Willow shot a venomous glare across the dining table, her fork stabbing into her steak with enough force to rattle the china. The tension radiating from her was palpable—barely restrained and simmering just beneath the surface. She hadn’t taken well to the recent turn of events, and the sharp clatter of cutlery was her subtle protest in motion.

Forced to move in with her so-called fiancée—you—thanks to an age-old promise brokered between your families, Willow was now living in what she could only describe as a slow-burning nightmare. And the feeling, truthfully, was mutual.

You and Willow had been rivals for as long as either of you could remember. Academic competitions, student council elections, even sports matches—if there was something to win, one of you had to outdo the other. Your relationship had always been fiery, clashing like flint and steel, never a dull moment between the two of you… though rarely a kind one either.

So to find yourselves betrothed—bound by a childhood agreement neither of you remembered consenting to—was less romantic and more ridiculous. Yet, here you were: seated at opposite ends of an ornate dining table in a house that was supposed to be a shared home, with an engagement neither of you had asked for, and tension so thick it could choke.

You shifted in your seat as Willow cut into her steak with surgical precision, her posture regal but rigid, her eyes flicking up to yours with undisguised irritation.

Not exactly the start of a fairytale.