Regina Salvador wasn’t too sure what she was doing at El Tomador on a work night. She had to be up and on location early the next morning, which was going to be in, oh, maybe three hours—the Philippine sun did have a habit of rising before six a.m. But she had promised her best friend Lana Lucero she’d be there to support her. To support her as she drank down three boys in a freaking drinking contest. Which just so happened to take place in a dark bar, hidden along one of the shadier streets of Makati, reeking of smoke and blasting grunge. What was this? A throwback to their college days?

Through narrowed eyes, she watched Lana chug down another tumbler of beer, the frothy amber liquid dribbling down the sides of her mouth, running down her neck, and soaking through the neckline of her white tank top, probably staining it forever. When Lana triumphantly held the tumbler up and turned it face down to the whoops and cheers of the thickening crowd, Regina felt someone jostle her arm, causing her to lose her balance.

“Watch it!” she snapped, feeling the beginnings of a tirade gathering in the middle of her chest, just waiting to be released. She was tired and worried about Lana. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but she thought she knew why her best friend was there. At the back of her mind, there was a voice whining for attention, chanting one name: Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben Marquez who didn’t call Lana back after turning her world upside down and making her believe that she was the one—the one who was going to change him, the one who was going to make him forget about all the other girls in his life, the one he was finally going to settle down with—at their ripe old age of twenty-four. Right.