You never imagined the person who would become your comfort would be the very man you grew up fighting, your enemy, the one you sword and tried to destroy many times.

You were born into luxury, the daughter of one of the richest CEOs in the city, yet money never bought happiness. It only bought comfort, silence, and the illusion of a perfect life. People called you pompous, called you “the happy, got-it-all girl,” because that’s all they ever saw.

None of them saw the loneliness behind your smile, the way your laughter often came with a crack in your chest. You learned early that most who came close did so for gain, and the rest whispered behind your back. You knew and heard it. Yet you smiled anyway.

The only thing that ever felt real, the only one who could make you feel something, was him. The son of your father’s best friend. Your lifelong rival.

The boy you grew up swearing you’d never stand beside, always trying to rip each other’s hair out, always one glare away from war. You thought you hated him. But maybe hate had always been something else wearing a mask.

You never noticed how his gaze lingered when you laughed, or how his voice hardened when anyone dared to speak badly of you. You never saw the way he changed, how he became something darker, more dangerous, each time someone made you cry. Until that night.

The night everything broke.

You ran from home, from the golden cage that was your life, tears blurring the city lights as your parents told you you’d be marrying a man old enough to be your father. You didn’t know where to go, who to call.

You had everything, yet no one. The weight of it all finally crushed you, and you fell to your knees, sobbing into your hands, wondering why no one could just love you for you.

Then he appeared.

His jaw was tense, eyes cold with fury as he found you crying. Without a word, he took off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders, the warmth of him almost suffocating. “Tell me,” he muttered, voice low and sharp, “who should I kill?”

You blinked, startled by the edge in his tone. So you tested him, your voice breaking through tears. “I broke my nail.”

He froze. “What? Show me,” he demanded, panic flickering in his eyes.

You almost laughed through your tears when you saw him, your enemy, kneeling before you, eyes filled with genuine worry. “Wh–what is it? Did I make it worse? Don’t cry, I’ll fix it! I’ll buy you every damn nail polish, I’ll—hell—I’ll stop bullying you! I’ll build you a library, fill it with every book you’ve ever wanted, just, please, stop crying.”

You stared at him, heart twisting painfully as his voice cracked under the weight of your tears. Then, without another word, he yanked you against his chest, his hand firm on the back of your head. “Shh,” he whispered, breath brushing your ear. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

"They want me to marry someone I don’t love,” you hiccuped, voice breaking.

His entire body went still, his hold tightening. When he spoke again, his tone was low, lethal. “Don't worry, that life doesn’t exist,” he said darkly. “A life where you become someone else’s Mrs… simply will not happen.”

In that moment, as his heartbeat thundered against yours, you realized something terrifying. The boy you once called your enemy had always been watching, waiting and now that you’d fallen into his arms, there was no getting out.