Chapter 5: A Brush With DeathThe sun cast its golden haze across the narrow city street. The sun had barely dipped below the horizon. The early evening rush was in full swing as most people returned from their jobs and various activities. There was a chorus of honking vehicles, street vendors calling out their wares, and the low humming of conversations filling the air. The city was beautiful and came alive at night, the pressure of the workday over, and people bonding with family, making jokes, and having fun. The city pulsed with a rhythm of its own.
Cayla Hart adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag, her brows tightly knit as she and her best friend, Cara Reyes, strolled along the sidewalk. Her boots clanked against the concrete like the hands of a clock counting down to an unknown future.
"I don't know, Cara," Cayla muttered, her voice timid and head low, keeping her gaze trained on the uneven path ahead. "Arison Enterprise? It's a multinational company. I heard their CEO is strict. Not only that, but he is also quite young.
Arison Enterprise seems to be on the same level as the Leviste enterprise, which makes it a huge deal. Like an empire-level huge. What if I flunk the interview? What if they make fun of and laugh at me the moment I walk in? I'm afraid you don't fit in there.
Cara tugged at Cayla's arm and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't be absurd. You graduated top of your class, you interned at Navarro & Co for six months, and you talk about corporate structuring like it's your life. Trust me, you're going to ace this interview. You are meant to be in that glass tower. There is nobody more deserving and qualified than you. You fit in. You were born for it."
Cayla let out a shaky breath. She laughed, but it lacked conviction. "You make it sound easy."
"Because it is!" Cara said firmly with conviction, her voice rising high enough to be heard over a passing motorcycle. "You've studied way too much and worked way too hard to doubt yourself now. The fact that you're even applying to Arison shows guts. You think people like us, from the lower parts of town, get opportunities like that?"
Cayla paused, her footsteps slowing. She gazed up at the gleaming skyline in the distance. The Arison tower stood tall; no other building came close to its grandeur. Its majestic elegance radiates for all to see. Its mirrored windows caught the last gleaming fire of the setting sun, with its shadow being cast into the bustling streets.
"What if they see through me and know I don't belong in their social class? I don't have the connections they have, Cara."
Cara grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Although she stood a head shorter than Cayla, she faced her head-on. "Then let them. Let them see a woman who lived through more hell than most and survived. A woman who had to work part-time stayed up late and studied with candlelight half the time. A woman who had walked through flooded streets to get to class and still outperformed the privileged kids from private schools who had unrestricted internet access, Wi-Fi, and the very best tutors. You're more than just qualified, Cay — you are overqualified and an asset."
Cayla furiously blinked back at the sudden burn in her eyes. Cara's words hit deep as if they'd been flaring just beneath the surface for someone to pull them out.
"I think I needed that," she said softly.
"Of course you did. You've been angsty since you printed your résumé. You were spiraling out of control," Cara teased. "Now come on, I'm starving."
They turned the corner onto a busier street, the scent of grilled meat wafting through the air. Streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting long shadows around them. Laughter echoed from across the road where a group of kids played. Their joy brings a smile to Cayla.
Cayla was mid-laugh at Cara's joke about setting her old résumé ablaze when it happened.
There was a screech. Tires against asphalt. A blur of headlights.
The sound of the world collapsed into a single heart-stopping moment.
Cayla didn't see the car until it was too late — she heard Cara scream her name, but it sounded distant. Cayla felt herself being yanked backward with such force that her feet left the ground. There was a whooping sound as the rush of wind, rubber, and steel flew past her, missing her by inches.
She landed hard against a solid chest, and her breath caught in her throat. The world spun, colors blurring, and her ears ringing.
"Are you alright?" A deep voice asked, steady and calm, a contrast to her racing heart and shallow breaths.
Cayla looked up.
The man who had pulled her out of the car's path was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a fitted charcoal blazer that somehow made him look more like a storm cloud than a businessman. His face was striking — clean, sharply cut features, intense dark eyes, and hair that looked effortlessly tousled. There was a small, almost imperceptible scar on his brows, like a hidden story etched into his skin. Making him look dark and mysterious.
"I… I think so," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Was it from the shock of the near-death experience or the shock of his dashing appearance? She could not tell.
He helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on her arm a little too long. Around them, chaos erupted. The car that had nearly hit her had sped off, vanishing into the night. Bystanders were shouting, some were running after the license plate, and others were checking their phones. Cara rushed to her side, wide-eyed and breathless.
"That car—that—car! It almost — Cayla! Oh my God, are you okay?!"
"I'm fine," Cayla replied, though her legs felt like jelly. She turned back to the handsome stranger. "Thank you. You… you saved me."
He gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was almost apologetic. "It's my pleasure. You weren't watching the road."
Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and guilt of getting caught and being called out. "I was distracted."
"Mnhmmm," he hummed. "You were," he said, not unkindly. Then more softly, "But that's alright. Everyone's distracted sometimes."
Cayla stared at him. There was something about his voice. It was calm— commanding, the kind of voice you subconsciously leaned to without realizing.
"I'm Cayla," she said suddenly, her hand lifting on its own accord. "Cayla Hart."
The man hesitated before shaking it. His grip was warm, firm. "Adrian."
No last name. Just Adrian.
Cara squinted at him suspiciously. "Do you always hang around street corners rescuing girls from hit-and-runs?"
Adrian's mouth twitched. "Only on Thursdays."
Cayla let out a short laugh at their interaction despite her condition, but before she could say more, he was already taking a step back.
"I should go," he said. "But be careful, Cayla. The city moves fast, especially at night. Dangers lurk in the most beautiful of places."
Then he turned, walking briskly down the street until he was swallowed by the crowd, as if he'd never been there at all.
Cara grabbed Cayla's arm and shook it. "What just happened?" She squealed.
"I don't know," Cayla murmured, eyes still searching the crowd for a sigh or glimpse of him.
Something had shifted in her. A crack in the self-doubt, a tingle, like a spark of electricity that refused to fade off. Her heart was racing, not just from fear or adrenaline, but from the strange sense that the universe had just nudged her in a specific direction.
Cara followed her gaze. "We need to find out who he is."
"What?"
"Girl, that man pulled you from the jaws of death and made you blush in under five minutes. He's like, half superhero, half telenovela protagonist. You know, like the heartthrob in our dark romance novels. And don't think I didn't catch how you stared at his jawline as if it owed you money."
Cayla laughed again, this time with more breath. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm right," Cara said smugly. "And don't you dare let this be a footnote in your life? Monday, you're walking into Arison as if you own it. No more doubting yourself. You survived a brush with death and met your future husband — that's a sign if I've ever seen one." She squealed.
Cayla shook her head, but the laughter faded quickly. Her hand brushed the spot on her arm where Adrian had held her. There was still warmth there.
The moment lingered like perfume in the air — something fleeting yet unforgettable.
"Arison," she whispered, looking toward the skyline again.
She took a deep breath. She was no longer afraid.