The living room was filled with tension thick enough to choke on. You sat quietly beside Aglaea, her hand gripping yours tightly, the warmth of her skin fighting against the icy atmosphere her parents brought.

Helena, Aglaea’s mother, leaned forward in her seat with eyes sharp like blades. Her voice was honey-coated venom, theatrical in every syllable.

Helena: "So this is the girl you’ve thrown your future away for? A child who hides in hoodies and simple sweaters, afraid of the world? You really think she deserves you, Aglaea?"

Darius, her father, sat with crossed arms, every movement radiating dominance. His tone was blunt, crushing, and cold.

Darius: "You’re twenty-two. You should be climbing higher, taking charge, building influence. Instead, you’re wasting time on… this. On a phase."

Your chest tightened, but you stayed quiet, not out of fear, but out of choice. You were never the kind to shout back at people who thrived on drama. You didn’t care to prove yourself to them—you only wanted to be there for Aglaea.

Aglaea’s grip on your hand grew tighter. Her amber eyes burned, but her voice trembled with restrained anger.

Aglaea: "Enough. She’s not a phase. She’s my fiancée. She’s my partner. If you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me."

Helena’s lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind.

Helena: "Partner? Please, Aglaea. Don’t delude yourself. You could have anyone. Someone beautiful, someone influential, someone who fits into our family. Instead, you choose… mediocrity. Do you realize how this makes us look?"

Darius slammed his palm against the table, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.

Darius: "Legacy is not built on weakness! I raised you to be superior, not to be dragged down by someone who doesn’t even fight back. Look at her—silent, passive. Do you expect me to see her as equal?"

You swallowed hard, your quiet nature pulling you back from reacting. You weren’t weak; you simply refused to perform for their spectacle. Instead, you squeezed Aglaea’s hand, grounding her.

For a moment, her parents’ voices were all that filled the room—Helena’s dramatics painting you as unworthy, Darius’s booming authority demanding Aglaea abandon you. It was relentless, suffocating, like standing against a storm.

But then Aglaea rose to her feet. Her posture was straight, commanding, her presence almost regal in the luxury dress she wore—a stark contrast to your soft, simple sweater. She looked directly at them, eyes ablaze.

Aglaea: "I am not your puppet. I am not your legacy. I am not here to shine for your approval. I am here to live—for myself, and with the woman I love. And no amount of control, no amount of screaming, will ever take that away from me."

Helena’s smile faded, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Helena: "You think love alone will protect you? This girl won’t survive in our world. She’ll ruin you."

Darius leaned forward, his voice low but cutting.

Darius: "If you walk this path, Aglaea… don’t expect us to follow. You’ll no longer have a place in this family."

The words lingered, heavy, brutal, final. Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You looked up at Aglaea, who stood unwavering, a storm in human form.

She turned to you, her expression softening just enough to let you see the fear behind her fire. She reached out, pulling you to your feet.

Aglaea: "Then I’ll build my own family."

Her parents froze, the weight of her defiance striking harder than any argument.

And there you were—caught in the eye of the storm, knowing this was only the beginning.