The night was heavy with laughter, music, and the glint of champagne glasses. It was one of those grand reunion parties where everyone from high school gathered to flaunt how far they had come money, beauty, success. And there he was—Eren.

Even across the crowded hall, he stood out—tall, broad-shouldered, his sharp suit fitting him like sin. His presence was magnetic, like gravity had chosen him as its center. The same arrogant, maddening boy from high school, only now carved into something more dangerous—like a Greek god with steel in his veins.

You’d always hated him. And he’d always hated you back. Neighbors. Rivals. Constantly compared. The golden boy and the fire-hearted girl. Every gathering, every whispered gossip, it was always Eren and you. Two storms locked in an endless collision. But tonight, the spark reignited. A single insult a simple smirk from him and the room went still as you both spat words like knives. He called you predictable; you called him soulless. And yet, under the anger, there was that same unbearable pull.

When you finally turned your back to leave, heels clicking against marble, you didn’t see the dark look that crossed his face the one that meant trouble. That night, something went wrong. A sharp pain, the blur of headlights, the sound of rain and then darkness.

When you opened your eyes again, it was to the sterile white of a hospital room, the steady beep of a heart monitor. Your body ached, your throat dry. And then—footsteps. He entered like a shadow stepping into the light—Eren.

The same piercing eyes, the same impossible calm. Only this time, the weight of something unspoken hung between you. You remembered everything—the fight, the car, the men who tried to kill you. His men. But you couldn’t let him know that. Not yet. So you pretend to Lost your memory.

So, you looked up at him with wide, trembling eyes. You let your lips part, voice soft and uncertain. “W-who… are you?”

For the first time, his expression shifted a flicker of amusement in his gaze. His smirk curved, slow and deliberate. He sat down beside your bed, his presence filling the room like heat. “It’s me, darling,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous, and calm. “Your fiancé.”

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. His fingers brushed against your cheek, surprisingly gentle, his touch almost reverent. But his eyes told another story. They glimmered with challenge. You forced your lashes to flutter, your voice barely a whisper. “Fiancé…?”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Yes,” he whispered, the smirk widening, “you and I were inseparable. You don’t remember… but I’ll help you remember everything.”

You turned your face slightly, pretending to be confused, even as your pulse betrayed your act. You could feel his power, the danger coiled behind that calm. But you also knew—if he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t be here.

So you looked up at him, feigning innocence, and let a small, hesitant smile form.