Chapter 4: Collision
1555 Words
The hallway leading toward the restrooms was quieter than the dining hall.
Soft amber lights lined the walls while muted piano music drifted from the main restaurant. A display of white orchids stood near the corner, elegant and carefully arranged.
Lola walked with unhurried grace, her heels barely making a sound against polished marble.
She had only taken a few steps when fate—apparently entertained by human inconvenience—intervened.
A waiter emerged carrying a tray of wine glasses.
At the same moment, Gabriel turned the corner.
The waiter stumbled.
Everything happened quickly.
A sharp intake of breath.
The tilt of silver.
Crystal slipping.
Gabriel reacted instantly.
One arm reached toward the tray.
The other caught Lola firmly by the waist and pulled her away.
Wine splashed.
Glass shattered.
And suddenly—
she was against him.
For one suspended second, neither moved.
Lola felt the steady strength of his arm around her.
He smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne.
His chest was solid beneath his suit.
Too close.
Far too close.
Gabriel looked down.
Her face was nearer than he expected.
Beautiful.
Dangerously so.
Not the decorative beauty he encountered in social circles, carefully painted and eager for approval.
Lola possessed something quieter.
More unsettling.
The kind of beauty that did not ask permission to exist.
The waiter paled.
“I—I’m so sorry, sir—ma’am—”
Gabriel released her immediately.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Lola glanced at the broken glasses.
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
Composed.
As if nearly being showered with wine was merely a minor scheduling inconvenience.
The waiter bowed repeatedly.
“I’m terribly sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Lola said gently.
The poor man looked close to panic.
Gabriel gave him a brief nod.
“No one’s injured.”
Relief flooded the waiter’s face.
As staff hurried forward to clean the mess, an awkward silence settled between Gabriel and Lola.
Up close, he noticed details he had missed from afar.
Her eyes were darker than he expected.
Not soft.
Observant.
And strangely—
old.
The thought caught him off guard.
Lola adjusted the silver bracelet on her wrist.
“Thank you,” she said politely.
He slipped his hands into his pockets.
“You’re welcome.”
That should have been the end of it.
A civil exchange.
Two strangers returning to dinner.
Instead—
Gabriel heard himself say,
“You rejected the flowers.”
Lola blinked once.
A faint pause.
Then—
“You were observing.”
The corner of his mouth shifted.
“I evaluate situations.”
“And women?”
“Occasionally.”
“Dangerous habit.”
Her answer surprised him.
Most women responded to him with careful charm or deliberate warmth.
Lola sounded mildly entertained.
Nothing more.
He studied her.
“So that man isn’t your boyfriend?”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“That seems like a bold question for a stranger.”
“You looked uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You rejected him.”
“I reject many things.”
His amusement deepened.
“You make it sound routine.”
“It often is.”
There it was again.
That calm.
No flirtation.
No nervousness.
No performance.
As though she spoke to him the same way she might speak to an accountant or a weather reporter.
And inexplicably—
it irritated him.
Lola looked toward the dining hall.
“You must be Gabriel Monteverde.”
He blinked.
“You know who I am?”
“I know of you.”
The wording struck him.
Not I know you.
Only—
of you.
“And you’re Lola Santillan.”
“I am.”
So this was her.
The woman his parents wanted him to marry.
The woman he had spent weeks refusing.
Strangely—
meeting her did not bring relief.
Only complication.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Lola said.
He frowned.
“For what?”
“Your relationship.”
Ah.
Bianca.
Gabriel suddenly understood.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
News traveled quickly inside the Monteverde world.
“My mother told you.”
“She did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“You don’t seem disappointed.”
A small smile touched her lips.
“Should I be?”
Something in his chest tightened.
“No.”
“Then we agree.”
Her answer should have pleased him.
After all, this was exactly what he wanted.
Mutual disinterest.
Freedom.
And yet her indifference felt strangely personal.
“You sound relieved,” he said.
“I am.”
He almost laughed.
“So am I.”
For the first time, genuine amusement warmed her expression.
“Well,” she said, “that makes us allies.”
The word lingered.
Allies.
Not potential lovers.
Not reluctant fiancés.
