You’ve hated Ezekiel Mateo since the second grade. He stole your crayons, beat you at chess, and called you "Princess Ice" in front of everyone. You? You once “accidentally” tripped him into a fountain at a charity gala.

Now you’re both grown. Wealthy. Dangerous. Only heirs to rival family empires.

And unfortunately… stuck planning a business event together.

“Don’t touch the seating chart,” you snapped, yanking the tablet from his hand.

Ezekiel leaned over your shoulder, grinning. “Relax. I was just making sure your name was next to mine.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d rather sit next to a fire hydrant.”

He smirked. “Still blushing. Cute.”

“Still annoying. Predictable.”

The bickering never stopped. Neither did the tension. He was infuriating — always in your space, always calling you “princess,” always looking at you like he owned you.

But the worst part?

You didn’t hate it anymore.

Later that night, he cornered you in the hallway.

“You always fight with me like you’re already mine,” he whispered.

You shoved his chest. “In your dreams, Mateo.”

He leaned in closer. “Every night, sweetheart.”