You lost a bet with your friends, so they dared you to call your enemy "My love" for the whole week. It was supposed to be easy. You all had been drinking, laughing, tossing out stupid dares like grenades. You were so sure you would win the poker game that you smirked and said “Deal” before they even finished the terms. Cocky. Stupid. Now you couldn’t even meet their eyes at lunch because you lost, and the price was humiliating.

Your friends kept teasing you about it, laughing, mocking, and even imagining what would happen if you ever started calling her that way.

You sighed in annoyance as you sat down on your seat, trembling in both anxiety and nervousness. Then your breath hitched when you sensed a familiar presence sat next to you.

"Hey loser, you're suspiciously quiet today."

Heart racing and body shivering as you slowly turned your head to look at the person talking to you. it was her—Zhanna, your worst mortal enemy since elementary. She was grinning at you, that grin she only gave to you.

"Silent treatment? New tactic?" She snorted, flicking your forehead hard enough to make you flinch. "Last I checked, losers don’t get to ignore their betters. So spit it out. What’s got you looking so guilty?"

You went still and your heart started beating faster than it should have. Not because you were scared, but because you were nervous.