Chapter Text
“…the government could really use help instead of criticism,” the guy, whose name Sionne had already forgotten, droned on. His tone grated on her nerves. She wanted to scoff, but instead bit her tongue, making a mental note to lecture Jane later: why did Jane know someone who formed opinions with their ass? And why did she think setting him up with Sionne was a good idea?
He had no idea what he was talking about. Worse, he had no idea who he was talking to. He spoke about politics as if he knew it like the back of his hand, but everything he said rang hollow to Sionne, who could already guess which vloggers and paid influencers had fed him with misinformation. He didn’t even know that the woman across from him was one of the most respected journalists of her generation.
Sionne twirled her fork, nudging the pasta around her plate instead of eating. The date was so painfully bad that she was considering blocking him the moment she got home, and maybe blocking Jane, too, for committing this matchmaking crime. Jane meant well, of course; she always did. But she could never grasp that some people were single by choice, not because they were secretly pining for an ex.
Her companion was still talking, oblivious to her wandering attention. Sionne, meanwhile, half-prayed for divine intervention — any excuse to escape, even an emergency call from work would do. When her phone lit up on the table, she muttered a silent thank-you to whatever higher power had answered her plea.
Her relief dimmed as she saw the message from an unknown number. The text made her frown.
From: Unknown Number
mitchhgh plsss pick me uppp 😭😭 im 2 drunk no drife no graaabb no peopel noone herrr
Sionne clicked her tongue. Did Mitch seriously give her number out to drunk strangers? Her ex still managed to get under her skin years later. She was about to lock her screen when another text came in.
From: Unknown Number
miych pls pls i csn feel sum guys eye me
That made Sionne pause. Unease prickled at the back of her neck. A drunk woman, alone, surrounded by men. Even if she was a stranger, the image unsettled her.
To: Unknown Number
Sorry, who are you?
From: Unknown Number
u delwted my numbrr?
just coz i saif urw fckinh stupif fpr cheating and sionnr deservw better?
well urw also useleas as a frisnd, mituh
Her brows shot up. The annoyance she’d felt toward Mitch shifted into something else — an odd flicker of gratitude. At least not all of her ex’s friends had tolerated her behavior. Some of them thought Sionne deserved better. She almost laughed at the insults directed at Mitch.
Then came the kicker.
From: Unknown Number
and this ia allie u idipt🖕🏻
Allie. Mitch’s childhood best friend.
Sionne remembered Mitch borrowing her phone once to call Allie when she was in Manila. That would explain the mix-up of their numbers.
She had only met Allie once, years ago, back when she and Mitch were still together. Allie lived in Cebu, and Mitch always told stories about her hopeless luck with men, her stubbornness, and her relentless kindness. Probably the only decent friend Mitch ever had.
Now, reading those drunken texts, unease spread through Sionne’s chest. This wasn’t just some stranger — it was Allie. And Allie was in trouble.
Sionne typed quickly, her pulse speeding up.
To: Unknown Number
Where are you?
From: Unknown Number
if u thonk yhis chsnges thw way ill see u, nbm helping me
Sionne exhaled sharply, pressing her free hand against her temple. Even drunk, Allie was stubborn. Admirably so, perhaps — but each passing minute meant greater risk for the other woman.
To: Unknown Number
You can continue to hate me all you want and to think whatever. Just tell me where you are, please.
Sionne tried to negotiate. Allie can hate Mitch for the rest of her life and it won't affect Sionne. If anything, this would make Sionne feel better.
From: Unknown Number
im at XXXXX bar
and i still hatr u
A giggle slipped from Sionne’s throat.
To: Unknown Number
Okay. Wait for me. Don’t accept drinks or go with anyone.
Sionne didn’t wait for a reply. She shoved her wallet and bag into her arms, stood, and slid her chair back with purpose.
“Wait... where are you going?” her date asked, confused, as if noticing her presence for the first time.
“I have an emergency,” Sionne said flatly, her voice clipped and cool. No explanations. No apologies. She walked out without sparing the guy another glance.
