Chapter 3 — The Night They Met

Third Person

The ballroom shimmered with opulence, a dazzling display of wealth and ambition. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the polished marble floors, while guests in tailored suits and glittering gowns moved like elegant, restless currents. The air hummed with the murmur of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. In one corner, a live jazz band played a sultry melody, their notes weaving effortlessly through the evening’s electric atmosphere.

Marius Reyes leaned against the bar, appearing at ease, though a closer look revealed the faint tension in his posture. His broad shoulders filled out a sleek navy suit, the crisp white shirt beneath it unbuttoned at the collar to suggest just enough rebellion. On his hand, the championship ring glinted under the warm light, a deliberate beacon of his success. People gravitated toward him—hands on his shoulder, effusive compliments about his latest game, lingering glances from admirers hoping to catch his eye. Yet, despite the attention, a crack of detachment ran beneath Marius’s polished exterior.

He had come to this charity gala out of obligation, another item on the checklist of his offseason commitments. The event benefitted underserved youth athletic programs—a cause that, in theory, he cared about. But tonight, the lavish surroundings and superficial conversations left him feeling like an actor in a role he’d long since grown weary of. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, letting it catch the light, when a low, throaty laugh from across the room sliced through the noise. The sound was rich and unguarded, like a note of clarity in the muddled symphony around him. His eyes flicked up, instinctively drawn to its source.

She wasn’t like the others. The women who surrounded him tonight sparkled in sequins and dripped with diamonds, their beauty sculpted to perfection. But her emerald-green dress was simple, elegant, and hugged her lean frame like a second skin. Her dark curls were unruly, barely tamed into an updo, and the lock that had escaped to rest against her cheek only added to her effortless allure. She stood near the edge of the crowd, more an observer than a participant, her hazel eyes alive with sharp intelligence. When their gazes met, Marius felt the oddest sensation—not the swelling of his ego he was used to at being noticed, but something quieter, deeper. She looked at him like she could see right through the polish and charm, and for the first time in a long while, Marius felt exposed.

Salvadora “Sal” De Leon shifted uncomfortably in her heels, the borrowed shoes pinching her feet with every step. She wasn’t supposed to be here—at least, not in her mind. A coworker had practically dragged her to the gala, insisting it would be a networking opportunity she couldn’t pass up. But now, amidst the opulence and casual displays of wealth, Sal felt like a fish in a gilded tank. Her usual steel-toed boots and practical clothing had been swapped for this dress that clung too tightly at the waist, a reminder of how different her world was from the one she found herself in tonight.

She had spent most of the evening near the edges of the room, sipping ginger ale from a champagne flute to deflect any questions about her drink choice. The atmosphere fascinated her in a detached way—the power dynamics, the undercurrent of competition disguised as camaraderie. It was a far cry from the construction site where her days were defined by the clang of machinery and the satisfaction of tangible, honest work. Yet even as she recognized the divide, Sal couldn’t help feeling a flicker of curiosity about these people and their world.

Still, she hadn’t expected to feel the weight of someone’s gaze so intensely, like a thread tugging her to look up. When she did, her eyes locked with his—dark, warm, searching. The man at the bar radiated confidence, his presence commanding without effort. He raised his glass in a silent toast, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sal arched an eyebrow in return, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles before she turned back to the conversation she’d been feigning interest in.

Intrigued, Marius set down his glass and crossed the room, his strides purposeful yet unhurried. He reached her just as the older man she’d been speaking with excused himself, leaving Sal unexpectedly alone.

“Not a fan of champagne?” he asked, nodding at her glass.

Sal glanced at him, unimpressed but undeniably curious. “Not a fan of headaches,” she replied, lifting the flute to take a deliberate sip of her ginger ale.

Marius chuckled, the sound rich and resonant. “Smart. I should’ve thought of that before my third round.”

“Maybe you’re not as smart as you look,” she shot back, her tone light but edged with wit.

Her quick response caught him off guard, and for the first time that evening, Marius felt a genuine grin stretch across his face. “Touché.”

Their conversation flowed with an ease that surprised them both. Sal’s sharp humor and grounded perspective cut through the layers of charm Marius usually relied on, leaving him feeling disarmed but oddly refreshed. She wasn’t trying to impress him, and that alone made her stand out in a sea of pretense.

“So, what brings you here?” Marius asked, leaning in slightly to be heard over the hum of the room.

“Work,” Sal replied, her tone vague. She wasn’t embarrassed by her job, but she had learned that people in rooms like this often dismissed her once they knew she spent her days on construction sites.

“What kind of work?” he asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity.

“Let’s just say I build things,” she said with a sly smile. “What about you?”

Marius leaned back, feigning shock. “You don’t know who I am?”

Sal raised an eyebrow. “Should I?”

“Wow.” He placed a hand over his heart as if wounded. “That’s a first.”

“I’m sure your ego will recover,” she quipped, her lips curving slightly.

Her teasing disarmed him further, and for the next hour, they talked about everything except football. Marius found himself drawn to her grounded perspective and her ability to challenge him without being antagonistic. Sal, in turn, was surprised by his insight and self-deprecating humor, which hinted at a depth she hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t often meet men who could hold her attention in this way.

As the night wore on, they drifted to the balcony, where the cool night air was a welcome contrast to the ballroom’s warmth. The city stretched out below them, glittering and endless.

“You’re not like the others in there,” Marius said quietly, his tone losing its playful edge.

“Neither are you,” Sal replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, the noise of the gala faded into the background. Marius reached out instinctively, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. His fingers lingered, the touch light but electric. Sal’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as they stood on the precipice of something unknown yet undeniable.

“This feels... different,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unsure.

“It is different,” Sal said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her. She stepped back, breaking the fragile moment. “And that’s why it can’t last.”

Marius frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“Because we live in different worlds, Marius,” she said, the weight of her words pressing on her chest. “And I can’t afford to get swept up in yours.”

Her honesty struck him like a blow, cutting through the confidence he wore like armor. For the first time in years, he felt the pang of vulnerability, the ache of wanting something he couldn’t have.

“Sal—” he began, but she shook her head.

“Goodnight, Marius,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet.

She turned and walked away, her steps steady even as her heart wavered. Marius stayed on the balcony, staring out at the city lights as her absence settled over him like a shadow.

The next morning, Sal left a folded note with her number, her hand trembling slightly as she placed it down. She knew she shouldn’t hope—but a part of her couldn’t help it. Marius, consumed by the demands of his rising career, never called.

And so, their brief connection became a memory—a fleeting moment of possibility that neither could quite forget.