STRINGS OF THE PAST (A Song we will play)

CHAPTER 16

The Fight for Catherina’s Heart at the Mafias Met Gala

The main hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was bathed in golden light, with chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings like captured constellations. Every aspect of the room glowed with luxury and elegance: crystal glasses clinking with vintage champagne, dresses trailing like rivers of silk, diamonds gleaming on heiresses' necks. When compared to past years Met gala, the Cortez family had gone to great lengths to make the night more than just a gala ; it was a declaration of their power.

It was a celebration of beauty, strength, and culture for the entire world. But the air felt suffocating to Catherina.

Her emerald gown shimmered under the lights, its flowing fabric embracing her figure as if it had been custom-made for her. As people arrived, they complimented her on her elegance, brilliance, and gracefulness. She smiled pleasantly, her lips curling in ways that satisfied the cameras, but her heart was far away—in a café, at a table where a notebook had revealed parts of her soul.

She remembered now. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Enough to know that the boy on stage at prom was not a stranger. Enough to realize that the song haunting her dreams was not fancy, but recollection. Enough to realize Bruno had never completely left her.

"Smile," Junior whispered into her ear, stroking his fingers on her necklace in a possessive rather than tender manner. His tuxedo was sharp, and his dark eyes more sharper. He adjusted her jewels like he was fastening handcuffs. "Remember, everyone here sees you as mine." He said further.

Catherina forced her lips up, but the gesture never reached her eyes.

The master of ceremonies approached the microphone at the front of the hall. His voice resounded with experienced authority.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "thank you for joining us tonight at this year's Met Gala. As part of our celebration, we are delighted to host a very special concert by an artist whose music has touched hearts all across the world. Please make welcome.. Bruno Sanchez.”

The name echoed throughout the dazzling audience, prompting polite applause. To most, he was just another rising star—talented, respected, and beloved.

But for Catherina, it was thunder. Her chest constricted so fiercely that she nearly forgot to breathe. Her head turned toward the stage, disbelief painted on her face.

There he was.

In stark contrast to the opulence surrounding him, Bruno stepped out into the golden light wearing a plain black outfit. A familiar and solid guitar dangled over his shoulder. He looked around the crowd of people but he was only looking for one person, not the celebs or the millionaires.

Her— Catherina.

Their gazes locked, and the world vanished to nothingness other than the strings that connected them.

Junior's body tensed next to her. "What the hell is he doing here?" His voice was a deep growl of hatred.

Bruno adjusted the microphone, his fingers barely trembling as they found the strings of the guitar. He strummed once, and the note pierced through the air like a whisper of truth. The conversations came to a halt. Heads turned.

The music melody ascended gently and deliberately. A subtle, agonizing refrain demanded silence through beauty rather than force.

Catherina gasped for air. Her vision became hazy. since she was familiar with this song. Every verse served as a key to open the doors of her memories, and every chord pushed against its walls.

Then Bruno's deep, uncompromising voice came through:

"Even if the world forgets us, the melody never will…"

She had penned the words. She remembered the ink staining her fingertips and the warm afternoon sun on her skin as Bruno strummed beside her in the meadow. She remembers giggling as he fumbled the first chord, and how he kissed her hand before forcing her to try again.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Junior noticed right away. His hand gripped her arm like iron. "Catherina," he screamed. "Don't you dare."

However, she was unable to stop it. The song was more than just music; it was memory.

Images flashed across my mind: laughing, rain, and vows uttered under a tree. Bruno's warmth, his grin, and his promise.

She was trembling and broken by the time the last chord faded into the golden air.

"Bruno," she cried as tears streamed down her face.

From the stage, he could hear her. His own eyes shimmered, and for a brief instant, the hall's walls vanished. It was simply them—two souls recognizing a truth that had never been lost.

There was a burst of applause, courteous at first, then growing into sincere gratitude. The guests grinned, cheered, and whispered. Junior, however, remained still. His eyes were black with rage and his jaw was set.

His words dripped like venom as he leaned in close. "You'll forget this. Do you get what I'm saying? He warned Catherina.

Gasps resonated throughout the audience. The elite, who thrived on gossip and scandal, paid close attention.

Bruno stepped off the stage, guitar still draped across his back. His gaze never left her.

Junior stood as well, his fists clinched, wrath bubbling beneath his composed demeanor. "Stay away from her!" He spoke to Bruno.

The two guys met in the middle of the hall, the tension crackling so intense that it appeared to charge the air itself.

