Hope Sullivan saves lives for a living. She does it on borrowed sleep, empty stomachs, and instincts sharpened by years of choosing who lives and who doesn't-often in seconds. She believes in action, not hesitation. In hands that shake only after the crisis is over. In doing what needs to be done, even when the system fails. Zantasia Leviste exists on the other side of control. Precise. Composed. Untouchable. A legal powerhouse with a British accent sharp enough to cut through chaos, and a presence that never raises its voice-because it never needs to. She doesn't react. She observes. And when she speaks, she expects the world to move accordingly. They were never supposed to collide. Not in a hospital drowning in understaffing and incident reports. Not in a mansion full of unspoken hierarchies and carefully curated silence. And definitely not after a single night that should have meant nothing-except it didn't. Now, Hope finds herself answering to Zantasia professionally, clashing with her personally, and unraveling quietly in the spaces between arguments. Every encounter is restrained. Every look is loaded. Every silence feels louder than the last fight. This story is written in Taglish.