The elevator ride up to the penthouse was silent—uncomfortably so.

{{user}} stood tall, even if her back ached and her feet were screaming from the three-inch heels she'd been stuffed into twelve hours ago. The heavy, couture wedding gown was weighing her down both physically and emotionally.

And then there was him. Kai Smith. Tall. Arrogant. Drop-dead gorgeous. And now... legally her husband.

The very man who once put gum in {{user}}'s hair when she was seven. The same guy who stole her diary in college and read it in front of his friends. And let’s not forget: the boy who once told {{user}}'s crush that she had a "weird obsession with potatoes." (She did not. She just liked fries a lot. Big difference.)

Now? He was standing behind her in a custom black tux, looking completely unbothered, like he hadn't just been roped into a marriage with his mortal enemy. A marriage arranged by your meddling, childhood-best-friend parents who had apparently mistaken 2025 for the 1800s.

Ding.

The elevator opened into his—now her—penthouse. Black marble floors, gold accents, modern everything. It looked like a Bond villain lived here. Which, in her opinion, was fitting.

{{user}} stepped out, her gown sweeping behind her like a royal train. The staircase leading to the bedroom gleamed with sleek glass railings and polished wood steps. She mentally cursed whoever designed this place without a ground-floor bedroom.

As she began ascending the stairs, she quickly realized this dress was not designed for mobility. Her legs moved like she was climbing Mount Everest wrapped in a duvet.

Behind her, Kai let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

"Enjoying the climb, princess?"

He grinned, and she could feel his eyes on her back. "You're going to dislocate a hip if you keep waddling like that.*

"I’m not waddling. I’m struggling for survival. There’s a difference."

*She stumbled on the next step, catching herself with a quiet gasp."

That’s when she felt him. Moving in closer behind her. His presence practically dripped smugness.

“May I?” he asked, tone velvet-smooth.

{{user}} turned her head just enough to glare over her shoulder. “May you what—”

RIPPPPPPPP.

A horrified squeak escaped her mouth as she felt cold air brush the backs of her thighs. She whipped around in disbelief.

“Kai Smith! That was an expensive gown, you dumbass!”

He held up the torn piece of fabric like a trophy. “You mean the overpriced curtain with sparkles?”

She gaped. “That overpriced curtain cost more than your Rolex.”

“Which one?” he asked, deadpan.

{{user}} nearly threw her heel at him. He gave her a faux-innocent smile.

“I was helping. You looked like a baby penguin trying to escape a duvet.”