I didn't even remember deciding to go out.
One minute I was standing in front of the mirror, still in my training clothes, the next I was walking into the elevator with a blazer thrown over my shoulders and my hair tied in a loose knot.
I just needed air.
Or silence.
Or something that wasn't them.
The bar was crowded but dim enough to disappear in.
Music pulsed low and steady, the kind that filled the spaces between thoughts.
I sat at the counter, ordered whiskey on ice, and watched the glass sweat on the wood.
I didn't belong there, not really.
But for once, I didn't care.
The burn of alcohol was sharp, clean.
For a few seconds, it muted everything, my father's voice, my mother's perfection, Calix's teasing grin.
I wanted to disappear into that quiet numbness.
But of course, peace never lasted long in my world.
A familiar laugh cut through the noise.
Loud, careless, unmistakable.
I turned.
Calix Lazaro.
He was across the room, leaning back on a couch, surrounded by girls who looked exactly like the kind of trouble he used to chase before the word married got stamped on his name.
One sat too close, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said.
Another whispered something into his ear.
He smiled, that same easy, infuriating smile, the one I'd seen even at our wedding ceremony.
For a second, I just watched.
Not out of jealousy, that would've meant I cared, but out of mild curiosity.
Like watching a movie I'd already predicted the ending to.
He hadn't seen me yet.
Good.
I turned back to my drink.
The ice had melted.
The taste was bitter now.
Fitting.
Minutes passed or maybe longer, until I felt a shift in the air behind me.
His cologne reached me first, expensive and annoyingly familiar.
"You followed me here?" he asked, half-smiling as he slid into the seat beside mine.
I didn't even look at him. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Coincidence, then?"
"Unfortunately."
He chuckled, signaling the bartender. "Then I guess fate has a sense of humor."
"Or bad timing," I said, lifting my glass again.
Before he could respond, a pair of high heels clicked toward us.
Then another.
Then another.
The girls from his table.
They gathered around, perfume heavy in the air, eyes sharp and curious.
"Calix, are you just going to leave us hanging?" one of them teased. "We thought you got lost."
He glanced at me, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his usual composure.
Another girl leaned closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Who's this?"
It was quiet for a second.
Long enough for me to finish the last sip of my drink and set the glass down.
Then, calmly, I said, "His wife."
Their laughter died.
Instantly.
The word wife seemed to hang above the noise of the bar, slicing through the music. Eyes widened.
Calix froze.
I didn't give any of them time to recover.
I stood, adjusted my blazer, and looked at him one last time, no anger, no sadness, just the same cold stillness I'd perfected my whole life.
"Next time," I said softly, "try not to be so predictable."
And I walked away.
—
Outside, the air was colder than before.
The city felt distant, almost weightless.
I drove back to the condo in silence, the night stretching endlessly around me.
When I got home, I didn't turn on the lights.
I went straight to the bathroom, filled the tub, and poured myself a glass of wine.
The water was warm, the wine colder.
I sank into the quiet, my head resting against the edge of the marble.
The reflection of the chandelier rippled on the water's surface, fractured, unsteady, like something beautiful pretending not to break.
Somewhere between one sip and another, I caught myself thinking about Calix's face when I said wife.
The surprise.
The silence.
The way he didn't know what to say for once.
A faint smirk tugged at my lips.
Then I closed my eyes.
Maybe I wasn't as unaffected as I wanted to be.
But at least I was honest about it, quietly, privately, in the dark.
And tomorrow, I would wake up, put on my armor again, and ride like none of this ever happened.