Allie swayed against the side of her car, clutching her keys in trembling hands. Her vision blurred, her head felt heavy on her neck. She hadn’t wanted to message Mitch — hadn’t wanted to message anyone, really — but fear clawed at her chest until desperation took over.
She cursed her own recklessness. They hadn't been in contact for a long while after what Mitch had done to Sionne. Yet when she’d looked up from her drink and realized no one she knew was around, panic made the choice for her.
A group of men approached her, their footsteps uncomfortably loud against the gravel.
“Hey, miss, lasing ka na ata para mag-drive,” one of them said. The tone wasn’t laced with concern — it was mockery.
“Sama ka na sa amin? Kami na maghatid sa ’yo,” another added with a grin. They closed in, step by step.
Allie’s stomach clenched. She forced herself to speak, her voice shaky but firm. “No thanks. I… I have a friend coming to pick me up.”
“The more the merrier, then.” The first man’s laugh was harsh. He brushed her elbow as if steadying her, though his touch made her skin crawl.
Allie’s throat tightened, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes. She tried to step back, but the world tilted dangerously. Just as one man leaned closer, a voice cut through them.
“Leave her alone.”
The men turned. Allie squinted through the haze in her vision, her tears blurring everything. It wasn’t Mitch. She knew that immediately. The figure was tall, poised, and unmistakably feminine.
“Oh, sexy rin pala ’tong kaibigan mo,” one of them jeered, earning laughter from his friends.
“Get your hands off her,” the woman said coldly, “or the next thing they’ll be holding are prison bars.”
The man sneered, puffing out his chest. “Kilala mo ba ako, miss?”
Sionne stepped into the light then, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “I know you, James Alfredo. Love child of Mayor Alfredo and his mistress, Ms. Escudero. Do you want to find out what else I know about your family?”
The smirk slid right off James’s face. His bravado faltered. “Who are you? Bakit mo ako kilala?”
“Sionne Sevilleja,” she said smoothly. “Not sure if you’ve heard of me. But I know your father has.”
The name landed like a strike. James paled. His friends exchanged nervous looks, their drunken courage wavering.
Meanwhile, Sionne slipped a steady hand around Allie’s back, guiding her upright with surprising gentleness. The touch jolted Allie’s fogged brain. That voice. That name.
Sionne. Mitch’s ex. What on earth was she doing here?
But the questions spun too fast in her head, the alcohol dragging her consciousness down.
Sionne’s eyes didn’t leave the men as she led Allie away. “James,” she warned, her tone was calm but deadly, “believe me when I say your dad would kill you first before he thinks of crossing me. Walk away and tonight will be forgotten.”
And that was all it took. James muttered a curse under his breath, but he and his friends backed off quickly, scattering like roaches under light.
Sionne opened her car door and settled Allie inside, her movements brisk but careful. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Allie tried to form words, but they tumbled out broken. “I—you—Mitch…”
“Later,” Sionne said firmly. “Where are you staying?”
But Allie’s only answer was a soft snore, her head lolling against the seat.
Relief melted over Sionne, loosening the tension in her shoulders. At least she was safe. She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she started the engine.
The next morning, Allie swore to herself, with the solemnity of the hungover, that she would never drink again. Her skull throbbed as though someone were hammering nails into it, and every beat of her heart made her wince. She cracked her eyes open, squinting at the unfamiliar ceiling above her.
Her first thought: This isn’t my room.
Her second: At least I still have my clothes on.
She sat up slowly, tugging the blanket away. Relief washed over her as she saw that she was intact, unbothered.
“Okay, that’s… good,” she muttered aloud, voice scratchy.
But the relief faded quickly, replaced by confusion. Where was she? The last clear memory she had was slurring angry texts to Mitch. This definitely wasn’t Mitch’s place because the room was bathed in soft pinks, very feminine, and neat in a way Mitch’s apartment never had been.
