The first thing i felt was the weight of the diamond ring.
Heavy. Ironic.
Like a shackle disguised as luxury.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the judge said.
I didn't flinch.
Calix didn't look at me.
Perfect.
That was the deal.
No love.
No affection.
Just signatures, silence, and survival.
He turned to me, lips curled in that arrogant half-smile. "Congratulations, Mrs. Montemayor," he said.
I looked him dead in the eye. "Don't touch me."
He laughed.
And that was the beginning of our war.
The ceremony took less than ten minutes. The aftermath? Lifetime imprisonment.
Our lawyers shook hands like they'd just closed a billion-dollar merger.
My mother air-kissed Calix's mom with fake enthusiasm, while my father didn't even bother showing up. Not surprised. That man's presence was more mythical than God's these days.
I glanced at the champagne flute handed to me. Cheap. Sweet. I placed it on the table, untouched.
"Hindi ka ba sasama sa after-lunch?" a voice asked behind me.
I turned. It was Calix, looking disgustingly relaxed in his gray suit. Loose tie. One hand in his pocket like he didn't just sign a death sentence with me.
"Do i look like i'm in the mood for celebration?"
He smirked. "You never look like you're in the mood for anything."
"And yet you still married me," I shot back.
"That's business, Zobel," he said, his voice low. "You, of all people, should understand that."
I clenched my jaw.
Right. This wasn't love. It was leverage.
Zobel Bank + Montemayor Holdings = media frenzy, investor confidence, an empire.
And I was the pretty pawn sacrificed for the merger.
I adjusted my silk blazer and turned to leave. "I'm heading to the car."
"Which one?" he asked.
I froze.
"I mean," he added, "we're going home, right? Magka-condo na tayo ngayon."
My eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean 'magka-condo'?"
He shrugged. "Didn't your lawyer tell you? We'll be living in my building. Adjacent units. But—" he raised an eyebrow, "—my unit's bigger."
I stared at him for a solid five seconds. "You're kidding."
He smirked. "Nope."
Putang—
Okay. Breathe.
This is fine. I'm calm.
I am not going to throw this stiletto at his smug face.
I pulled my designer clutch closer and walked ahead, heels echoing against the courthouse marble like gunshots.
The drive to the condo was mostly silent.
Except for the occasional tiktik sound ng fingernails ko sa glass ng passenger window.
And the way Calix kept humming some off-tune Coldplay song.
"Sino ba nagsabi sa'yo na magkatabi tayong unit?" I asked, finally.
He grinned without looking away from the road. "My mom. Gusto raw niya 'convenient.' In case magka-anak agad."
I nearly choked. "Excuse me?"
"Relax," he said. "She's dreaming. Alam naman nating dalawa na walang mangyayari."
"Good."
"Better."
Putangina. His grin widened. Was he enjoying this?
We reached the condo and the moment i stepped out, I was greeted by the overly peppy receptionist.
"Mrs. Montemayor!" she squealed. "Welcome home!"
I smiled sweetly. "It's still Zobel."
"O-oh—yes, ma'am. Sorry!"
"Don't apologize. Just get it right next time."
Calix was already heading to the elevator, pressing the button like he owned the damn building—which, technically, he did.
I followed reluctantly.
Inside the elevator, there was a silence that wasn't peaceful.
It was charged.
I could feel him staring at me.
I turned. "What?"
"You look like you're going to stab me."
I raised an eyebrow. "Tempting."
He chuckled. "I like this version of you."
"Oh, I haven't even started," I muttered.
Ding.
We reached the 48th floor.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped out first—only to freeze in my tracks.
Units 4801 and 4802.
Side by side.
He walked past me and tapped his fingerprint on 4802.
I blinked.
Of course.
OF COURSE.
He paused at his door and turned to me. "Need help opening yours?"
I didn't answer.
"Okay," he said with a smirk. "Good talk. See you in the next war, Mrs. Montemayor."
His door clicked shut.
And just like that, I realized the nightmare wasn't over.
It was only just beginning.
-
I opened the door to Unit 4801 and stepped inside.
Cold. Clean. Curated.
Parang showroom ng magazine spread. Walang bahid ng tao. Walang kaluluwa.
Perfect.
Kasi kung may kahit anong energy pa 'to—baka maramdaman ko pang tao talaga ako. At hindi lang isang pangalan sa kontrata.
