Emirates academy
Friday 10:23am
Marco scanned the list first.
"Class E."
Andre leaned slightly over his shoulder.
Maria blinked, then smiled.
"Wait… we're together?" she asked, surprised.
Marco grinned.
"Looks like you're stuck with us Andre."
A dramatic gasp echoed nearby.
"Class B?! You're kidding me!" Misheal clutched her chest like she'd been betrayed by fate itself. "This is injustice. Cruelty. Betrayal!"
Maria bit her lip, failing to hide her smile.
"Oh no… such tragedy…"
Misheal narrowed her eyes.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"A little bit," Maria admitted.
Before Misheal could fire back
A pair of arms slipped around her waist from behind.
Hugo!
"Don't worry," he murmured lazily. "You won't be lonely. We're in the same class."
Misheal stiffened slightly but didn't pull away.
Marco's expression darkened instantly.
Hugo noticed and smiled.
Slowly… deliberately… he tightened his grip.
Marco stepped forward.
"Take your hands off her."
Hugo raised a brow, unfazed.
"She's my girlfriend… am I wrong, Misheal?"
Misheal groaned.
"Oh my God… not this again…"
Hugo leaned closer, whispering near her ear:
"Your brother looks like he wants to kill me."
Misheal smirked faintly.
"He will… if you keep doing this in front of him."
DIMITRI REAL ESTATE
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the pristine upper floor of Dimitri Real Estate. Everything gleamed glass, chrome, marble cold perfection.
Mrs. Gonzalez stepped out alone.
She adjusted her modest blazer, clutching the file tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her steady. Behind her, far below in the compound, her husband stood at the gate in a faded security uniform, watching, waiting.
"Don't worry," he had told her earlier with a small smile. "You belong up there."
Now, standing before the towering office doors, she wasn't so sure.
"Come in."
The voice cut through the silence smooth, emotionless.
Mrs. Gonzalez stepped inside.
The office was vast, almost intimidating in its emptiness. At the far end, near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, stood Mrs. Elena Dimitri. Her silhouette was sharp against the light.
"You're alone," Mrs. Dimitri said without turning.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Your husband did not follow you this time?"
Mrs. Gonzalez hesitated. "He's on duty, ma'am. At the gate."
A pause.
Then a quiet, almost amused exhale.
"How fitting."
Mrs. Gonzalez's fingers tightened around the file.
"I reviewed your submission," Mrs. Dimitri continued, finally turning. Her gaze was piercing, dissecting. "You have improved."
Relief flickered brief, fragile.
"But improvement is expected," she added. "Not praised."
The flicker died.
Mrs. Gonzalez stepped forward, placing the file gently on the desk. "I worked very hard on it, ma'am. I—"
"I am aware," Mrs. Dimitri interrupted. "You always work very hard."
She began to walk slowly, circling, her heels clicking like a metronome of judgment.
"And yet," she continued, "you remain… here."
Those two words carried weight.
Mrs. Gonzalez swallowed. "I'm doing my best to grow in the company."
"Are you?"
Mrs. Dimitri stopped in front of her now, eyes scanning her from head to toe not admiring, but measuring.
"Because from where I stand, you are a woman who insists on climbing while dragging unnecessary weight behind her."
Mrs. Gonzalez blinked. "Ma'am…?"
"A security guard," Mrs. Dimitri said plainly. "At my gate."
The words hit harder than expected.
"I see him every morning standing there. Quiet. Obedient. Invisible."
Mrs. Gonzalez's chest tightened. "He works hard, ma'am."
"I'm sure he does," Mrs. Dimitri replied coolly. "Street rats often learn to survive well."
Mrs. Gonzalez felt her throat go dry. "He's not a—"
"You married beneath you," Mrs. Dimitri cut in, her tone still calm, still controlled but sharper now. "And now you wonder why you struggle to rise above your station."
"I didn't marry for status," Mrs. Gonzalez said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "I married for love."
For the first time, something flickered in Mrs. Dimitri's expression.
Not warmth.
Something closer to disdain.
"Love," she repeated softly, as if tasting a word she didn't quite respect. "Love does not put food on your table nor does it put you in designers. Love is a game of the mind that traps people and it has completely trapped you."
Mrs. Gonzalez's eyes burned, but she refused to look away.
"He supported me when I had nothing," she said, quieter now but firmer. "When no one else believed in me."
"And now?" Mrs. Dimitri asked. "What does he offer you now, besides a uniform and a gate to stand behind?"
The question lingered like smoke.
Mrs. Gonzalez had no immediate answer not because there wasn't one, but because none of them would matter here.
Mrs. Dimitri turned away, already done.
"Your work is acceptable," she said dismissively. "Continue improving. Or don't. The outcome will be obvious either way."
She walked back toward her desk, effectively ending the conversation.
"Dismissed."
That was all.
Mrs. Gonzalez stood there for a moment longer, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Then, quietly, she turned and walked out.
The journey down felt longer.
Each step heavier.
Each breath tighter.
By the time she reached the ground floor and stepped outside, the air felt different warmer, harsher, real.
At the gate, Mr. Gonzalez stood as always.
Straight. Watchful.
Waiting.
The moment he saw her face, his posture softened. "Hey… what happened?"
She tried to speak, but the words caught. Her composure cracked instead.
He didn't ask again.
He just stepped closer, gently guiding her to the side, away from passing cars and curious eyes.
"She said… I married a street rat," Mrs. Gonzalez whispered, her voice breaking. "That you're… dragging me down."
For a second, just a second, something flickered in his eyes.
Pain.
But it disappeared just as quickly.
He let out a slow breath, then gave a small, almost amused smile. "A street rat, huh?"
She shook her head quickly, grabbing his arm. "Don't joke about it. It's not funny. The way she said it… like you're nothing…"
He looked at her then really looked.
"Do you think I'm nothing?" he asked gently.
Her eyes widened. "No! Never."
"Then that's enough."
She stared at him, tears slipping down her cheeks. "But what if she's right? What if… I could've gone further if I—"
"If you married someone else?" he finished quietly.
Silence answered him.
He nodded once, absorbing it not with anger, but with a quiet understanding that somehow made it worse.
Then he reached out, wiping her tears with his thumb.
"Listen to me," he said softly. "I may stand at a gate… but I never stood in your way."
Her breath hitched.
"I stood behind you," he continued. "When you studied late. When you doubted yourself. When you wanted to give up."
His voice remained calm, steady unshaken.
"I didn't have much to give," he admitted. "But everything I had… I gave to you."
Mrs. Gonzalez broke then, leaning into him as he held her tightly despite the uniform, despite the watchful world around them.
"You are not small because of me," he murmured against her hair. "And I am not nothing because of where I stand."
The noise of the city carried on cars passing, people moving, life continuing.
But in that small space by the gate, something stronger than pride held firm.
Mrs. Gonzalez clutched his shirt, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry…"
He shook his head gently. "Don't be."
A pause.
Then, softer:
"Just don't let her decide what we are."
She nodded slowly against him.
And for the first time since stepping into that cold office, the weight in her chest eased if only a little.
Behind them, the towering building still stood untouched, unmoved.
But at the gate, something warmer refused to break.