I woke up gasping.
Like my lungs forgot how to function.
The sheets were tangled around my legs like vines, cold sweat sticking to my back.
I couldn't tell where the dream ended and reality began, but the terror clung to my throat like smoke.
I blinked up at the ceiling, heart pounding like a goddamn war drum, chest rising and falling too fast, too loud.
I didn't scream. I don't scream.
But maybe i did.
Because a voice—low, sharp, too real—cut through the panic.
"Aurora?"
I froze.
Then the doorknob turned.
What the hell—
Calix barged in without knocking, shirtless, barefoot, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips like he just got out of bed—or worse, someone else's.
His eyes scanned the room like it was a crime scene. Then landed on me. His face changed.
"Aurora," he said again, softer this time. "Are you okay?"
I sat up straight, back rigid. "How the f*ck are you in my unit?"
"I heard something." He took a step closer. "You were screaming."
I raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"So i thought you were dying."
"Tss." I slid my legs off the bed, stood up with precision. "I'm not. Go back to wherever the hell you came from."
But he didn't move. Just looked at me. Like he saw something behind my eyes I didn't mean to show.
"What was it?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
Because it was none of his business. Because i didn't even know myself. Just flashes of fire, noise, a voice yelling my name like it was the last thing they'd ever say.
And I—
I shook my head. "Nightmare," I said flatly. "Obviously."
Calix nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "You're pale."
"I'm always pale."
"You're shaking."
I glanced at my hands. I was.
F*ck.
Before i could hide it, he was already walking to the kitchen.
"Sit," he ordered.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"You're still in shock, Aurora."
"I'm fine."
"Then stop acting like you're in a war zone."
I didn't sit.
But i didn't leave either.
He opened one of my cabinets like he owned the place. Which he didn't. Not this unit. Not anymore.
That was the deal—we'd stay in the same building, separate units.
Married on paper, not in reality.
But Calix always had a way of pushing boundaries.
He pulled out a pan, cracked some eggs. No apron. No ceremony.
"You cook now?" I asked, voice dry.
"Only when my wife looks like she clawed her way out of hell."
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "Don't be dramatic."
He didn't answer.
Just kept cooking like it was a regular Sunday and we were a regular couple.
Which we weren't.
Never have been.
The smell of eggs and toasted bread began filling the air. I hated how comforting it was.
"How did you even hear me?" I asked after a beat.
His jaw clenched, but he didn't look up. "I wasn't asleep yet."
"Still working?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He glanced at me. Something unreadable in his eyes. "Couldn't sleep."
I scoffed. "That your guilty conscience or the baby influencer you took home last week?"
He didn't flinch. "Neither."
"Hmm. Sure."
He plated the eggs and toast with the precision of a chef, then slid the plate toward me across the marble counter. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need something warm in your system."
I stared at the food.
Then at him.
Something in his gaze dared me to argue.
I pulled out the barstool and sat.
Took a bite like i was doing it to spite him.
He didn't sit.
Just leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
"You want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
"Figures."
I sipped the black coffee he poured next.
I didn't ask for it, but he remembered.
No sugar, no cream.
Of course he remembered.
Calix remembers everything.
Even the things i wish he'd forget.
After we finished, I didn't say thank you. Aurora Zobel doesn't do thanks—not for breakfast, not for intrusion, not for faux concern in the middle of the night.
But i also didn't throw him out.
That was... telling.
I stood. Brushed off nonexistent crumbs.
"You can go now."
He didn't move. "You should get some rest."
"I don't rest. I train."
"It's Sunday."
I tilted my head. "Exactly. That means i have more time."
His eyes searched mine like he was looking for a crack. Something he could use. Break open.
But i was titanium.
I've always been.
Calix knew that.
And he hated it.
"You don't always have to be this strong, Aurora."
My smile was blade-thin. "You saying that like it's a flaw."
"It is when it's killing you."
I walked to the door, opened it.
"Leave."
He stared a moment longer.
Then nodded.
"See you tomorrow."
"For what?"
"You forgot?" A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Charity ball. Joint appearance. We're the power couple, remember?"
I rolled my eyes. "I'll be there. In black."
"I'd expect nothing less."
And with that, he walked out.
Leaving me alone. Again.
But this time, my hands weren't shaking anymore.
-
NEXT SCENE: THE CHARITY BALL
My dress was black velvet.
Strapless.
Clean lines.
Deadly silhouette.
The neckline was low, but the expression on my face was lower.
I walked into the ballroom with purpose. Cameras flashed, reporters whispered.
"Aurora Zobel-Montemayor!"
"She's stunning!"
"Where's Calix?"
I didn't answer. Just kept walking like i was floating above them all. Because i was.
Calix met me near the stage. Black tux. Polished shoes. That arrogant posture that always said i own the room and maybe you too.
"You're late," he said under his breath.
"I arrived."
"That's not the same."
"But it's enough."
He offered his arm. I took it—not because i wanted to, but because the press expected me to.
We posed. Smiled. Clinked champagne glasses like everything was perfect.
Optics.
Always optics.
"Do you want to dance?" he asked suddenly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
"No."
"Then why ask?"
"Because they're watching."
I downed my drink. "Then let them watch."
And we danced.
Not romantically.
Not sweetly.
Strategically.
Like two sharks circling each other, graceful but lethal.
He whispered something in my ear. Something stupid.
I didn't laugh.
I never laugh.
When the song ended, he stepped back.
Bowed slightly. Then whispered—
"About the nightmare."
I blinked. "What about it?"
"If you ever need someone to stay... I'm next door."
I stared at him. Cold. Unreadable.
"Don't offer comfort you don't mean, Calix."
And i walked away.