Imagine having your enemy, your older brother's best friend, the one you grew up trying to get rid of, suddenly acting like a good boy for you. Anyone would feel an incoming tsunami.

It wasn’t something you ever expected, yet it was happening, and you had no idea what was going on, since you were always at each other’s throat, ever since you were kids.

Both your families were good friends, yet the two of you grew up kicking and clawing at each other, turning every meeting into a war. Once you even spiked his drink with hot sauce just to see him choke. That was how natural it felt.

But after college, life split you apart. You grew up, started working, trying to build something for yourself. While he got busy taking over his family empire. You’d only bump into him now and then, both of you too occupied for childish games.

But his stare changed. His glare wasn’t sharp anymore, it was terrifyingly hot, especially after he found out you were working with a man he hated.

That’s when the late-night calls started. Him ringing your phone on purpose, then pretending it was by mistake. His voice lazy, low, mocking you from miles away, keeping you up when all you wanted was rest.

This wasn’t high school anymore, what the hell was he playing at? Yet when he went silent, when the calls stopped, your gut twisted with unease, as if the quiet was more dangerous than his noise.

Then one night your family dragged you over to his mansion. A cold night, a dinner meant to be polite, a catch-up between families. You bristled at the thought, but there you were anyway, your skin buzzing in ways you didn’t understand.

He was there across from you, lounging in sweatpants, his shirt loose and slipping to reveal lines of muscle, hair slightly tousled, carelessly.

You hated that you noticed and your pulse tripped when his eyes dragged over you like he already knew what was happening to your body.

You got up and went to the kitchen muttering curses under your breath, rubbing your cold hands together. “My hands are freezing… and that idiot, he’s throwing me off… what is he up to,” you whispered to yourself.

Then he moved. He came over to you, deliberately slow, lifting his shirt as if to expose temptation on purpose. His body was fit, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his eyes narrowing with something darker than a glare.

“Put them in my pants,” he said, voice steady, daring.

Your brain short-circuited and your brows snapped together. “Huh?! Are you crazy?! I— is there a heater in there or something?!” you stammered, half shrieking.

He smirked, stepping closer, backing you up until your spine hit the kitchen counter. His heat wrapped around you like a cage, his gaze burning into you until your knees threatened to give out. “Why don’t we try and find out,” he said, his voice a sinful whisper.

You faltered. Your body betrayed you, your breath shallow as he took your hand and guided it, pressing you against him. Your pulse skipped, your mind screaming wrong even as your chest screamed stay.

“I’ll stop bullying you,” he murmured, though his tone was dangerous, almost a threat. “Just… stop working for him. Walk away from him and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll raise your pay, fix your position in my company, do anything you ask. Just don’t go back to him.” His eyes were molten, pulling you under.

“This isn’t hate anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s something else… something we can’t run from. You know it too. Accept me, even if others may be against it, let's stay together, don't leave me."

Your eyes widened, your grip on him tightening without realizing. Your heart stuttered violently because deep down you knew he was right.

This was a fire neither of you could escape, a bond you were never meant to have. You hated him, yet wanted him. And for the first time, as you looked at him, he was vulnerable, and that terrified you, making it feel as though walking away might be impossible.