Weeks of training blurred into exhaustion.
Every morning started before the sun, and every night ended with muscles aching, breath short, and eyes heavy.
The arena lights were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, and the last thing I saw before I closed them.
Celeste had grown stronger, faster, sharper, but so had the weight pressing on my chest.
It was different this time.
This wasn't an international competition in some distant country where anonymity was possible.
This was home.
The Philippines.
The same place where I had been raised to never fail.
The same ground where my parents built their pride and buried their love under layers of expectation.
They came to the training grounds every afternoon.
My mother stood by the fence, polished and poised, her sunglasses reflecting every flaw I made. My father stood beside her, silent, heavy, cold.
"Aurora," my mother's voice would echo after every round. "Your posture, fix it. You're dropping your shoulders."
"You should be better by now," my father would add without even looking at me.
It wasn't cruelty.
Not to them.
It was how they showed love, by demanding perfection.
And I tried to believe that.
I always did.
But lately, their words didn't sting the same way they used to.
Because somewhere between exhaustion and the endless repetition of my days, I had found something else that kept me standing, Calix.
He came to visit sometimes, sitting quietly by the edge of the bleachers, a cup of coffee in his hands.
He didn't talk much during my practice, didn't interfere, didn't try to fix me.
He just… stayed.
And that simple act had become my anchor.
Sometimes he'd smile when our eyes met, not the kind of smile that demanded anything, but the kind that said, I see you.
I'm proud of you.
And that was enough to make the air feel lighter.
I was tired, but I wasn't hollow anymore.
At least, I thought I wasn't.
—
That night, the rain had just started to fall when I decided to walk to his unit.
I told myself I just wanted to talk, about training, about tomorrow's routine, about anything.
But deep down, I knew I just wanted to see him.
I wanted to feel that quiet peace again, the kind that only existed when he was near.
My steps were slow, heavy.
The hallway smelled faintly of rain and detergent.
I stopped outside his door, hesitating for a second, before knocking gently.
One.
Two.
Three knocks.
No answer.
I frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time.
And then the door opened.
Not by him.
But by a woman.
She wasn't wearing anything.
Not even shame.
Her hair was messy, lips painted red, her eyes heavy with the kind of sleep people share after something intimate.
For a heartbeat, I froze.
Everything around me blurred, the hallway, the rain, even my breathing.
Her voice broke the silence. "Oh, I didn't know he was expecting someone."
And before I could even move, before my mind could even understand what I was seeing, I heard his voice from inside.
"Who is it?"
Calix.
That same calm, steady tone that once made me feel safe, now sounded like betrayal.
He appeared behind her, wearing only a towel, hair wet, his face falling the second he saw me.
"Aurora—"
My name on his lips hurt more than anything.
I took a step back, shaking my head. "Don't. Don't you dare."
He moved toward me, panic in his eyes. "It's not what you think—"
I laughed.
It was sharp and cold and broken. "Oh really? Then please, Calix, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like what I think it is."
The woman stepped aside awkwardly, grabbing her clothes from the couch behind him, eyes flickering between us like she wished she could disappear.
Calix reached for me, but I stepped back again.
"Don't touch me," I said, my voice trembling. "Don't you ever touch me again."
He looked wrecked, really wrecked and maybe that should've meant something, but it didn't.
Not now.
"Aurora, please," he said. "She's— it's not— she came here—"
"Stop," I whispered. "Just stop lying."
Because the truth was, it didn't matter what excuse he'd say.
Even if there was one.
The image was already carved into me, her skin, his towel, their proximity. It was enough to kill every ounce of softness I had left.
I turned around, tears blurring my vision.
My chest ached, my throat burned, but I didn't let myself cry, not there, not in front of him.
He followed me down the hall, barefoot, still calling my name.
"Aurora, listen to me— please."
"Go to hell, Calix."
When he tried to stop me, I turned and slapped him hard.
The sound echoed in the quiet corridor, sharp and merciless.
For a second, everything stopped.
His eyes widened,not in anger, but in pain.
Real pain.
But I didn't care.
I walked away before I could break completely.
–
Inside my unit, I locked the door and slid down to the floor, my back pressed against the wood.
And then it came.
The kind of crying that doesn't sound human, the one that tears its way out of your chest, raw and breathless.
I hated myself for crying.
I hated that he still had that power over me.
Love.
That word felt like poison now.
It had made me weak, foolish, blind.
I used to think I was unbreakable, that no one could touch the part of me I kept buried beneath layers of control.
But Calix had reached it, so easily, so gently, that I didn't even notice he was already inside it.
And now he had shattered it.
I pressed my palms against my face, shaking, whispering to the silence.
"Love is for the weak," I said, over and over, like a prayer I needed to believe. "Love is for the weak. Love is for people who don't know better."
I thought of my mother, of how she always told me that emotions ruin discipline.
Of my father, who never once said he was proud of me unless there was a trophy in my hand.
They were right.
Feelings ruin people.
I should've listened.
Because now, I was the fool.
The girl who thought a paper marriage could turn into something real.
The girl who let herself fall, not knowing how to land.
I looked at my reflection in the glass wall, eyes red, face pale, and I barely recognized the woman staring back.
Aurora Aquino, champion equestrian, daughter of perfection, and now… a woman stupid enough to believe in love.