The private training field shimmered under the early light, wide and quiet, the kind of quiet that didn't ask questions, didn't judge, didn't demand.
This was where I belonged.
Not in a boardroom, not beside a man I didn't choose, but here in motion, in control, surrounded by rhythm and precision.
My mare, Celeste, snorted softly as I adjusted the reins.
Her white coat glimmered under the sun like moonlight on water.
She was the only living thing I trusted to move in sync with me.
I pressed my heel lightly against her side, and we began.
The rhythm was second nature, controlled, fluid, exact.
I didn't need music.
The steady beat of hooves against soil was enough.
Each gallop, each turn, was a language of order.
Control.
Discipline.
Balance.
Those were things no one could take from me.
Not my family, not Calix, not this life wrapped in gold and expectations.
When I dismounted, the world was silent again.
I removed my gloves, wiping the faint line of sweat from my temple.
Then I heard i, footsteps. Measured, confident, familiar.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Father."
The word left my lips flatly, devoid of emotion, as I brushed off my riding boots.
I hadn't seen him since the day the papers were signed, the day he smiled at cameras while I stood beside a man I barely knew, pretending my silence was elegant.
"Aurora," he greeted, voice sharp with control. "You didn't tell me you were back at the stables."
"I don't tell you most things," I replied evenly, still not facing him.
He walked closer, his presence a shadow I could feel but refused to acknowledge. "You've grown colder."
"I didn't realize warmth was a requirement."
He sighed, the kind of sigh that sounded like disappointment disguised as care. "You know why I'm here."
I turned finally, meeting his eyes.
They were a mirror of everything I hated about this life: expectation, control, ownership.
"I don't, actually," I said. "Enlighten me."
He looked at me like I was a wayward daughter who'd lost her script. "This marriage—"
"—was your idea," I cut him off.
"—is your duty," he finished, ignoring me. "You represent the Zobel name now more than ever. Calix is… not perfect, but the Lazaro family is powerful. We need this alliance to work."
I tightened my grip on the reins. "I wasn't aware I was an investment."
"You always were," he said, with the bluntness of someone who'd forgotten the meaning of empathy. "And I expect you to act like one. Do not embarrass us, Aurora. Do not make this family a spectacle. Be a good wife. Be a good girl."
The last word cracked something inside me, not enough to break, but enough to sting.
I met his gaze steadily. "I'm not your girl," I said quietly. "And I'm certainly not anyone's wife in the way you imagine."
He frowned. "You're treading a dangerous line."
"No," I corrected. "I'm walking the only line I was given."
He studied me for a long moment, then simply turned away, his shoes crunching against gravel. "Remember who you are, Aurora. Zobels don't fail."
As his figure disappeared beyond the field gates, I let out a slow, deliberate breath.
The air felt heavy again, like it did in that courtroom on our wedding day.
Celeste neighed softly beside me, as if sensing the tension. I ran a hand along her neck. "It's fine," I whispered. "They can have their empires. I'll keep my silence."
Because silence, after all, was my only rebellion left.
I stayed behind, as I always did, pretending there was something left to perfect when, in truth, I just wasn't ready to return to that sterile condominium and its unwelcome neighbor.
I was adjusting Celeste's saddle when the sound of an engine broke the quiet.
A sleek black car pulled up beside the stables, and from it stepped the last person I wanted to see.
Calix Lazaro.
Even from a distance, he looked infuriatingly at ease, hands in his pockets, shirt unbuttoned just enough to look careless but expensive, like he'd mastered the art of being unbothered.
"Thought I'd find you here," he said, walking toward me, the gravel crunching under his shoes. "Your father was in the lobby. Looked like he swallowed a lemon."
I didn't answer.
The saddle strap slipped perfectly into place, the buckle clicking with satisfying precision. I preferred the sound of that over his voice.
He stopped beside the fence, watching me. "You know, you're kind of scary when you don't talk."
"Good," I said flatly.
That made him laugh, low, careless, like everything else about him. "You're really something, you know that? Always so composed, always so… untouchable."
"Is that a compliment or an observation?"
"Both." He leaned his arms on the wooden rail. "You act like a man sometimes."
I paused, finally turning to face him. "Because men like you don't act like one."
For a moment, silence cut through the air, sharp and satisfying. His grin faltered just slightly before returning, softer this time. "Fair point."
He straightened, hands still in his pockets. "You really hate me that much?"
"I don't hate you," I said, brushing dust from my gloves. "I just don't think about you at all."
"That might be worse."
"Then take it as a compliment."
He tilted his head, studying me like he was trying to find a crack in the ice. "You know, I didn't ask for this either. The marriage, the expectations, all of it. But here we are, neighbors in misery."
I gave no reply.
Words were wasted currency with him.
"I'm trying to be civil," he added, almost defensive now. "You could at least meet me halfway."
"I don't do halfway."
"Right," he said quietly. "All or nothing. That's your thing."
He took a step closer, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of cologne, expensive, arrogant, undeniably him. "What do you do when the control slips, Aurora?"
I looked at him, expression unchanged. "It doesn't."
He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. "You're exhausting."
"Then stop trying."
He let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "You really don't give anyone a chance, do you?"
"I've given too many."
That ended the conversation.
I turned back to Celeste, removing her bridle with practiced care.
Behind me, Calix lingered a moment longer, as if debating whether to speak again, then finally said, "You know, one day you'll have to look at me without the ice. I'm not the enemy."
"Then stop acting like a distraction," I replied.
He chuckled softly. "Noted."
When his footsteps finally faded, the silence returned, dense, grounding, familiar. I stroked Celeste's neck and breathed in the scent of hay and dusk.
Men like Calix belonged to noise and light and movement.
I belonged to order, to quiet, to the places where no one expected me to smile.
Peace wasn't something given.
It was something defended.
And I had every intention of keeping mine.