My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 11 (edited version)

**Sam’s POV**

I don't know what possessed me this time, but I found myself parked outside Fiona's house, waiting to pick her up for the event. For some reason, I felt compelled to drive myself here instead of sending a driver.

I picked up my phone and dialed her number as soon as I arrived. After three rings, she answered.

"Hi, I—" I started, but she cut me off.

"I know, I know! Your driver is outside. I heard the car. Tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"But—"

"Tell him I'll be out shortly!" she yelled.

Before I could explain, I heard her toss her phone, likely onto her bed. Then, faintly, I caught her mumbling to herself, "If only this stupid zipper would cooperate."

"Hello?" I tried to call her attention, but she couldn’t hear me.

"Foolish old man! Getting me a dress that requires assistance to wear!" I heard her mutter irritably.

Was she talking about me? I wondered, though deep down, I knew she was.

"Fiona!" I raised my voice, trying to get her attention.

"Pig-headed bully! Why does he have to pick my dress? I can handle that myself, thank you very much!" she added sarcastically.

Ungrateful brat, I thought, recalling how carefully I had selected that dress. She had no idea how much effort I’d put into choosing it for her.

"And now he sends his carriage to pick me up like he's some kind of prince. Hm!" she scoffed.

That was the final straw. I hung up, not needing to hear any more of her complaints.

I sat in the driver's seat, fuming. A few minutes later, I heard her open the back door and get in.

"Move to the front seat!" I ordered harshly, before she even had a chance to settle.

"Ah!" she squealed in shock, bouncing off the seat and hitting her head on the roof. She let out another yelp as she dropped awkwardly back into the seat. For a moment, she was completely disoriented.

"Why would you scare me like that?!" she demanded, rubbing both her head and her backside simultaneously.

I didn’t bother answering, just motioned for her to move to the front with a quick jerk of my head.

She rolled her eyes but got out of the car and moved to the front seat, still rubbing her head as she buckled her seatbelt. I didn’t start the car right away; instead, I watched her, simmering.

"Why are you the one picking me up?" she finally asked.

I ignored her question. "Foolish old man? Really?"

"Hmm? What are you talking about?" She played dumb.

"Don't play games, Fiona. I heard you."

"That's impossible. The call was already ended when I checked my phone."

"Because I hung up before I could hear any more. God knows how many insults you hurled after that."

She paused for a moment before saying, "Well, none of them were baseless."

"Really? Tell me how I’m pig-headed, then."

"That’s easy! Take this party, for instance. I had to practically blackmail you into letting me manage it again," she shot back.

"And foolish? You called me foolish!" I pressed.

"You are."

"How?"

"You just are, alright? Now can we go? We're already thirty minutes late."

"Thanks to you!" I shot back, shifting the car into gear and pulling onto the street.

The drive to the event was tense and silent. When we arrived at the venue, Fiona reached for the door.

"Wait," I said curtly. "I'll open it."

I got out, handed the keys to a valet, and walked around to her side. Thankfully, she waited, allowing me to open the door for her. As she stepped out, I finally took a good look at her in the dress I had picked. She looked stunning, her outfit enhanced by a pearl necklace that only added to her elegance. The innocence in her eyes contrasted with the sharp tongue I knew she possessed.

"What?" she asked, catching me staring.

"Nothing," I muttered, quickly snapping out of it and leading her inside.

As we entered, the room quieted for a moment. Jake Bruckner, her father and tonight’s host, shot us a calculating glare. Guests paused, some out of curiosity about the new arrivals, others trying to place us.

We walked straight toward Jake, his eyes following us all the way.

"Fiona," he greeted her coolly.

"Hi, Dad," she replied in the same tone.

"And Mr. Fox. I see you’ve made my daughter’s acquaintance," he added, his voice dripping with implications.

"What can I say? She makes it easy," I said with a forced chuckle.

"I know exactly what you mean," he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

For a moment, I was caught off guard. Was he implying something, or was I reading too much into it?

The event went smoothly after that. Fiona and I stuck close to Bruckner, ensuring he didn’t have the chance to speak with his tentative business partner. Truth be told, I had already taken care of the situation—my men had paid the partner a visit last night, and he was now on my side. But I didn’t tell Fiona that. Let her think we were here to prevent a deal.

The night dragged on, but finally, Bruckner called it a night, and we were free to leave. I drove Fiona home in silence, still mulling over the events of the day.

When we reached her house, I walked her to her door. As we reached the front step, I finally voiced the question that had been nagging me all night.

"Do you really think I’m old?" I asked.

"What?" She turned to me, confused.

"You called me an old man earlier. Do you really think that?"

She seemed caught off guard. "I don’t know."

"It’s either yes or no, Fiona."

"Well, you think of me as a child," she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"I—" I began to deny it, but she cut me off.

"Don’t bother denying it. You've said it yourself!"

I clenched my jaw, frustrated. "Fiona, listen—"

"No, I won’t listen! It’s my right to think of you however I want—" she started, but I didn’t let her finish.

Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her.

She froze, her hand flying to her cheek. Her eyes were wide, filled with shock. I stepped back, trying to maintain my composure.

"Why?" she whispered.

"I think you’re beautiful," I admitted.

"And?"

"I’ve been wanting to do that all day."

"What?" she murmured, still stunned.

"Goodnight, Fiona," I said quietly, turning and walking away before I could second-guess myself.

I didn’t stop until I was back at my beach house. As I entered my room, my eyes landed on the framed photo of my wife and daughter on the bedside table.

What was I doing? How could I think about Fiona, the daughter of my enemy, when the man who took my family from me was still alive? My heart was tangled in something it had no business being in.

No. This all had to stop.

I needed to focus—revenge was my only goal.