Philip sat quietly in Cashope Coffee, watching the swirl of activity around him as people moved in and out of the busy coffeeshop. Clad in a finely tailored tuxedo that seemed out of place among the casual attire of the patrons, he adjusted his cufflinks nervously. This wasn't the kind of place he typically frequented; he was more accustomed to high-end cafés where the ambiance matched his attire. But Solina had insisted they meet somewhere casual, and now he understood why.
He recalled the strain in her voice during their phone conversation when he had reached out to her. Galatea had advised him to be especially gentle when contacting Solina—to listen, not to accuse.
"Solina," he had said softly, sensing her unease, "I just wanted to have a casual catch-up and understand what happened. I know they must have put you through a lot of pressure. It's not your fault; I would have done the same in your circumstance."
He had expected defensiveness, maybe even anger, but instead, there had been a long, heavy silence until she finally whispered, "I thought you were going to blame me for accepting the plea bargain. I thought you'd accuse me of betraying you."
"No," Philip had replied gently. "I know you must have been desperate."
Now, in the coffeeshop, Solina sat across from Philip. Her long, shapely legs drawn close together, as if she were trying to make herself smaller. Her posture, usually elegant, now seemed unsure—one knee slightly bent inward, her foot tapping softly against the floor, the movement betraying her nervousness. The curves of her figure, once so confidently carried, now seemed to weigh her down, as though the fullness of maturity clashed with the tentative way she held herself. She wore a simple blouse tucked into a short plaid wrap skirt, her casual sneakers adding a youthful, almost out-of-place quality that made her appear more vulnerable. Her eyes avoided his for a moment too long before she finally glanced up, guilt flickering across her face like a confession unspoken. Her fingers fidgeted with the paper cup, twisting it nervously in her hands, the grip tightening and loosening as though she couldn't decide whether to hold on or let go. The golden curls framing her face seemed to hide her, soft tendrils falling over her flushed cheeks, while faint lines around her green eyes spoke of unvoiced worries. Those eyes, though filled with a nervous discomfort, still carried a hint of that familiar, captivating depth, even if now shadowed by unease.
"Thanks for coming," Philip said, offering her a small, tentative smile.
She gave him a tight nod, her voice soft. "I wasn't sure if I should."
He sighed, leaning forward slightly. "You definitely should. We have so much to catch up on."
She looked down, her fingers twisting the cup. "I thought you'd be angry with me."
He shook his head gently. "No, I understand. I know about the plea bargain. You must have been under a lot of pressure."
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "A few months ago, the police reached out to me. They reopened the investigation into the campus drug case based on an anonymous tip. I was among the suspects. The charges were not only for illicit drug use but for distribution as well. I... I didn't know what to do. I was afraid. If I was convicted, I could lose everything. I can't afford to lose my job and my career due to a criminal record. I'm sorry, Philip."
Tears spilled from her eyes, and she looked up at him, her expression broken. "I just... I couldn't risk it. I couldn't even afford the fee for a lawyer, much less a lengthy legal battle. So eventually, under pressure, I accepted a plea bargain."
Philip felt a surge of compassion. He reached out and took her hand in his. "It's okay, Solina," he said softly. "It's not your fault. If I were in your position, I would have done the same thing."
She wiped at her tears, her voice barely audible. "I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Listen, if you're willing, I can help. I'll have someone—not directly tied to me—cover your legal fees. I've hired a private investigator who has uncovered evidence to clear your name on the distribution charge. As for the drug use, the time frame falls within an amnesty period due to changes in legislation. In other words, you can be proven not guilty of anything. You just need a good lawyer—the best there is."
"But I've already accepted the plea bargain," she whispered with deep sorrow. "I don't think I can backtrack on it."
Philip's eyes flashed with a flicker of confidence. "We can argue that you didn't have proper legal representation at the time and that you were under duress. You didn't have a lawyer back then. We can get you out of the plea bargain and have your name cleared, with the costs fully borne by a third party."
She looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "But... why would they do that?"
"Because they owe me a favor," he said, his voice filled with a slight hint of mischief. Then, speaking with renewed sincerity, he added, "I really want to help you but also to help myself and the others who might be affected by your plea bargain."
For a moment, Solina hesitated, unsure. But when she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, she nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered. "If that can be done, I'll fully cooperate."
Philip smiled gently, his heart full of a new understanding—not just for Solina but for himself.
"Thank you, Solina. And don't worry about your career. I'll arrange for you to work at a boutique asset management firm. One of my friends is their largest retail client, and another directs their largest institutional client. I'll ensure you have an associate position with them, with a salary of $200,000 per year," he said gently, offering encouragement.
Solina was genuinely surprised but pleasantly so. "Are you serious?"
He nodded affirmatively, his deep blue eyes meeting hers with sincerity.
