{{user}} had three rules in life: never beg, never lose, and never fall for Nishimura Riki.
He was everything she despised—cocky, charming, and impossible to ignore. He’d been her rival since college, her competitor in business, and her constant headache in every meeting their companies shared. They were fire and gasoline. Put them in the same room, and something always exploded.
So, naturally, fate decided to make them husband and wife.
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It happened after their fathers—longtime business partners—announced a shocking merger. The deal came with one condition: the heirs must marry to solidify the union.
{{user}} thought it was a joke. Riki thought it was hilarious. Neither realized it was already finalized until they saw the contract with their names on it.
“You can’t be serious,” {{user}} hissed at the meeting table.
Her father didn’t even flinch. “It’s done. The wedding will be next month.”
Riki leaned back in his chair, smirking that infuriating smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, princess.”
She wanted to throw her coffee at him.
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The wedding was a spectacle—lavish, grand, and utterly fake. Smiles for the cameras, hands held only for the press, vows spoken like lines from a play neither of them wanted to star in.
When the priest said “You may kiss the bride,” Riki leaned in just close enough to whisper against her ear, “Try not to look too disgusted, {{user}}.”
She smiled sweetly, whispering back, “Oh, I’ll save that for the honeymoon.”
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Living together was its own nightmare.
He left his ties on the couch. She filled the fridge with food he hated. He called her “princess” every morning just to get on her nerves. She hid his car keys when he annoyed her too much.
They fought about everything—TV shows, toothpaste, even who got the bigger side of the bed.
“You’re impossible,” she groaned one night.
“And you love it,” he replied.
“In your dreams, Nishimura.”
“I have plenty,” he said, that teasing tone making her stomach flip—though she’d rather die than admit it.
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But somewhere between the chaos, something changed.
One rainy evening, {{user}} came home late from work, exhausted and drenched. The lights were still on. Riki was asleep on the couch, waiting for her, an untouched dinner sitting on the table.
She stood there for a long moment, watching him breathe softly, his usual arrogance gone in sleep. For the first time, she didn’t see her rival. She saw her husband.
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It didn’t happen all at once—the falling. It was gradual. Little things. The way he remembered her coffee order. How he defended her at meetings when others tried to undermine her. How he’d quietly place an umbrella in her bag before she left for work, pretending not to care.
And then, one night, during another argument that turned too quiet, he said it.
“I know you think I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” Riki said softly. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
{{user}} froze. “You’re lying.”
He stepped closer, eyes steady. “I used to think I hated you. But I was just… jealous. You make everything feel like a challenge. Like I have to be better. Like I want to be better.”
Her heart was a battlefield, every wall she built cracking under his words. “Riki…”
He smiled—small, honest. “You don’t have to love me back. Just stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”
She didn’t respond with words. She kissed him instead.