The same day, it was eight o'clock in the evening.

Timothy was on his private helicopter, the ACH175, flying over the city of BGC. He looked out of the window and gazed at the beautiful skyline of it.

"Sir, we are approaching Trion Towers," said the pilot through his communications.

"How much longer?"

"Two minutes sir," the pilot replied.

The Trion Tower is a luxury condominium building located within the BGC, and it is also where Hana was living in ever since.

He had planned to drop by to see how she was holding up. And given that she had no replies from his message, told him that she wasn't. He looked at the plastic resting next to his seat, and it was ingredients for mushroom soup that he'll cook for her later.

Moments later, the helicopter descended smoothly toward the rooftop helipad of Trion Towers.

"Landing now, sir," the pilot said, guiding the craft.

The skids touched down gently, and the rotors slowed to a low hum. Timothy unbuckled his harness, grabbed the small plastic bag beside him and stepped out into the cool evening wind.

"Wait for me here," Timothy said to the pilot. "I'll update you through our chat."

"No problem sir, take your time," the pilot replied.

He walked toward the elevator and pressed the button. There, he stood silently for a moment, the faint hum of the helipad lights buzzing behind him as the elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

Timothy stepped inside, the motion sensors activating the panel lighting. He pressed the button for the 32nd floor.

As the elevator descended, the city lights of BGC flickered in the reflection of the glass wall behind him. It had been a long day, the inauguration, the press conferences, the strategy sessions with Jensen, yet his thoughts now were far from numbers or contracts. They were with Hana.

When the elevator slowed to a stop, the digital display blinked "32F."

A soft ding followed, and the doors opened to a quiet hallway lined with warm ambient lighting and polished marble floors. It smelled faintly of jasmine, the scent pumped through the building's ventilation system.

Timothy adjusted the plastic bag in his hand and began walking toward Unit 32-Z, the farthest one at the end of the corridor.

He stopped in front of her door.

He knocked lightly once. "Hana?"

No answer.

He waited a few seconds, then knocked again, firmer this time. "It's me."

Still nothing.

Timothy sighed softly and leaned closer to the door, listening. There was faint movement inside, a soft shuffle, then silence again.

"Hana," he said, his tone gentle now, "I brought dinner."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a few seconds, the electronic lock clicked, and the door slowly creaked open.

Hana appeared in the doorway. Her hair was tied loosely in a bun, and she wore a thin cardigan over a white sleeveless shirt, looking both casual and fragile. Her face was pale, her eyes slightly tired, but they lit up when she saw him.

"Timothy…" she said softly, her voice carrying surprise and a hint of relief.

He gave a small smile. "You didn't answer your messages. I got worried."

"I… I wasn't feeling well," she admitted, stepping aside. "Come in."

Timothy nodded and entered the unit, and felt something hot radiating from her.

"You're hot…" Timothy instinctively planted the back of his hand onto her neck, catching Hana surprise.

"Tim…" Hana's voice came out in a soft whisper, caught between surprise and embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed slightly, not sure whether from fever or from his touch.

Timothy frowned, his hand still lightly pressed against her neck for a moment longer. "You're burning up," he muttered, concern deepening in his tone. "How long have you had this fever?"

She blinked, avoiding his eyes. "Since this morning… maybe last night. I thought it would go away after I rested, but—"

"It didn't," Timothy finished for her, lowering his hand. "You should've told me."

Hana gave a small, tired smile. "You were busy. The inauguration… the press… Jensen… I didn't want to bother you."

He sighed quietly, shaking his head. "You don't have to think that way."

He walked toward the kitchen counter, setting down the plastic bag. The soft rustle of its contents filled the air as he began unpacking. "Sit down," he said, not looking back. "You shouldn't be standing."

Hana hesitated for a second before doing as he said, easing herself onto the couch nearby. She watched as Timothy rolled up his sleeves and moved around her kitchen like he'd done it a hundred times before. He opened cabinets, found a pot, and started washing the mushrooms under the running tap.

"You really came prepared," she said with a faint laugh, her voice still weak but lighter now. "Didn't think the CEO of TG Mobility would spend his evening cooking soup in a condo kitchen."

Timothy glanced at her with a small smirk. "You've been around me long enough to know I don't do things conventionally."

The stove ignited with a soft click, and the smell of butter and garlic began to fill the room. For a while, the only sounds were the quiet sizzling of ingredients and the rain tapping against the window.

Hana pulled her blanket closer, her expression softening. "You know, this is the first time someone's ever cooked for me aside from my parents."

"Then I guess I'll make sure it's memorable," Timothy said as he stirred the pot. "Besides, you need something warm in your system. You look like you haven't eaten all day."

She smiled faintly. "I really haven't."

Timothy turned down the heat and walked over to her, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. "You work too hard, Hana. You've been running nonstop since Subic, and now with Batangas on top of it…" He shook his head. "You can't keep burning yourself out like this."

Her eyes drifted toward him, soft and tired. "Says the man who hasn't had a full night's sleep in a week?"

He gave a quiet chuckle. "Touché. But at least one of us has to stay functional."

The smell of simmering soup began to spread through the apartment, a gentle, comforting aroma that seemed to melt away the tension in the air. Timothy stood, poured the soup into two bowls, and carried them over to the small dining table.

"Come on," he said, motioning to her. "You can rest after this."

Hana stood slowly, still a bit unsteady on her feet. Timothy instinctively reached out, placing a hand on her arm to steady her.

Their eyes met briefly.

She sat down, taking the spoon he handed her. The first sip drew a soft sigh from her lips. "It's… really good," she murmured, surprised.

Timothy leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "Told you. My mother used to make this when I was younger. Said it was the cure for everything, fatigue, fever, bad days."

"Looks like she was right," Hana said, smiling for the first time that night.

Timothy found himself smiling too, not the polite kind he wore in boardrooms or press conferences, but something smaller, more genuine. The way her eyes curved when she smiled, the quiet softness of it, it caught him off guard. For a brief moment, the exhaustion of the day, the weight of running businesses, all faded into the background.

"If your condition persists, I'll take you to hospital to get you checked."

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