Simply two people united by refusal.
Oddly—
Gabriel disliked the category.
A silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Only curious.
Lola studied him briefly.
He looked different from the stories.
Doña Celestina described a brilliant son.
Don Alejandro spoke of his business instincts.
Household gossip described wealth and charm.
But standing before her now—
Gabriel Monteverde seemed more complicated.
There was confidence in him, yes.
But also restraint.
A kind of disciplined pride.
And eyes too intelligent to be entirely harmless.
He was attractive.
She could admit that privately.
But attraction and interest were not identical things.
She had learned that long ago.
“So,” Gabriel said, “you don’t believe in arranged marriages either.”
“I believe in choice.”
“That sounds diplomatic.”
“It’s practical.”
“And love?”
Her gaze settled on him.
An odd question.
Especially from a man arriving with another woman.
“What about it?”
“You don’t believe in it?”
The question stirred old memories.
Too many.
A wedding in another century.
A promise whispered beneath snowfall.
A grave she once visited until winter buried the path.
Lola returned to the present.
“I think love exists.”
“And?”
“And existence doesn’t guarantee suitability.”
His brows lifted.
“That sounds pessimistic.”
“It’s realistic.”
He found himself unexpectedly intrigued.
Most people romanticized love.
Or mocked it.
Lola treated it like weather—
real, unpredictable, and occasionally destructive.
Before he could respond, footsteps interrupted them.
“Gabriel!”
Bianca approached with elegant confidence.
Her gaze moved from him—
to Lola—
and understanding flashed immediately.
Of course.
This must be Lola.
Beautiful.
Poised.
And unfortunately fascinating.
Bianca smiled warmly.
“I was wondering where you disappeared.”
Gabriel cleared his throat.
“Bianca, this is Lola Santillan.”
The two women regarded each other.
Bella arrived moments later, looking delighted by coincidence.
“And here I thought Manila traffic was dramatic,” she teased.
Bianca extended her hand.
“Bianca Valdez.”
“Lola.”
Their handshake was polite.
Measured.
Bella looked between them with dangerous interest.
“Well,” she said, “small world.”
Too small, Lola thought.
Bianca smiled.
“We were just having dinner.”
“So were we,” Bella replied.
An awkward beat followed.
Then Bianca turned to Gabriel.
“Your parents are expecting us tomorrow, right?”
The words were innocent.
But Lola noticed something beneath them.
Possession.
Subtle.
Intentional.
Gabriel nodded.
“Yes.”
Lola felt nothing.
No jealousy.
No disappointment.
Only confirmation.
Good.
The situation remained simple.
Which was precisely how she preferred it.
She inclined her head.
“It was nice meeting you both.”
Gabriel looked at her.
And for reasons he could not explain—
he did not want the conversation to end.
But Lola stepped back.
Calm.
Untouched.
As though the encounter meant very little.
Perhaps it did.
“Likewise,” he said.
She offered a polite smile.
Then turned and walked away with Bella.
Gabriel watched her disappear toward the dining hall.
Bianca folded her arms.
“Oh no.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“You have that face again.”
“What face?”
“The one men get before making regrettable decisions.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Bianca glanced toward Lola.
“I hope so.”
Meanwhile, Bella leaned closer as they returned to their table.
“Well?”
Lola sat down.
“He’s polite.”
“That’s your review?”
“He saved me from wine.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Bella stared.
“You talked for ten minutes.”
“Twelve, perhaps.”
“You found him handsome.”
Lola reached for her glass.
“I already admitted that.”
“And?”
She looked toward the pianist.
And somewhere behind her—
without seeing him—
she knew Gabriel was probably still watching.
That realization should have unsettled her.
It didn’t.
Because she had lived too long to mistake attention for meaning.
“He has beautiful eyes,” she said calmly.
Bella gasped.
“But?”
Lola smiled faintly.
“He also seems used to getting his way.”
Across the restaurant—
Gabriel Monteverde, entirely unaware of her exact words—
was already discovering something deeply inconvenient.
For the first time in years—
he wanted to see someone again.
And the woman in question—
appeared perfectly content never seeing him at all.
- Writer
