting on sunscreen and lip balm like she was prepping for war—because today, she had a friendly date with Leticia Calderon Zobel.
Let's be clear. This wasn't a date-date. At least, that's what Maggie told herself while choosing her outfit for the fourth time. Because Zia was...Zia. The Zobel in Zobestates Properties. The heiress with eyebrows sharp enough to wound a grown man's pride. The kind of girl who drank coconut water out of wine glasses and called it 'hydration therapy.'
But somehow, despite Zia being the kind of rich that made credit cards flinch, they got along.
Today's mission: shopping. That was it. Just shopping. In a mall owned by Zia's family.
Zobestates Properties Mall was not a mall. It was a temple. A glowing, marble-floored, elevator-music-blaring, air-conditioned cathedral to capitalism. Escalators glided like lazy waterfalls, and security guards stood so straight they looked like wax figures on edge.
Zia was already waiting when Maggie arrived, perched on a white leather bench like she was posing for Vogueux's 'Rich Girl Off-Duty' edition. She wore oversized sunglasses indoors (because of course she did) and held a matcha latte that looked more like art than a beverage.
"Maggie!" she called, removing her sunglasses with a dramatic flourish. "You made it! And on time. Miracles happen."
"I'm always on time" Maggie replied, then added, "Except that one time."
"And the other time with the coffee."
"Okay, two times."
"And—"
"Zia!"
Zia grinned.
They hugged like girls who weren't sure if they were close enough to hug yet—but did anyway.
"So, what's the plan?" Maggie asked.
"We will spend a lot amount of money today" Zia said, linking arms with her. "Don't worry, I'll pay. Your only job is to say 'Yes, Queen' when I hold up a blazer dramatically."
"That's oddly specific."
"I'm oddly specific."
They entered Lucière, a boutique that sold clothes so minimalist they barely looked like clothes. One mannequin wore a sheer silk sheet with a ₱677,508 price tag.
"Is this a dress or an existential crisis?" Maggie whispered.
Zia giggled. "It's fashion, darling."
"I feel like I need a loan to stand next to it."
Three stores, two croissants, and a 'moisturizing mist experience' later, the girls sat down on a suede bench, bags piled at their feet. Maggie's legs were tired. Her wallet was untouched. Zia looked refreshed and radiant, like she'd just fed off the energy of sales associates.
"I think I'm good for today," Maggie said, sipping her overpriced but delicious cucumber mint water.
Zia tilted her head. "Actually... can we go to Elevé?"
Maggie blinked. "The bar?"
Zia's voice lowered conspiratorially. "Everyone says it's the place right now. Alyssa, Martina, and even that boring influencer I hate posted about it. I need to know what the hype is."
"I thought this was a shopping trip."
"It was. Now it's a 'market research and beverage testing' field trip."
"Zia…"
"One drink. One. And if you hate it, I'll buy you ube cheesecake for a week."
"...Fine. But if I end up drunk and singing Taylor Swift on stage, you owe me two cheesecakes."
"Deal."
Elevé was nestled on the rooftop of a building not far from the mall, and everything about it screamed curated chaos. Neon signs, minimalist décor, and a chandelier made entirely of old disco balls. The music wasn't loud—it vibrated. Through the floors. Through your teeth. Through your very soul.
Maggie hesitated at the entrance. "Are you sure we're allowed in here? It looks like you need a blue check mark on Instagram just to order."
Zia waved her off. "We're dressed well and emotionally unwell. That's the vibe here."
They got a corner table—dim lighting, plush velvet seats, and a menu that looked like it belonged in an art gallery. Maggie ordered something called "Lavender Moonlight." Zia ordered two cocktails, "just to compare."
And that's when Maggie noticed them.
The men.
Not just any men. Hostess men.
Sexy. Sculpted. Shining like they'd been basted in coconut oil and ambition.
"Zia?" Maggie said, watching one of the shirtless hunks strut toward their table.
"Hm?" Zia sipped her drink.
"Are those... hosts?"
"Oh! Yeah. I may have booked a little... entertainment. I thought it'd be funny!"
"Zia!"
"You're blushing already, and they haven't even danced yet. This is priceless."
Three of the men sat beside them. One began to dance in front, hip-thrusting to a remix of The Weeknd. Maggie's soul left her body. She laughed, awkward, eyes wide.
One of the hosts leaned in, clearly designed in a lab to make women faint. "Want another drink, miss?"
Maggie blinked. "Uhhh... I... I mean, I guess?"
Zia was cackling into her drink, already visibly tipsy. "She's shy! Isn't it cute?"
Maggie's phone buzzed—salvation.
Her screen lit up: Dad Calling.
She bolted. "Bathroom. Emergency. You—stay."
Out in the hallway, Maggie answered.
"Hi, Dad."
"Where are you?"
"Out. With Zia."
"Okay. When you're done, come home. Everyone's here."
That made her pause. "Everyone?"
"Yes. Me, your mom, and your brother."
"Oh. Okay. I'll come after I drop off Zia."
He hung up, a little suspicious. Her family usually only gathered for things like birthdays. Or tax audits.
On her way back through the crowd, someone collided with her.
Or rather—she collided with someone.
Tall. Firm. Handsome. Smelled like pine and danger.
Before she could fall on the cold ground, his arm caught her. It was a rom-com moment if there ever was one.
Their eyes locked.
And for a second, Maggie forgot her own name.
Everything went silent.
Then the world rushed back in like a wave: laughter, footsteps, the thump of the DJ's bass.
She pulled away, flushed. "I—I'm so sorry!"
He smiled. Not too much. Just enough. "Are you okay?"
Maggie bowed like a monk in apology and speed-walked away like she'd just seen a ghost.
Back at the booth, Zia was listing sideways like a capsizing boat.
"We're going home," Maggie declared.
Zia slurred, "But I haven't tried the flaming tequila fountain!"
"I'm saving your liver. Let's go."
Maggie drove her. She wasn't great at it, but hey, desperate times. Zia passed out halfway to the dorm, mumbling something about "Angel abs."
She carried her inside, deposited her gently on the bed, and stood there like a tired parent staring at their mischievous toddler.
"Never again" she muttered.
Then she bathed, changed, and grabbed a taxi to her house.
At home, she was greeted like, 'It's been a long time since we've seen each other.'
Her dad smiled, her mom gave her a tight hug, and her brother—normally glued to his laptop—actually looked up.
"Okay" Maggie said slowly.
"What's going on?"
They all exchanged a look.
And just like that, the friendly date turned into the beginning of something Maggie could feel brewing in her bones.