Her gaze drifted to the bedside table. There, neatly arranged, sat a glass of water, two tablets of pain reliever, her phone plugged in and charging, and a folded note.
Allie reached first for the water and pills, downing them gratefully. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat. Only then did she pick up the note, written in neat, slanted cursive.
Hey, Allie!
Just in case you wake up and I’m not yet home from errands, here’s a list of things that might help you:
- pain reliever and water on the bedside table (for your inevitable headache)
- your phone’s charged and connected to Wi-Fi
- fresh towel, clothes, and new underwear at the foot of the bed
- new toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet
- food waiting at the counter—reheat if you want
- coffee maker’s ready, though I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee
Text me if you need anything I missed.
Best,
Sionne
Allie blinked. Sionne.
That explained the pink bedroom. That explained the note. Yet… it raised a hundred other questions.
Her heart gave a nervous flutter. Was Allie caught in the middle of something messy again? Ibigsabihin ba nito na nagkabalikan na si Mitch at Sionne?
She fumbled for her phone, unlocking it quickly. Her notifications exploded — dozens of messages from her manager — but she ignored them, scrolling instead to check Mitch’s profile. It was still flooded with pictures of Mitch and her new girlfriend. Definitely not back with Sionne.
That left the hardest question: Then why am I here?
Allie sighed, pressing a palm against her forehead. Answers could wait. What she needed now was to scrub the smell of alcohol off her skin. She spotted the folded towel and fresh clothes at the edge of the bed, exactly where the note had promised.
Thoughtful. Overly thoughtful. It made her chest ache with something she didn’t want to name.
Exactly why Mitch was a fool for cheating, she thought grimly.
By the time Allie padded into the kitchen, damp hair loose around her shoulders, she felt a little more human. A plate of food waited on the counter, just as Sionne had mentioned. Allie was digging in, grateful, when the door opened.
Sionne stepped inside with grocery bags slung over her arms, her hair tied up in a loose bun. She looked effortlessly put together, even in jeans and a plain white shirt.
“Oh, you’re up already,” Sionne said casually, setting the bags on the counter. “How’s your head?”
Allie flushed, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look in borrowed clothes. Gratitude and embarrassment tangled in her chest. She ducked her head. “I—uhm… thank you.”
“Really?” Sionne’s lips curved, her eyes sparkled with amusement. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Allie fidgeted, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork. “You… picked me up last night?”
“Yes.” Sionne nodded, leaning against the counter. “I tried asking where you were staying, but you passed out. So I brought you here.”
“But Mitch—”
“You weren’t texting Mitch,” Sionne interrupted, smirking. “You were texting me. Probably mistook my number for hers.”
Allie blinked, fumbling for her phone again. Only then she remembered — she’d deleted Mitch’s number years ago after their fallout. When she typed “Mitch” into her contacts last night, it must’ve pulled up Sionne instead.
Her cheeks warmed with mortification. “Oh my God…”
Sionne chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. Honestly? I don’t mind. At least I know you never tolerated what she did to me.”
Allie blurted before she could stop herself: “Well, of course not. You were kind. Smart. Beautiful. If anything, you deserved better than Mitch.”
Sionne froze, then she bursted into laughter. “Allie, I didn’t know you were this funny.”
Allie glared, indignant. Sionne thought she was joking. “It’s not a joke. It’s the truth.”
The air between them shifted, the light banter brushing against something more serious, more vulnerable. For a moment, Allie’s pulse stumbled. But Sionne broke it with a smile, sliding the moment back into something more casual. “Why were you drinking so much, anyway?”
Allie poked at her food, suddenly feeling sheepish. “It was… an after-party. A modeling gig wrapped up, and the people I went with celebrated a little too hard. They, uh, forgot I existed and went back to the hotel without me.”
Sionne raised a brow. “The Charlotte Folk event?”
“You know about that?”
“I covered it the morning before.” A faint grin tugged at her lips.
