The Lazaro estate sat at the heart of the city's old elite, where marble met arrogance and silence cost more than sincerity.
The mansion wasn't just large.
It was loud in its opulence, grand staircases, imported chandeliers, paintings of ancestors who never smiled but always judged.
Calix's hand rested loosely on the steering wheel as we pulled through the iron gates. He looked perfectly at home.
I didn't.
The moment we stepped out of the car, two uniformed staff opened the doors before we even touched the handles.
The air smelled of jasmine and wealth, the kind that didn't come from comfort but from old money and control.
Inside, his mother was waiting.
"Calix, darling," she greeted, voice sugar-coated and practiced. Her eyes, however, immediately found me. "Aurora."
I inclined my head slightly. "Mrs. Lazaro."
Her smile tightened. "So formal. We're family now."
"By paper," I said softly.
Her lips twitched, too polite to frown, too proud to ignore the sting.
Calix's father arrived next, offering me a hand that I didn't take. "Aurora Zobel," he said. "I must say, your family raised a remarkable woman."
"They raised a marketable one," I replied, brushing past him.
Calix coughed lightly beside me, as if to mask the tension. "Right. So. Dinner?"
We were led to a dining room that could have hosted twenty but seated only six.
The table gleamed beneath the chandelier, glasses lined in precise symmetry, each plate reflecting golden light.
I took my seat quietly, opposite Calix.
His parents sat at the head, of course, the royal court of expectation.
The first few minutes passed with orchestrated conversation: business talk, charity events, a new partnership between the Zobels and the Lazaros.
Every word was polished, empty, and heavy.
Calix kept trying to diffuse the stiffness with his usual charm. "You know, Aurora barely talks, but when she does, she kills."
His mother smiled thinly. "Oh, I've noticed."
I didn't look up from my plate. "Maybe that's why people insist on testing me."
The room went quiet for a moment before Calix's father chuckled awkwardly. "Ah, sharp wit runs in both families, I see."
No one laughed.
Calix leaned back in his chair, watching me. "You always have to win, don't you?"
"I don't play," I said calmly.
His lips curved in that familiar smirk, equal parts amused and intrigued. "That's what makes you dangerous."
Mrs. Lazaro clasped her hands together. "You'll learn, Aurora, that marriage requires… compromise."
I lifted my gaze to her finally. "Compromise is for people who owe something."
Her smile froze. "And you think you don't?"
"I've paid enough," I said simply.
Calix shifted, looking like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
—
The rest of dinner unfolded in the same rhythm, questions about family, obligations, business, future plans, each one a veiled demand.
I answered when necessary, precisely, without emotion.
When the plates were cleared and the servers retreated, his mother spoke again, tone deceptively kind. "You know, Aurora, you remind me of myself when I was younger."
"That's unfortunate," I replied before I could stop myself.
Calix almost choked on his drink.
His father hid a cough.
His mother's eyes flashed briefly, but she smiled again, this time, tight enough to crack.
"Strong women," she said quietly, "are only admired until they forget how to be agreeable."
I met her gaze evenly. "Then it's a good thing I'm not here to be admired."
The silence that followed was the kind that stretched, heavy and unbreakable.
Finally, Calix stood. "Well, that was fun." His tone was too bright, his grin too forced.
"Shall we?"
I rose without another word.
Outside, as we walked back to the car, he let out a low whistle. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
I didn't answer.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, still grinning. "You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure know how to make a scene."
"I don't make scenes," I said. "I end them."
He looked at me for a long second before laughing softly. "You're impossible."
"I prefer unmanageable."
"Same thing."
"Not to me."
He opened the car door for me, still shaking his head. "You're acting like a man again."
I met his gaze, unblinking. "Because you don't act like one."
That shut him up, for a while.
The rest of the drive was silent.
The city lights passed in streaks of gold and glass, reflections of a world I didn't want to belong to.
When we reached the building, I stepped out first, walked straight to my door, and closed it behind me before he could say another word.
I leaned back against the door for a moment, exhaling slowly.
The quiet wrapped around me again, cold but familiar.
It was the only peace I had left.