His Code Name: ULAP (Code Name Series #1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The teachers’ lounge was quiet when we entered—soft sunlight pouring through the blinds, dust motes floating lazily in the air, and the faint scent of vanilla frosting coming from the cake on the table.

It was peaceful. For about five seconds.

Then the door clicked shut behind us.

Jacob placed the clipboard on the counter, rolling up his sleeves again, that same calm focus written all over his face. “Everything looks good,” he said, scanning the decorations. “You did well.”

You did well.

I don’t know why, but those words hit differently coming from him—like they carried more weight than they should have.

“Thanks,” I said softly, brushing invisible dust off the table. “But technically, Zacharias helped.”

His head turned. Slowly. “I noticed.”

His tone was careful—too careful. I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “You know, you act all composed, but you’re terrible at hiding it.”

He raised a brow. “Hiding what?”

“That you get jealous.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Jealous?” he repeated, half a laugh escaping him. “Of Dela Paz?”

I shrugged, pretending to study the cake. “If the shoe fits, Mr. President.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, when he finally spoke, his voice was low—controlled, but softer somehow.

“You think I’d get jealous just because someone helped you decorate?”

“Maybe not someone,” I said without looking at him. “But him? Yeah.”

He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. “You really think I’d waste time on something like that?”

“Depends,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “Would you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. For a moment, the distance between us felt charged—like the air itself was holding its breath.

Then he said, quietly but deliberately, “I don’t get jealous easily, Ms. Garcia.”

I raised a brow. “Oh really?”

“But I don’t like it,” he continued, “when someone else makes you smile like that.”

My breath caught. “Jacob—”

He looked away first, running a hand through his hair, suddenly frustrated with himself. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Before I could reply, the door burst open.

“Surprise!” the teachers yelled, walking in with wide smiles and laughter, completely unaware of the tension that had just thickened the air.

Jacob immediately straightened, stepping back like nothing happened. “Good afternoon, ma’am, sir,” he greeted politely, tone back to that formal, untouchable calm.

I followed suit, forcing a small smile as everyone gathered around the cake, snapping photos, laughing. But my mind wasn’t there.

Because even as I handed out plates and smiled at the teachers, I could still feel the echo of his words in my chest—

“I don’t like it when someone else makes you smile like that.”

And no matter how many times I tried to push it aside, my heart kept replaying it.

The room was filled with laughter, the kind that echoed against the tiled walls and blurred the line between relief and chaos. Teachers gathered around the cake, snapping selfies and joking about their “surprise” celebration.

Jacob stood by the door now—arms crossed, posture straight, that usual presidential calm back in place. You’d think he hadn’t said that to me just a few minutes ago.

I tried to act normal. I really did.
Smiling at the teachers, handing out slices of cake, chatting about how the students “really outdid themselves this year.” But every time I looked up, I’d catch him watching me. Not staring—just looking, in that quiet, unreadable way of his that somehow felt louder than words.

When most of the teachers had left, I started gathering the used plates and napkins. “I’ll handle the clean-up,” I said quickly, before anyone could offer to help.

But of course—

“I’ll help,” Jacob said, stepping closer.

I didn’t look at him. “I can handle it.”

“I know,” he said evenly, picking up a stack of cups anyway. “But I didn’t ask if you could.”

I sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” he hummed softly. “You’ve said that before.”

We worked in silence after that—the kind that wasn’t awkward but wasn’t peaceful either. Every sound felt amplified... the clink of plates, the hum of the air conditioner, the faint echo of laughter from the hallway outside.

Then, when I turned to grab the last tray, I bumped right into him.

The tray nearly slipped from my hands, but he caught it—one hand on the tray, the other steadying my arm.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I whispered, suddenly too aware of how close we were. His hand was still on my arm, warm, steady… grounding.

I looked up, ready to make a sarcastic comment—something to break the moment—but the words died the second our eyes met.

His gaze wasn’t sharp this time. It was soft. Quiet. Searching.

“Jacob…” I began, my voice smaller than I intended.

He exhaled, finally breaking the silence. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

My heart skipped. “Get what?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking down for a second before returning to mine. “Why I get frustrated. Why I—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “Forget it.”

“No,” I said quickly. “You can’t just start and not finish.”

He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “Because if I finish, I might say something I can’t take back.”

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, too loud with silence.

Before I could even respond, the door creaked open again.

“Ms. Garcia! Mr. Villanueva!”
It was Vriella, the treasurer, poking her head in. “The principal’s looking for you both! Now!”

Jacob straightened immediately, mask back on. “We’ll be right there.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall.

I turned back to him, but the softness from earlier was gone—replaced by the composed, untouchable President Villanueva everyone else knew.

He met my eyes for only a second. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

And just like that, he walked out—leaving me standing there,
heart pounding, mind reeling,
and the taste of almost-confession still hanging in the air.