Bleeding Summer

Severa's POV

The moment I stepped into my car, I dialed Celine.

"Sev, finally," she said, her voice sharp with urgency. "I've been trying to get through to ED Corp all day. They're ghosting us. No emails, no calls, nothing."

I frowned. "That's impossible."

"Believe me, I've tried everything."

"No," I repeated, gripping my phone tighter. "It's impossible because I spoke to Eugene myself before leaving. He was on-site, handling the shipment. He wouldn't just disappear."

There was silence on the other end. Then, cautiously, Celine asked, "You really think he wouldn't?"

I hesitated. Eugene and I had history—painful history. But when it came to business, he was never careless. If something was wrong, it wasn't because he had vanished. It was because something bigger was happening.

"I'm calling him," I said, ending the call before she could argue.

My fingers hovered over his number for a second longer than I'd like to admit. Then I pressed dial.

He answered on the second ring.

"Severa."

His voice was rough, strained—nothing like the usual confidence he carried.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded. "Celine's telling me you're ghosting us, but I know that's not true."

A heavy sigh crackled through the line. "Because it isn't."

"Then explain," I snapped. "Because as of now, my project is about to be delayed indefinitely, and I need to know why."

There was a long pause. Then, in a voice quieter than I had ever heard from him, Eugene said,

"My partner stole from me."

For a second, I thought I misheard. "What?"

"He stole," Eugene repeated, slower this time. "A lot of money. Millions. It's not just affecting your shipment—it's affecting everything. We're trying to contain the damage, but it's bad."

I leaned back against my seat, gripping my forehead.

Millions.

This wasn't just about one delayed shipment. If ED Corp's finances were compromised at this level, it meant supply disruptions across multiple projects.

It meant disaster.

But it also meant something else—Eugene was suffering.

I didn't have to see his face to know what he was feeling. That kind of betrayal cuts deeper than any business failure.

And I would know.

Because he had done the same thing to me.

I swallowed back the emotions threatening to rise and focused. "What does this mean for my order?"

"We secured the hollow blocks and other essential materials," Eugene said. "Because we were the ones who created them in-house. But the steel beams? And other outsourced supplies? Those are compromised."

Damn it.

Steel beams were critical for the next phase of construction. Without them, everything else would stall.

I exhaled sharply. "What do you need?"

Eugene hesitated. "You're asking how you can help?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm asking what you need so I know how to plan around this mess."

There was a short, humorless laugh from the other end. "You haven't changed, Severa."

"No, I haven't," I muttered. "Now, stop wasting time and tell me how bad this really is."

I heard him inhale deeply before answering. "Bad enough that I might lose everything."

A strange tightness formed in my chest.

I could picture him now—sitting in his office, head buried in his hands. Vulnerable. Shaken.

Just like I had been when he betrayed me.

And that was the part that unsettled me the most.

Because no matter how much I wanted to hate him…

I knew exactly what that pain felt like.

--

I barely remembered the drive back to the site. My mind was running through solutions, calculations, and—against my will—the memory of Eugene's voice when he admitted the betrayal. His betrayal. The one that had ruined us years ago. And now, he was on the other end of it.

The moment I reached the hotel, I didn't bother stopping at the lobby. I rode the elevator up in silence, stepping out onto the seventh floor and making my way down the hall. My room—709.

His room—710.

I stopped in front of his door, hesitating for only a second before knocking twice.

Nothing.

I knocked again, harder this time.

A few seconds passed before the door opened.

Eugene stood there, his shirt untucked, the top buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up, and for the first time in years, he looked tired—not the kind of exhaustion that came from work, but the kind that ate at you from the inside out.

His brows furrowed. "Severa?"

I stepped past him, ignoring the slight brush of my shoulder against his arm. The room was dimly lit, the scent of whiskey in the air. Papers were scattered across the table, along with his phone and laptop.

I turned to face him, crossing my arms. "You should've told me."

Eugene shut the door behind him and leaned against it. "I was handling it."

I scoffed. "Handling it? You mean watching everything fall apart and hoping it magically fixes itself?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.

I exhaled sharply. "I'll pay for the shipment."

Eugene's gaze snapped to mine. "What?"

"You heard me," I said. "I'll cover the costs for the steel beams and whatever else is delayed. But—" I lifted a finger, "you're paying me back. Every cent."

He let out a bitter chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "You really don't trust me, huh?"

I leveled him with a stare. "Should I?"

Silence.

Then, he pushed himself off the door and walked to the table, grabbing a pen and a blank sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"You don't trust me," he said, writing something down. "And I don't want to owe you without terms. So we'll put it in writing."

I stepped closer, watching as he drafted the agreement. It was straightforward—I would cover the costs, and he would pay me back within a set timeframe, plus interest.

When he finished, he slid the paper toward me.

I skimmed through it, then raised an eyebrow. "You're adding interest?"

"If I'm going to be in your debt," he said, meeting my gaze, "I might as well make it worth your while."

A smirk pulled at my lips. "Fair enough."

I grabbed the pen and signed.

So did he.

And just like that, Eugene Dominguez owed me.

But as I looked at him—tired, vulnerable, yet still holding onto his pride—I realized something.

This wasn't just about business anymore.

Because for the first time since our past fell apart, I wasn't the one on the losing end.

He was.