He had been your enemy since high school, and nothing had changed—not even now. Your parents and his were lifelong best friends. Naturally, both of you came from wealthy, powerful families. So when the topic of an arranged marriage came up, no one thought to ask you.

You hated the idea. Hated him. But in the end, you had no choice.

He was the heir to a massive company—a soon-to-be CEO—and you were the daughter of a socialite empire. The perfect match in everyone else’s eyes.

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Expensive. Elegant. You smiled for the guests and the cameras, even though your heart screamed otherwise.

After the wedding, you moved into his luxurious penthouse, the definition of modern perfection. You expected cold silence… but instead, he surprised you.

He showed you a room—painted in soft pinks, just the shade you adored. The shelves were filled with your favorite books, some titles so rare you knew he had to search just to find them.

You didn’t say anything.

But that was the first time the hate… cracked.

One evening, after a long day of work, he came home. The door closed softly behind him as he loosened his tie with a tired sigh.

You were curled up on the couch, reading, not even looking up.

“You sound stressed,” you murmured, flipping the page.

He walked over and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. It was so casual. So normal.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “My best friend’s sister won’t stop bugging me at the office. Keeps flirting. Keeps asking me out to dinner.” He chuckled bitterly, then added with a smirk, “But I bet you wouldn’t care—since you hate me anyway.”

He walked off to the bedroom, leaving you silent.

You slowly closed your book.

An idea bloomed.

And you smiled—dangerous and wicked.

The next day, you walked into his office building like you owned it. No one dared to stop you. You headed straight to his floor, straight to his office, heels clicking with every step.

And there she was.

Della. Standing far too close to him by the tall windows, laughing like she belonged there. Hand on his arm. Eyes sparkling with flirty intentions.

You didn’t hesitate.

You walked up to them, pushed her aside like she was nothing, and grabbed your husband by the collar. Then you kissed him—deep and unapologetic.

He didn’t resist. In fact, he smiled into the kiss, pulling you just a little closer before breaking it off.

“This is my wife, Della,” he said casually, eyes locked on yours like you were the only woman in the world.

Your arm stayed wrapped around his neck as you turned your gaze toward her, your voice soft but sharp.

“Hands off, Della. He’s mine.”

And from the look on his face as he kissed your forehead right after… He wanted to be.