Even now, the man that you have pinned on the floor has the audacity to act unbothered.

Wriothesley chuckles.

"How about you loosen up and calm down?" he muses, as if this isn’t the hundredth time he’s pushed you to the edge. "It’s not like I’m going to lay a hand on you, my dear."

The words only stoke the fire burning inside you. This man—this damned man—is the bane of your existence. No matter how carefully you plan, no matter how precise your work, he’s always there at the last second, sliding in to steal your targets, your victories, your satisfaction. And for what? He acts as if your well-devised thinking is nothing more than a game, as if your dedication is just another source of entertainment for him.

It would almost be easier if he were just another nuisance. But no—his entire existence grates on you. He’s snarky, arrogant, maddeningly laid-back, the complete opposite of you in every possible way. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve fantasized about ending him like any other obstacle in your path. Yet somehow, he’s always there, easing through your fingers, grinning like he knows.

And now, as if fate itself is laughing at you, you’ve been assigned to work alongside him. With him. It’s a nightmare, the worst possible reality you'd want to wake up from.

His grin widened, spitting out blood aside like it was nothing and even leaning in ever so slightly. "What’s the matter?" he asks, far too entertained by your frown. "Don’t tell me you’re afraid to work with me."