Bruno's voice was firm, even if his heart was pounding. "Junior, you can try to cage her. You can threaten, manipulate, and bruise. But you will never own her. She isn't a trophy. She isn't yours to command. She simply belongs where her heart decides." He said.

The boldness of the statements sent shockwaves across the audience. Murmurs erupted, some scandalized, others intrigued.

Catherina's chest expanded. No one has ventured to defy Junior Cortez in public.

Junior's hand rushed forward, a flurry of rage.

Gasps broke through the silence.

But Bruno caught it in midair, his hand crushing Junior's knuckles. The two men frowned, eyes locked in a silent battle.

For a minute, neither moved. Then mayhem erupted.

Junior screamed, shoving Bruno back. Chairs toppled. Glass broke. Guests screamed and scrambled away as bodyguards charged forward.

Bruno struck next, his fist striking with Junior's jaw. The c***k echoed down the hall. Junior staggered, wrath raging like a wildfire.

They collided again, primal and violent, no longer inhibited by civility. Punches flew, grunts echoed, and tuxedos tore. Junior's bodyguards charged, but the crowd closed in, trapping them in a ring of scared, captivated bystanders.

"Stop!" Catherina screamed as her voice broke. "Please, stop!" She cried.

But they didn’t hear her.

Bruno battled like he had nothing to lose except her. Junior struggled as if he couldn't stand to lose control. Each strike represented desperation, pride, obsession, love, and hatred, all entwined in violence.

Then, in the midst of it, something within Catherina shattered.

The shouting blurred. The golden lights whirled above her. The sound of fists clashing was drowned out by the hammering of her own heart.

Her knees buckled.

"Catherina!" Bruno's voice burst through as she collapsed, her emerald gown forming a wave around her.

The fight ended abruptly. Bruno fell beside her, cradling her head with quivering hands, and gasps rang out like thunder. Her face was pale, and her breathing were shallow.

“She fainted,” someone shouted.

“Get a doctor!” another cried.

Junior froze, blood on his lip, and his chest heaved. Fear temporarily replaced fury.

Bruno drew her into his arms, his voice breaking. “Stay with me, Cat. Please. Do not leave me now." He said.

Paramedics moved through the crowd, wheeling a stretcher. Cameras flashed as if this were another performance, another spectacle for the hungry elite.

Junior's bodyguards moved forward, but Bruno roared. "Touch her, and I swear.."

The medics loaded her onto a stretcher. Bruno refused to let go until he was gently pulled back. Nevertheless, he persisted in accompanying them to the hospital.

Sirens wailed outside. The crowd parted as they ushered her through the golden doors into the chilly night air.

Bruno followed, his hands soiled with both his own and Junior's blood, and his chest ached from anxiety.

Behind them, in the shattered grandeur of the gala, Junior remained stationary, chest heaving and fists twitching. His kingdom of control had crumbled in front of the world.

The sparkling turmoil of the Met Gala now felt like a battleground, with chandeliers and velvet curtains serving just as a background to the raging tempest. Bruno and Junior's conflict was primal and unrestrained, fighting love against possession, freedom against control.

And in the middle of it all stood Catherina, her heart torn in two directions, the trauma of the past meeting with the brutality of today. She had discovered her voice and remembered the boy who had once turned her world into a song—but the weight of it all, the anxiety, the tension, and the suffocating crowd pushing in, was too much for her weak body to take.

***

Her knees buckled. The emerald gown swirled as she collapsed.

"Catherina!" Bruno's arms shot forward to grab her before she hit the ground as his voice broke through the audience's screams. With a terrified expression on his face, he held her while his instrument clattered pointlessly next to them.

Junior froze, shock briefly taking the place of his rage.

"She's not breathing right," Bruno muttered hoarsely, putting his forehead against hers, hoping to sense the tiny movement of her breath. "Catherina, stay with me. Please…" He said.

Frantic whispers broke out throughout the crowd, with some people scrambling for phones and others too astonished to move.

Junior's men attempted to intercede, but even he recognized the truth: she had not fainted due to a strike or a shove. Bruno had not intended this— he had not injured her. The weight of everything—the pain, the memories flooding back, the crushing control—broke through her strength in that instant.

Junior took a step forward, but Bruno's eyes stopped him. It wasn't fear or anger, but intense, unyielding love.

And, as the doors closed behind them, one fact became clear: Bruno had never intended to make her faint. He had simply intended to love her.