Chapter 34: Goodbyes

"I hope you like this dinner date I prepared for you, Steffy."

Greg smiled at her from across the table, his eyes warm under the soft glow of the lanterns. They sat outside his farmhouse, surrounded by a carefully arranged setting—flowers adorning the table and a soft classical music playing in the background. It felt like they had stepped into a garden restaurant. The peeking moon above them only added to the quiet romance of it all.

Steffy took it all in, trying not to let her chest tighten.

"May I have this dance?"

Greg reached out his hand, and she took it with a small smile.

They stood, swaying gently to the music, his hand warm against her back. "I hope you're happy," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. Steffy blushed.

"This is the first time I've ever prepared something like this for a lady," he admitted.

"You seem like a pro," she teased, giggling. She leaned into him slightly, savoring the moment, knowing it shouldn't last. "I hope you're happy you met me too."

Greg chuckled softly. "I am. And if we lived in an alternate universe, I would've married you."

Something in her chest clenched. She forced a light laugh, masking the sting of his words. Raising her hand, she touched his cheek gently, tracing the faint roughness of his scar.

"I would have married you there too," she whispered.

But not here. Not in this life. She pulled away. "Anyway, I'm hungry."

Greg smiled, guiding her back to the table. "Okay, wait here. I'll just get dessert from inside. Don't go anywhere."

The moment he disappeared into the house, the warmth of the evening turned to ice. The weight in her chest grew unbearable.

'I'm really sorry, Sir Greg.'

Her hands trembled as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pack of white powder. With a deep breath, she tore it open and poured it into his half-filled glass of red wine.

'Poison will make it less painful.'

Her fingers lingered on the rim of the glass, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.

"Hey! Dessert's here—macaroons! And I cooked the steak myself."

She flinched at the sound of his voice. Greg returned, setting the plate down with a proud smile. But then he noticed her silence.

"Are you okay, Steffy?"

Her throat felt dry. "Y-yes! Of course, Sir Greg," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm just… overwhelmed."

Greg sat across from her, his expression soft as he lifted his glass—his poisoned glass.

"This is a celebration of our relationship," he said. "I know I haven't said it before, not properly, but I want you to know that…"

He hesitated.

Steffy's hands curled into fists beneath the table. "That what, sir?"

Greg bit his lower lip, then exhaled as he reached for her hand. "One day, I looked at you, and it suddenly occurred to me how beautiful your smile was. I heard music in your laughter; I saw poetry in your words…"

Steffy's heart skipped. "Wait-was that from one of Lang Leav's poems?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Greg chuckled, a little embarrassed. "Corny, I know. But let me finish."

"All right," she chuckled. "Carry on," she teased, trying to ignore the burn in her throat.

"You once asked me why I had that look on my face, like a shadow had fallen over it. Like I was carrying something too heavy to speak of. And the second I tried to tell myself I wasn't in love was the moment I realized I was."

Steffy froze. Her stomach twisted painfully.

Greg smiled, holding her hand a little tighter. "Steffy… I think I'm in love with you."

She inhaled sharply. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn't come out. Her vision blurred, and she realized—tears were brimming in her eyes. "S-sir," she whispered.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't feel the same," he assured her.

"I-I cannot love you," she muttered.

Greg's expression faltered. "Why?"

Steffy clenched her jaw. How could she explain? How could she say that the man sitting across from her, was the same man she was sent here to kill?

Greg reached for his wine glass.

Steffy's breath caught in her throat. Before he could take a sip, she lunged forward, knocking the glass from his hand. It shattered against the ground, red wine spilling like blood onto the earth.

"What the hell, Steffy?" Greg snapped, staring at the mess.

Steffy's chest heaved. "I'm sorry." That was all she could say before she pushed back her chair and walked away.

"Miss Rivera!" Greg called after her. His hand caught her arm gently, stopping her. "What's happening? Talk to me."

Tears cascaded on her face. "I'm going back to Manila," she whispered. "And I'm not coming back here."

Greg stiffened. "But the school year isn't over yet."

"My parents are scared after what happened to Mr. Seson. They don't want to risk it."

Suddenly, his grip on her arm loosened. "So, you're leaving me? Is that what this is all about?"

She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. The pain in them made her throat close up. "Whatever this is," she said, forcing her voice to be cold, "should end. I admit it was fun, but it's not worth it."

Greg's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. Steffy felt every inch of her body aching. She wanted to take back every word. For god's sake, this was the father of her child!

"You have to kill him now, señorita!" The voice in her head screamed. She shut her eyes, trying to block it out, before turning away from him.

"Steffy," Greg's voice was low, almost pleading.

They stared at each other, the silence between them stretching impossibly long. But before she could react, Greg pulled her into a tight embrace. Her breath hitched.

"I can't do this with you," she whispered against his chest. "I just can't…"

Greg exhaled slowly, his voice softer now. "Then don't go home tonight. Just tonight."

Steffy hesitated. But, nodding against him, she whispered, "Okay."