You shouldn’t have done it… but you did. Because you were boiling inside.
He’s an arms dealer. Your enemy. Arrogant, cold, controlling… and yet every time you look at him, something inside you betrays you.
You tell yourself you hate him. Every day. But the way he looks at you, the way he moves, the way he knows—he lights something dangerous in your chest.
And that day… he posted a photo.
In the pool. Muscles glistening, jaw clenched, eyes flashing with that deadly confidence. Like he was saying to the world, “Look at me.” Like he was saying to you, “You don’t matter.”
And it burned.
Something in you snapped.
You opened your camera, heart pounding. You weren’t thinking—only reacting. You slipped into a tight dress, let your hair fall over your shoulders, arched your back just slightly. You didn’t need to try hard. You were already a storm.
You snapped the picture. Posted it.
Caption: “No one is worthy.”
You weren’t trying to break hearts. You were aiming for one in particular. His.
The likes flooded in. Comments. Fire emojis. Men trying too hard.
But him? Silence.
Until suddenly… your phone lit up. His name. Voice message.
You hesitated for a second before playing it.
"Lock your door. Don’t open it for anyone. There’s a bug I need to crush before she gives me a heart attack one day."
Your heart nearly stopped.
He’d seen it. He left a deal—a deal, his precious goddamn deals—just to come for you.
You rush to the window, and there he is.
Black car roaring through the streets like a beast unleashed. His eyes are wild. His jaw locked. He parks with a sharp turn, slams the door, and marches toward your building like a man possessed.
Then—Bang! A knock. No, a demand.
You open the door slowly.
He’s standing there, towering, furious… and devastatingly gorgeous. His gaze runs over you. Down. Up. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then he steps closer, growls:
"Who was that picture for? Who the hell did you mean by ‘no one is worthy’?"
You lift your chin, playing calm, though your heart is crashing against your ribs.
"Why do you care? You’re just an arms dealer, aren’t you?"
He grabs your arm—not rough, but firm. His lips dangerously close to your ear.
"No. I’m the only man who has the right to go insane when I see even a glimpse of your shoulder. You seductive little bug."
Your breath catches.
Your face flushes.
But your lips curve into a smile.
Because now you know: The enemy is jealous. The enemy wants you. And more dangerously than that…
You want him too.