I placed my clutch on the marble counter and removed my heels one by one. Slowly. Deliberately. As if peeling off pieces of pride i didn't agree to lose.
Then i stared at the ring.
Round cut. Five carats. Platinum band. Symbol ng isang billion-peso merger na ang kapalit ay ang kalayaan ko.
I sat on the couch, crossing my legs, staring blankly at the city skyline from the glass wall. I could see his unit from here. His lights were on.
Good. Para makita niya kung gaano ko siya kayang hindi pansinin.
My phone buzzed.
Mom: Smile for the press tomorrow, darling. GMA morning show wants a statement.
Right.
Ngumiti raw ako. After this farce of a wedding?
I locked my phone and tossed it aside.
No love. No affection. Just signatures, silence, and survival.
That was the vow.
And now that we're neighbors, we needed boundaries. Terms. Rules.
I pulled out my notepad.
AURORA & CALIX: TERMS OF WAR (v1.0)
No touching. No kissing. No faking affection.
Unless our parents are in the room. Then pretend I'm the love of your life. Oscar-winning performance. Pero kapag tapos na, layuan mo ako.
We live separate lives.
Separate schedules. Separate friends. Separate damn groceries. Wag mong galawin ang fridge ko, Calix. I swear.
We will only appear together when required.
Family events. PR dinners. Legal requirements. I don't want to see your face unless necessary.
No third-party interference in public.
Kung magka-fling ka man, make sure hindi lalabas sa tabloids. I don't want drama. I already live in one.
No sleepovers.
Don't even think about knocking on my door past 9 PM. I don't care if it's a "work emergency."
Do not comment on my clothes, my life, or my mood.
I'm not your friend. I'm not your therapist. I'm definitely not your wife. This is just a business agreement.
I stared at the list.
Fair.
Basic.
Brutal.
Katulad ng kasal namin.
A knock broke my silence.
I stood, instantly on edge. Who the hell—
Another knock. This time, mas mabilis.
I approached the door and opened it a crack.
Calix.
Holding a tumbler. Smirking. Again.
Putangina. Wala bang off button ang mukha nito?
"What do you want?"
He raised the tumbler. "Peace offering."
I stared.
"Whiskey," he added. "Twelve years. Single malt. You like this brand, right?"
I didn't answer.
"Come on, Aurora," he said, eyes gleaming. "Let's toast to our misery."
I opened the door fully. "Let me guess. This is the part where you say we should be civil?"
"Nope," he said, stepping inside without asking.
I shut the door. "Excuse me?"
"I just need ten minutes. Then I'll leave."
I narrowed my eyes. "Five."
"Fine."
He placed the whiskey on the table and sat on the armrest, looking too at home for my liking.
I didn't sit.
I poured myself a drink and took a sip.
"Okay," I said, arms crossed. "Say whatever it is you came here to say."
He looked at me. Serious now. Less smirk, more steel.
"We need rules."
My brow arched. "Did you just read my mind?"
"Probably. I've had six months to predict how you'll hate me."
"Try six years," I muttered.
His mouth twitched.
"I'm being serious, Aurora. We can't kill each other. We'll be stuck like this for at least two years. The clause says minimum."
"I know what the clause says," I snapped.
"So let's make this tolerable."
He stood and started pacing. "Rule one: No sabotage. I won't ruin your image, you won't ruin mine."
"Rule two," I added. "No unannounced visits. This right now?" I gestured between us. "A one-time thing."
"Fair," he said. "Rule three: Joint appearances only when required. If you don't want to ride the same car, sabihin mo lang."
"Rule four: We don't talk about our past."
His eyes flickered.
But he nodded. "Deal."
We both stood in silence.
Like two leaders drafting a ceasefire, fully aware that at any given moment, war could resume.
Then he smirked again. "Last rule."
I braced myself.
"No falling in love."
I didn't even blink. "Don't flatter yourself."
He laughed. "That's the spirit, Mrs. Montemayor."
"It's still Zobel."
"Sure, sure," he said, backing toward the door. "I'm sure the media will love that."
He left.
And for the first time since this circus started, I let out a sigh.
Not of relief.
Not of peace.
But of exhaustion.
This wasn't marriage.
This was mutually assured destruction.
And i was ready to win.