Her eyes filled with tears—this time with gratitude and joy—but deep down, there was a sense of sorrow. The sorrow of not being able to be with someone so kind, whom she had loved deeply, simply because of the difference in their social status.
"Why are you still so kind to me?" she asked, her voice tinged with guilt. "Don't you hate me for leaving you? For forsaking our love?"
"No, Solina," Philip said, his voice laced with emotion as his hands gently wrapped around hers. "You are not that kind of person. I know you too well. I knew you must have left because I was too close with Audrey. But though there was nothing romantic between Audrey and I, but she was like a sister to me and I cannot abandon her no matter how much I loved you. And… I am sorry for that. It was me that had done you wrong. But I was too cowardly to reach out to you because I did not know how to face you. I was not mature enough back then. So I avoided thinking about it for all these years."
Her eyes widened in surprise, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. "Audrey?" she repeated. "You thought I left because of her?"
He nodded. "I figured maybe you couldn't stand how close we were. It was the logical conclusion."
Solina pressed her lips into a thin line, letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. "No, Philip. It wasn't because of Audrey."
Philip frowned, confusion clouding his features. "Then why?"
Her gaze fell to the table, fingers nervously tracing the edge of her coffee cup. She swallowed hard before speaking, her voice trembling. "It was your mother."
"My mother?" Philip blinked in surprise.
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "She told me to leave you."
Philip felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. "My mother... told you to leave?"
"She didn't give me much of a choice," Solina said, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. "She made it very clear that I didn't belong in your world. That we were from too completely different social classes, whose gulf cannot be bridged."
The weight of her words hit him hard. Philip's mind raced back to a moment not long ago, a moment when he had felt the same way—like he didn't belong.
It was at Dr. Sokraberg's engagement party, when he had learned that Galatea was not just the trustee of his father's estate but the heir to a princedom. He had watched her that night as she danced with the handsome Osgorian diplomat, Enrich Falconhyde. She had been perfect—flawless, elegant, the center of attention. She shone as bright as the sun, and he had felt like a shadow, standing in the dark corners of the ballroom, just another face in the crowd.
He had been rich all his life, but his wealth was mostly controlled by others—first his mother, then Galatea. But most importantly, he was just a commoner. Galatea, with her noble blood, belonged to a world far beyond his, regardless of how wealthy he might be. The chasm between them instilled by centuries of accumulated prestige and power felt vast and insurmountable, even in a world where wealth often ostensively masked such divisions. That night, he had felt that chasm deep in his bones. He had felt like he was watching from the audience while Galatea stood at the center of the stage, radiant and untouchable.
And yet, despite the gulf between them, Dr. Sokraberg had not only accepted but encouraged their relationship. He had been supportive, and Galatea had never looked down on him. She hadn't rejected him for his status as a commoner. How fortunate he had been. If Dr. Sokraberg had done what Victoria had done to Solina, Philip wasn't sure he could have borne it. His insecurities might have consumed him, and he might have lost Galatea—the person who had come to mean everything to him.
A sudden, overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over him. He owed so much of his happiness to his father, Alexander Graciasta. It was his father's friendships with Dr. Sokraberg, Snow, and Galatea that had allowed him to find his place beside Galatea. Maybe that was why his father had entrusted his estate to Galatea instead of directly to him—because he knew how controlling his mother, Victoria, could be. Perhaps he had wanted to protect Philip from her influence, to ensure that his inheritance wouldn't be squandered or turned into something soulless, driven only by profit.
In that moment, Philip realized something about his parents that he had never fully understood before. His father and mother had both strived for a legacy, but their definitions of it had been entirely different. Victoria's legacy had always been about wealth, family, and power—about expanding the family influence, be it Sorkovitch's or Graciasta's. But Alexander had been different. His legacy was ideological, driven by a desire to push the boundaries of science and benefit humanity. While his mother cared about family lineage and inheritance, his father cared more about passing on his vision for humanity's future.
It was that divergence of priorities and purpose that had sealed the inevitability of their divorce. And Philip realized that the anger he had carried for so long—the feeling that his father had neglected and despised him—was misplaced. In truth, Alexander had been the one to secure his freedom and happiness, even if Philip hadn't seen it until now. His mother, with all her love, had caged him in her control, while his father had opened the doors for him to chart his own path.
"I'm so sorry," Philip said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know."
Solina looked at him, her eyes full of tears. "I didn't want to leave," she whispered. "But what could I do? She's your mother. She's a powerful real estate mogul, and I was just an ordinary girl on scholarship. I couldn't risk offending her. So I took the $100,000 she offered and left."
Philip's heart ached for her, understanding now how helpless she must have felt. He reached across the table, his hand brushing hers gently. "I won't tell my mother that you told me," he promised. "I won't make things harder for you. And that $100,000 is the least she could have done for you."
