I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World-Chapter 200: Planning Stage

May 4th, 2024 — 9:00 AM

Rockwell, Matthew's Apartment

The morning began with quiet jazz and the low whir of the espresso machine in Matthew's kitchen. Angel was still asleep in the bedroom, buried beneath layers of linen and dreams, while Matthew stood barefoot on the tiles, sipping from a plain white mug and scrolling through a very specific tab on his laptop.

Wedding planners.

He didn't want a circus. God forbid there be fireworks or drones spelling out "Borja-Cruz." No, what he was looking for was something thoughtful, efficient, understated. But elegant.

He clicked through several websites, toggling between beachfront logistics, guest capacity calculators, and sample itineraries with titles like Modern Minimalist or Rustic-Luxe with Local Flair.

One tab was a bespoke planning group based in Batangas. Another was a wedding logistics firm run by two retired civil engineers who prided themselves on timelines and terrain adaptability.

Matthew smirked.

"I might actually love these people," he muttered.

He wasn't doing this to propose next week. Or next month. But they both knew the conversation had already shifted. They were no longer wondering if—only when. And Matthew, being who he was, needed to be ready.

His phone buzzed quietly. A message from Angel.

Are you cheating on our shared dashboard with something that doesn't have formulas?

He chuckled.

Just coffee. And maybe spreadsheets in disguise.

Filthy.

You love it.

I do.

She was awake. He closed the laptop softly and walked back to the bedroom, where she greeted him with sleepy eyes and a half-smile. He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Morning," he whispered.

She tugged at the blanket. "Get in. It's Saturday."

He didn't need to be asked twice.

—

11:45 AM — Cafe in BGC

By midday, they were seated at a small outdoor café tucked between rows of manicured greenery. Angel was sketching on a napkin—nothing formal, just lines and circles that vaguely resembled seating zones and table arrangements.

Matthew watched her from across the table, stirring his iced Americano.

"I thought we agreed on a long engagement," he said.

She shrugged. "This is just mental prep. Like site surveys."

"I love how your brain makes everything about infrastructure."

She smiled. "It's the only language we both speak."

Matthew leaned back, tapping a finger on the edge of his glass. "So... hypothetical question."

Angel looked up.

"If I were, say, quietly researching planners behind your back," he said, "would you be mad?"

She blinked, then tilted her head. "Depends. Are they terrible?"

"No," he said quickly. "In fact, one of them is run by engineers who worked on the MRT-3 rehab project."

Angel placed her pen down slowly. "Matthew."

"What?"

"You can't spring something that appealing on me and expect me to be mad."

"So… you're not?"

"Mad? No. In love? Yes. Terrified by how on-brand that is? Also yes."

He grinned.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Tell me everything."

—

1:30 PM — Wedding Planning Spreadsheet, Confidential Folder

Back at HQ, they shared a corner of the break room with their laptops open and a plate of shared fries between them. Matthew's screen showed a file titled Operation Forever: Phase Zero. Angel squinted at it.

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"Is that... a Gantt chart?"

"Color-coded and milestone-mapped," he said proudly. "I even flagged potential high-risk weather windows."

She scrolled through. There were cells for everything—venue coordination, family RSVP trackers, vendor vetting, backup power for sound systems, and yes, a dedicated cell labeled Tunnel-Themed Cake: Angel Vetoed.

She stopped scrolling.

"You scheduled a soft deadline for ring design?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I like to be thorough."

She nudged him. "You're ridiculous."

"You're marrying me."

She smiled. "Exactly."

—

3:45 PM — Aurora Central Hub, Private Alcove

Later that day, after a short visit to check on the Cebu signal uplink, Angel pulled him aside into one of the glass alcoves facing the city.

She closed the door gently, then turned to him.

"I need to know something," she said.

Matthew straightened. "Alright."

"Are we building toward this because it's what we think comes next… or because we actually want it?"

He didn't rush the answer. Instead, he reached out, took her hand, and looked her in the eye.

"I want it," he said softly. "But only if it's with you. Not because it's next on some life checklist. But because you're the only constant I've ever wanted outside of a project timeline."

Angel looked down, then back up. Her eyes were glassy. "Okay. Good."

They didn't need to say more.

The city bustled beyond the glass, but inside that quiet alcove, they were still.

—

5:00 PM — Rockwell, Matthew's Apartment

Back home, they sat on the floor with slices of leftover pizza and an open notepad between them.

Angel jotted something down.

"No sand aisle. I want wooden planks. Sand gets in my shoes."

Matthew wrote Angel = anti-sand and circled it three times.

"Food truck reception?" he offered.

"Yes," she said instantly.

He beamed. "See? We're basically planners now."

She leaned into him. "You know, we never did pick a date."

"We don't need one yet."

"But if we did…"

He considered. "End of next year. Maybe late November."

Angel blinked. "That's earlier than I thought."

"I don't want to wait two years anymore," he admitted.

She looked at him for a moment. "Okay."

He glanced at her, surprised. "Just like that?"

She nodded. "You already scoped vendors. I saw you print soil reports for a venue. You're basically halfway there."

He laughed. "We're terrifying."

"We are," she said.

But she was still smiling.

—

7:00 PM — Final Notes

That night, after Angel had dozed off on the couch with a documentary still playing in the background, Matthew opened his laptop one last time.

He didn't touch the timeline or the Gantt chart or the RSVP matrix.

He opened a blank page.

At the top, he typed:

Vows: First Draft

And then, without overthinking it, he wrote:

Angel, in a world of noise and movement, you are the pause. You are the blueprint I never knew I needed. And I promise to build this life with you—foundation first, every day forward.

He saved the file, closed the lid, and looked at her.

The woman who built a future beside him without ever needing a blueprint.

And in that silence, filled only by soft breathing and the glow of the screen, Matthew knew:

He was all in.

And soon, very soon…

He'd ask her to marry him for real.