Heartstrings and Heartbreaks

When Maya finally checked her phone, she was met with a barrage of unread messages—every single one of them from Oscar.

She didn't reply. Instead, she quietly selected the entire chat thread and deleted it.

Since she had made the decision to let Oscar go, she would do it properly—one step at a time.

That evening, Charles was at her side, accompanying her on a leisurely shopping stroll.

Her phone rang again—this time, it was a call from a mutual friend.

"Maya," the voice on the other end sounded panicked, "I don't know what happened to Oscar. He must've gone through something intense today. He drank way too much. We can't wake him up no matter what we do. Could you maybe come over and check on him?"

She paused, her eyes narrowing. She was just about to refuse politely when Charles, who had overheard the conversation, gently pressed her hand and gave her a look—one of those unreadable but decisive glances that said: Say yes.

Maya hesitated. She didn't know what sort of trick Charles was playing at, but with a slight wince, she agreed. "Alright. Send me the location."

Meanwhile, at the bar across town, Oscar—who had been nervously awaiting a response—couldn't stop the smile from curling across his lips when he heard she was coming.

She was willing to come see him. That had to mean something, didn't it?

She must still care.

He leaned back, replaying the memory of Maya scolding him earlier that afternoon, all for Charles's sake. That sting still lingered on his pride. So tonight, he was going to put on a show—play the drunken, tragic fool, just to make her feel a little guilty. Maybe she deserved a taste of her own medicine.

"Oscar, are you happy now?" his friend grinned beside him. "Didn't I tell you? Maya's heart has always been yours. There's no way she could like someone else. Who else could possibly match up to you?"

Oscar chuckled inwardly. That much was true.

Back in university, Maya had been pursued by more than her fair share of rich, eligible young men. Every heir with a trust fund had tried his luck. But she'd always kept her distance, never once giving him reason to feel jealous. Not even a flicker of doubt.

But oddly enough, as he sat there now, Oscar's mind flashed with the image of Diana in a wedding dress earlier that morning—her delicate figure, the way the light caught the veil. He quickly shook the thought away and forced his focus back to Maya.

It was only about fulfilling a promise, he reminded himself. There was never any real emotion. No danger of falling for someone else.

He might've been harsh with Maya today, but he had a clear conscience. He had never wavered. Whatever feelings he had for Diana were nothing more than sympathy—a sense of duty, gratitude for someone who had stood by him at his lowest.

And as for Diana's mom's wishes to see their families joined through marriage? That would never happen. Not if he had any say in it.

…

Meanwhile, Maya was being ushered into Charles's car.

"You're not planning to beat him up again, are you?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he started the engine. "Charles, maybe we shouldn't go at all."

With a sly grin, Charles hit the lock on the doors and leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing her cheek.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to beat him up," he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I've been dying for some catharsis."

Maya gave his face a playful jab with her finger. "Stop messing around. Seriously—why are you so insistent that I go pick him up?"

Charles leaned back. "Because I want you to see for yourself what kind of guy he really is. And then, maybe—finally—you'll be done with him for good."

With that, he casually silenced his phone, turned onto the main road, and headed straight toward the bar.