Solina exhaled shakily, a wave of relief washing over her. "Thank you, Philip," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are too kind."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their conversation settling between them. Then, almost as if by accident, Solina revealed something that made Philip's heart ache in a different way.
"Your sister," she said softly, "Lilianna... she reached out to me after I left. She encouraged me to go back to you."
Philip blinked in surprise, a warmth spreading through his chest. "Lilianna did that?"
Solina nodded. "She said you were devastated and that you needed me. She tried to help me find a way back to you."
He felt a surge of gratitude for his sister, for the genuine care she had shown for his happiness back then. He hadn't known.
"I wanted to go back," Solina admitted, her voice trembling. "But..."
"But what?" he prompted gently.
She looked down, her eyes filling with tears. "I saw you," she whispered. "One night, when I finally gathered the courage to return... I saw you drunk and being carried by Audrey into her supercar."
Philip's breath caught in his throat. He remembered those days—how close he had been to Audrey, how she had always been the one pulling him out of trouble, getting him home when he drank too much. It was innocent in his mind, but to someone like Solina...
"You two were so close and such a perfect match," Solina continued, her voice breaking slightly. "She was beautiful, a supermodel in that evening gown, and you both looked like... you belonged together. She's part of that lavish, fairy-tale world of yours, where everything is beautiful and perfect. That night, the stark difference in our stations was laid bare before me."
Philip opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He hadn't seen it the way she had, but now, looking back, he could understand why she felt there was no place for her.
"And Lilianna?" he asked.
"She tried," Solina sighed. "She reached out a few more times, encouraging me to come back to you. But I just... I couldn't. After seeing you and Audrey, I knew I didn't belong."
She paused, her eyes distant. "I think Lilianna was disappointed in me, maybe even ashamed. But how could she understand? She's a Sorkovitch. You're a Graciasta. You both can be whoever you want to be. You can mingle with people like me by placing artificial constraints on your spending. But for someone like me, I can't fit into your world by tapping into resources I don't have. I can't cross that barrier; it's firm as steel. When you step into our imperfect world, people praise you for it. When we try to step into yours, even out of love, we're called social climbers."
Philip's heart ached, the realization of how deep that divide ran between their lives settling over him. He took a deep breath. "Solina, I had no idea. I'm sorry."
She looked at him, her gaze softening. "It's not your fault. It's just the way things are."
Their conversation settled into lighter matters. They discussed how they had been, and Solina congratulated Philip on his new career advancements and his relationship with Galatea. He congratulated her on paying off her mortgage.
Eventually, Solina glanced at her watch. "I need to attend to some matters," she said, rising from her seat.
He stood up as well. "Of course. Let's stay in touch."
"I'd like that," she agreed softly.
They made their way to the exit, and as they stepped outside, the late afternoon sun bathed the street in a warm glow. Solina turned to face him one last time. "It was good seeing you, Philip."
"You too," he replied. "Take care of yourself."
"You as well."
She offered a small wave before walking away, her figure blending into the stream of pedestrians. As she departed, Solina couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that enveloped her. Philip looked almost exactly as she remembered—time had been kind to him, preserving his youthful features. It was as if he existed in a different realm, untouched by the hardships that had left their marks on her.
Once she was out of sight, the emotions she had been holding back surged forward. Tears blurred her vision as she navigated the crowded sidewalk. She had tried so hard to maintain her composure, to hide the lingering feelings that seeing him had stirred up. The realization that they existed in worlds so far apart was a weight on her heart.
She paused by a storefront, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The reflection in the glass showed a woman who had weathered the storms of life—strong yet undeniably altered by her experiences. The allure of youthful dreams had given way to the realities of adulthood.
"Maybe some things are just not meant to be," she whispered to herself.
Meanwhile, Philip stood outside the coffee shop, watching the spot where she had disappeared into the crowd. A mix of emotions swirled within him—regret, compassion, a desire to bridge the gap that had grown between them. He pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Yes, it's me," he said when the line connected. "I need you to arrange legal representation for someone. Discreetly. Also, reach out to the asset management firm—we have a candidate for the associate position we discussed. They'll ensure she gets the opportunity."
He paused before adding, "And perhaps it's time we looked into expanding our community initiatives. There's more we can do to address the disparities that persist."
As he ended the call, Philip felt a profound shift within himself. The meeting with Solina had opened his eyes to the realities that others faced—realities he had been largely insulated from. He thought of Galatea, and how she, despite her noble lineage, understood the lives and minds of ordinary people much more than he did. She was genuinely a woman of the common people.
He realized that his own wealth and status had often blinded him to the struggles that others faced daily. It was time to change that.
Philip took a deep breath, resolving to use his resources not just for himself but to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.
He began walking, blending into the flow of pedestrians, no longer feeling quite so separate from the world around him.