By the time I returned to the condominium, the city had already slipped into its evening rhythm, horns echoing faintly from the avenue below, lights blinking against glass towers like restless stars.
The elevator ride up was mercifully quiet.
My reflection in the mirrored wall looked exactly as I wanted it to: expressionless, untouchable, a woman with no time for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.
Inside my unit, the air was still and clean, faintly scented with jasmine.
I slipped off my boots, hung my coat, and set my gloves on the counter with mechanical precision.
Everything in my space was deliberate.
Controlled.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp taps, confident, unhurried.
I didn't need to ask who it was.
I opened the door only halfway. "What?"
Calix leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, hair slightly tousled like he hadn't tried at all but somehow looked expensive anyway. "Good evening to you too, wife."
"Don't call me that."
He grinned. "Alright, Aurora. Anyway, thought I'd let you know we've got dinner tonight. My parents' house."
I stared. "We?"
He nodded, still smiling. "Apparently, married couples attend family dinners together. Who knew?"
"Then go," I said simply, starting to close the door.
He caught it with his hand, the smile never fading. "You're invited too, you know. Actually, expected."
I arched a brow. "By who?"
"My mother andyour father."
The door paused mid-close.
Of course.
He noticed the flicker of hesitation and smirked. "See? Even ice queens can't say no to parental summons."
"I can," I corrected him, "I just don't feel like hearing about it for the next three weeks if I do."
"Smart choice," he said, stepping back a little. "Dinner's at eight. We'll leave at seven-thirty."
"I'll meet you there," I replied curtly.
"Not happening," he said, crossing his arms. "We're arriving together. It's what happily married people do."
I gave him a long, deliberate look. "Are we pretending again?"
His grin widened. "Always."
I exhaled quietly through my nose, patience thinning. "Fine. Wait downstairs. Don't knock again."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
But of course, he didn't leave.
He lingered a second longer, eyes scanning me with something unreadable. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to smile once in a while."
"It might," I said flatly, and closed the door in his face.
I stood for a moment in the silence that followed, eyes fixed on the wood of the door, before shaking my head slightly.
Men like Calix thrived on reaction, any reaction.
The only winning move was indifference.
—
I went to change, choosing a black silk dress, elegant, structured, simple.
My family raised me to look perfect; they just never taught me what to feel beneath perfection.
–
By the time I stepped out of the elevator, Calix was waiting by the car, leaning casually against the door, scrolling through his phone.
He looked up as I approached and gave a low whistle. "You clean up dangerously well."
I ignored him, sliding into the passenger seat. "Drive."
He chuckled, slipping behind the wheel. "You really know how to make a man feel special."
"Then maybe find another woman," I said calmly.
"I would," he said lightly, "but apparently, I'm married."
I turned to the window, watching the city blur by as we pulled into traffic. "Marriage doesn't make you loyal, Calix."
He smiled faintly. "And silence doesn't make you peaceful, Aurora."
I didn't respond.
I didn't need to.
He thrived on noise.
I thrived on control.
We were contradictions in formal wear, driving toward a dinner neither of us wanted, pretending to be exactly what our families needed us to be.
And for tonight, that was the only performance I was willing to give.