Right. Allie had almost forgotten. To the public, Sionne wasn’t just another reporter — she was the Sionne Sevilleja. Her face, her voice, her byline were everywhere. Still, sitting here now, she seemed…normal. Playful, even.
“You’re popular,” Allie muttered mindlessly, as if amazed.
Sionne tilted her head. “No. You’re popular.”
“I’m not the one whose face flashes on TV every single day.”
“And I’m not the one plastered across billboards around the world,” Sionne shot back without missing a beat.
Allie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved upward despite herself. Her phone buzzed again — her manager, no doubt — but she ignored it.
“You should probably let them know their prized model is still alive and kicking,” Sionne teased.
“I’m not their prized anything. And stop snooping, Ms. Reporter,” Allie retorted. But then, more hesitantly: “Did I… do anything last night? Something that could get me in trouble?”
Sionne smirked, sticking her tongue out like a mischievous kid. “Secret.”
Allie nearly choked on her coffee, surprised at the childish act. “You’re annoying.”
“And the door’s right there,” Sionne replied coolly, pointing with her lips toward the exit. Her challenge was clear to Allie.
Allie narrowed her eyes. “But very kind,” she reluctantly added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I thought so,” Sionne said, stealing a strip of bacon straight from Allie’s plate.
“Hey!”
“Ang damot mo naman.”
“Don’t you have work?” Allie demanded, watching her finish the stolen piece.
“Pinapalayas mo ba ako sa bahay ko?”
“And here I thought you’d be less irritating than most reporters.”
“No smoke without fire, Allie,” Sionne quipped, standing to take Allie's empty plate to the sink. “By the way, may utang ka sa akin. For last night and this morning.”
Allie gasped theatrically. “The great Sionne Sevilleja, blackmailing me? What would the people say?”
“Ever heard of reimbursement?” Sionne shot back with mock seriousness.
“Mayaman ka naman na.”
“Not true,” Sionne countered. “Reporter’s base pay is barely above minimum wage. I only earn more because of years of grinding. Pero in ratio? What I make in a month, you probably make in one gig.”
Allie blinked, surprised. “Seryoso ba?”
“Mhmm.” Sionne shrugged, casual but honest. “I had to work twice as hard just to establish myself. It was brutal starting out.”
The mood was replaced by something softer. “That must’ve been hard.”
Sionne gave a small smile. “It was. But don’t pity me, Allie. Bayaran mo 'yung utang mo.”
Allie laughed then leaned forward, “Sige. Magkano ba?”
Sionne tapped her chin as if in deep thought. “You can’t pay me with money.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s unethical for a reporter to take gifts or cash from someone established. Especially someone as high-profile as you.”
“So paano kita babayaran?”
Sionne’s lips curled into a grin. “Well… time is money. And time leaves no paper trail.”
Allie arched a brow. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“You’ll play Overcooked with me, because I have no one else to play with.”
Allie paused, then cackled. The sound surprised even her. “That’s it? That’s your grand demand?”
“Non-negotiable,” Sionne declared.
Allie tilted her head, studying her. Bits and pieces of last night coming back to her memory. And it's quite unbelievable that this woman, who had swooped in like some sharp-tongued knight in the parking lot, wanted nothing more than a co-op video game partner. The thought warmed something deep inside Allie's chest.
“Okay. Deal,” Allie said softly. “But tell me the terms.”
So they sat there, still teasing each other, while sketching out a ridiculous “contract” of playing hours and penalties for rage-quitting. The easy banter wrapped around them like sunlight, softening the edges of the night before.
By the time Allie had to leave for her flight back to LA, the agreement was scribbled down on the back of a grocery receipt. Neither of them admitted it aloud, but both held on to it like something far more important than a game.
Overcooked Contract
Between:
Allie Arceta
Sionne Sevilleja
Ms. Arceta has to fulfill and play 40 hours of Overcooked with Ms. Sevilleja as required to pay her debt. The contract ends effectively after the hours are fulfilled.
Signed this: September 23, 2025
Allie Arceta Sionne Sevilleja