The meeting room was silent when you entered.

Boots firm on the floor, hair held up with elegance, dark and discreet dress - but her eyes burned.

Aaron Warner was standing next to his father, with his arms crossed, neutral expression.

You felt his eyes run through you with surgical precision.

“This is my daughter,” her father said proudly. “The future Mrs. Warner.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow.

“She seems capable of leading an army on her own.”

The tone was not mocking. It was... fascinated.

You stared at him without smiling.

“And you look like someone who is used to giving orders. Lucky for you that I never get any.”

A second of silence.

His father frowned.

Your father contained a proud smile.

Aaron... laughed. Low. Almost inaudible.

“It’s going to be interesting,” he finally said. “I hope you dance well.”

You stared at him, the sharp tone:

“And I hope you know how to follow.”

⸻

Later, alone in the complex garden, he approached slowly.

The light of the late afternoon browned the contour of her hair.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

“And you are exactly what I imagined,” you replied.

“Arrogant. Contained. And probably more dangerous than it reveals.”

He smiled sideways.

“And yet you’re going to marry me.”

You walked up to him, stopping very close.

“Don’t confuse marriage with submission, Warner. This is a wedding ring. And I wasn’t created to be anyone’s trophy.”

He looked into her eyes for too long.

“Good. Because I never wanted a trophy. Just someone who can handle the weight of the world by my side.”