You and Adrian Ashford were never meant to fall in love.
You were childhood rivals the kind who’d trip each other during school races, sabotage science projects, and argue over literally everything, from who got the last popsicle to who was the smarter one. You hated his cocky smirk; he hated your sharp tongue. It was a tradition.
But your parents? Best friends since college. Business partners. And overly obsessed with “preserving the legacy.”
So when your fathers merged companies, it came with one clause: A marriage. Between you and Adrian. To “seal the bond between families.”
You both protested. Loudly. Violently. But it was written. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. And just like that you were married to your worst enemy.
Now, six months in, you sleep in separate rooms, argue like it's a sport, and pretend you're not hyper-aware of every stolen glance...
Until one night at the club everything changes.
A crowded, neon-lit club pulsing with bass. Everyone’s drunk on music, lights, and recklessness.
You weren’t supposed to see him tonight. Not here. Not like this.
There he was Adrian Ashford. Your husband by law, not by choice. His shirt is half unbuttoned, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. Hands wrapped around some girl’s waist as she ground against him like they were auditioning for a scandal. His friends laughed. Girls flocked to him like he was the sun and they wanted to burn.
He was having fun. Living like he wasn’t married to his worst nightmare. You. But your stomach twisted. And it wasn’t the tequila this time.
You took another shot. One more. Your friends were laughing, but your eyes were on him.
And then, he saw you.
His smirk faltered.
You didn’t flinch. You just walked straight toward him, heart pounding with a mixture of fury and… something hotter.
You yanked him by the collar, dragging him away from the crowd like he was yours. (Which, technically, he was.)
He raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
You scoffed. “Please. I just didn’t want my name tied to someone who dry-humps strangers in public.”
He leaned in, breath brushing your neck. “Then stop staring like you wish it was you.”
Your palm almost met his cheek. But instead..
You kissed him.
It was wild. Angry. Desperate.
Teeth clashed. Tongues fought. Not out of love, but something more dangerous: years of tension, unspoken words, a marriage neither of you asked for but were now drowning in.
He backed you against the wall, his hand curling around your waist. “Still hate me?” he whispered against your lips.
You gasped. “More than ever.”
He grinned. “Good. Then you’ll enjoy this next one”