Friday the 25th of August. Tristan was regretting that day without knowing it. It was on that day Gloria informed Dahlia of an urgent board meeting on Saturday. It was also on that day that the financial manager, George Taylor, caused a scene on the 53rd floor.

"Dahlia Garcia!" what seemed to be a walking tomato stormed through the plan management floor.

"Oh no," Alan grimaced, "Heads up, heichou!"

"Where the fuck is she?!"

"Mr. Taylor," Dahlia strode towards him with a neutral face, "Please don't shout."

"What've you done this time?!" he spluttered, saliva flying everywhere.

"Come to the office," she calmed him, "Don't make a scene."

"This is the second fucking time, Garcia!" he thundered, ignoring her request.

"George," she sternly cautioned him, "Watch it. We don't know what the meeting is about yet."

"Because you're sleeping under a damn rock! The Becker project! The files are an absolute mess!"

"That doesn't make it my fault, Taylor," she squinted at him. Tristan could tell this was not their first argument. It would've been funny, due to the height difference, if Tristan wasn't being eaten alive by guilt and frustration. "Those files passed through a lot of hands; it could've been anyone."

"They were in such a state after they came from this floor, so one of us is clearly working against Kerzillion."

"I know I'm not sabotaging the company I've worked at for 13 years."

"Maybe it's one of your dumb subordin-"

"George," her voice held so much warning and authority that the man flinched, "Watch your language," she stressed each syllable, "Leave my floor and don't come here again if you're going to be unprofessional."

They stared at each other for several seconds before the man waved his hands dismissively, "Fine, I can't look at your freak eyes any longer," he stomped to the elevator. Alan audibly snarled at the man's retreating form and maybe it was his ears playing tricks on him, but Tristan could swear someone hissed at the financial manager. 

Tristan's own blood boiled with fury. How dare this person come here and shout at his Dahlia that way?! If Tristan was any less mannered he would've punched the man. But then again, this was his fault. So if anyone deserved a beating, it was him. He looked back at his manager. 

She gave a sigh before addressing her team, "Go back to work, everything will be fine. I'll be going home early in abidance to the board's request. If anyone has an urgent problem, please let Ms. Gloria know and she'll inform me."

"What's his problem?" Alan growled.

"He's nuts," Mary murmured even though she didn't seem as upset as everyone else.

"Just go back to work," Tristan was watching Dahlia as she walked to her office. He crossed eyes with a few people, including Ahmad and Gloria who all shared looks of concern or anger. "She asked us to continue the day normally."

"As if I could do that," Alan grumbled but headed back to his desk all the same.

Tristan had to check on her. It was his fault but he couldn't avoid her like last time. Cautiously getting up, so as to not alert the others, he went to her office.

"Tristan she doesn't-"

"It can't wait. I'll be fast, Gloria."

Dahlia's back was to the door. She was carefully putting some papers in her bag whispering something to herself.

"Yes?" she turned around once she heard the door close, "Oh," her face relaxed, "Tristan, it's you."

"Yes," he said; for he didn't know what else to say.

Scratch that, he had too much to say. He suddenly wanted to tell her about his true self. He wanted to inform her of his mission. Mostly, he wanted to confess how he betrayed her at the one moment she needed him most.

"I don't understand what happened," Dahlia shrugged, "It was fine when I sent it back," she sounded exasperated, "Besides, surely they had more copies. How does one of the sent copies create such a huge problem?"

She was pacing around in front of her desk, "George might be rude and short-tempered but he's not selfish. He also has a long history with Kerzillion. It's like that time again."

Tristan gulped as she looked at him. She tilted her head to the side watching him.

"I'm sorry," she smiled, striding toward him, "I don't want you to worry."

"No, no," he closed his eyes, "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she squeezed his hands, "This isn't your fault."

Tristan didn't answer, he didn't hold back her hand. Instead, he just stared down at her black flats.

"Tristan?" she questioned when a tear fell on their interlaced hands, "Look at me."

She gently lifted his face. He blinked a few times to prevent any more tears. He had to contain himself. How dare he drown in self-pity when it was her job in danger. Her feelings.

"I am so sorry," he finally looked at her.

Just one look at his face and Dahlia could tell. He did something terrible.

She hesitantly let go of his hand, "What happened, Tristan? What have you done?"

"I... I did it."

"What did you do?" she inquired even though she knew exactly what he meant.

"I'm sorry, Dahlia, I had to."

"Tristan Antonov, tell me exactly what you did," she ordered.

"I sabotaged the Becker files," he spilled without a second thought.

"And did you know that doing such a thing would affect others, Antonov?"

She wasn't Dahlia anymore, or at least she wasn't his Dahlia. Her eyes were completely devoid of emotions. No warmth, no content, just purely empty of... everything.

"Yes."

"Leave."

"Dahlia-"

"You're not allowed to say my name anymore. You come waltzing in here thinking you can easily get what you want with your charm and charisma."

"Dahlia please..."

She got close to him, faces inches apart, "Here's the thing, Antonov. I've played this game before. And I won. So let's play, Tristan, after all, it takes two to Tango."

She smirked at him and it was unlike any of her other smirks. It wasn't playful or teasing. It was menacing and evil and Tristan knew he just unlocked a part of the woman he loved. A deeply hidden part he never should've even reached.

He felt like a deer in headlights, attracted to the thing that would soon be his demise. By the time he exited the trance, Dahlia Garcia had left the office. She didn't say a word to anyone, not to Gloria or any of her team.

"Heichou..."

"Dahlia!" But it was too late. She was gone.

"What happened, Tristan?" he heard someone ask.

"I messed up," his mind replied.

He didn't care about the stupid mission anymore. His sweet, tranquil Dahlia was no more. Tristan wished he didn't see her face. He would never forget her blank eyes and eerily calm voice. He would never forget her siren smirk.