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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It’s been three months.

Three months since the delay.
Three months since the chaos.
And three months of Jacob Villanueva’s relentless, no-days-off courtship.

I swear, if courtship were an Olympic sport, he’d have the gold medal and a world record by now.

My room? It looks like a floral shop exploded.
There are sunflowers everywhere—on my desk, by my window, even taped to the side of my mirror because “sunlight suits you, Garcia,” he said.

And don’t even get me started on the teddy bears. I could probably start a teddy bear café at this point—complete with limited edition “Jacob” plushies that all smell like coffee and stubbornness.

Every morning there’s a note, every afternoon there’s a small surprise, and every night, there’s a “Goodnight, Ms. Vice” text that somehow makes me smile like an idiot no matter how hard I try not to.

It’s infuriating.
And… kind of wonderful.

“Ms. Top 2, you’re smiling again,” Jhessy teased one afternoon, catching me daydreaming in the student council office.

I quickly straightened up, pretending to organize the event folders. “No, I wasn’t.”

“You so were.” She leaned on the table, grinning. “Let me guess—Jacob sent you another sunflower bouquet?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

I paused, staring down at my phone where his latest message blinked on the screen,

‘Lunch? I’ll bring caramel frappe and fries—your usual.’

“…Okay, maybe,” I muttered, trying not to sound too pleased.

Jhessy laughed. “Alyza, you’re so gone.”

“I am not—”

Before I could finish, the door opened and, speak of the devil, Jacob himself walked in—perfectly composed as always, holding two drinks and a paper bag.

“Ms. Garcia,” he greeted smoothly, placing the frappe right in front of me. “You skipped lunch again.”

Jhessy smirked. “Oh, he’s keeping track of your meals now? Domestic much?”

Jacob ignored her with a polite smile. “It’s called being considerate.”

I took the drink, pretending to roll my eyes. “You’re starting to sound like my mom.”

“Then your mom has excellent taste,” he said, sitting across from me with that signature confident grin.

“Unbelievable,” I mumbled, sipping my frappe—but the warmth spreading in my chest betrayed me.

Three months.
Three months of this.

And still, somehow, my heart races the same way it did the first time he called me Garcia with that teasing tone.

As the afternoon sun slanted through the window, painting everything in gold, I looked at him—the school president, my rival, my chaos, my Jacob—and wondered, not for the first time, when exactly “Mr. President” had become the person who made me feel safe.

“Hey, Garcia?” he said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

He leaned forward slightly, his expression softer now. “About the prom…”

I froze. “What about it?”

His eyes met mine, steady and unreadable. “The principal finally gave the go signal. It’s back on.”

My heart skipped. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Prom’s officially happening.”

For a second, I just sat there, speechless—and then I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.

“Looks like our project isn’t over after all,” he said, eyes twinkling.

And just like that, everything—the stress, the late nights, the waiting—felt worth it again.

Because this time, it wasn’t just our project.
It was our story.

“Jacob…”

My voice trembled a little—okay, maybe a lot. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it wanted to jump right out of my chest.

He looked up from where he was standing, confusion flickering in his eyes. The afternoon light from the window framed him perfectly—soft, golden, and unfairly beautiful.

“What is it, Garcia?” he asked gently, the familiar teasing gone from his tone this time.

I took a deep breath. My throat felt dry, and my words tangled before I could even speak. But I had to say it. I needed to.

“I’m…” I started, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’m giving you my yes.”

For a second, the world went still.

Jacob froze, eyes widening just slightly. “R–really?” he asked, voice soft—almost disbelieving.

I nodded, feeling my cheeks burn. “Yes. Really.”

He blinked once, twice, like his brain was catching up to what I just said. Then, slowly—almost cautiously—a smile began to form on his lips. Not his usual smirk or that confident grin he used when teasing me. No. This one was different.

It was real. Soft. Completely unguarded.

“Alyza…” he whispered, my name sounding strange and tender on his tongue.

Before I could even react, he let out a quiet laugh—that breathless kind of laugh people make when they can’t believe they’re actually happy. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

“I think I do,” I said, smiling shyly. “Three months. Dozens of sunflowers. About, what, twenty teddies?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Thirty-two, actually.”

“Of course you counted,” I teased, trying to hide the warmth in my voice.

Jacob stepped closer then, his expression softening again. “So… this means I can officially call you mine?”

I rolled my eyes—but I was smiling. “You already did that the moment you showed up with that first sunflower bouquet, Villanueva.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Still,” he murmured, taking my hand in his, “I wanted to hear it from you.”

And just like that, my heart melted into something warm and certain.

I looked up at him—the boy who once drove me crazy with his arrogance, who later became the one I couldn’t stop thinking about—and said softly, “Then yes, Jacob. You can.”

His fingers tightened gently around mine, his smile growing wider, brighter. “You just made me the happiest man alive, Ms. Garcia.”

“Don’t push it,” I muttered, but my grin betrayed me completely.

He laughed again, the sound echoing through the empty SSLG room. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt light. Right. Ours.

Outside, the sun dipped low, bathing the school in a soft, golden glow—like even the universe decided this was the perfect ending to a long chapter.

Except, deep down, I knew this wasn’t an ending.
It was just the start of something real.