𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬 || ᴋᴛʜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜰꜰ

ONE

His Pov

I stood before her. She glanced up, her gaze meeting mine for a brief moment before she returned her attention to her phone. "You're late," she muttered, her voice devoid of emotion.

I took a seat opposite her, a surge of frustration coursing through me. "I apologize," I began, but she cut me off.

"So, who's going to say no to this?" she asked, abruptly rising from her chair and gathering her belongings. "I can't say no, so it'll be you." She added.

As she stood, a slight commotion stirred around us. It was a Friday night, and the restaurant was abuzz with patrons. A movement as subtle as hers was bound to draw attention. People whispered and glanced in our direction, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and knowing.

I wasn't oblivious to the stares she garnered. I myself was no stranger to them. I wasn't bragging, but I had always been the kind of person who turned heads.

The situation, the entire setup, smelled of a bad rom-com. We were two people, thrown together by the whims of our families, forced to endure the farce of a betrothal. We were the antithesis of each other, two clashing planets hurtling towards an inevitable collision.

The fact that I was a little desperate didn't help. It wasn't the marriage I was desperate for, no, it was freedom. My grandmother, the matriarch of the family, had a knack for pushing my buttons. She knew my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities. And she had used them to manipulate me into this predicament.

My escape, it seemed, lay in the hands of the woman I hated most.

I couldn't let her leave. I reached out, my fingers closing around her wrist, the soft skin surprisingly smooth against my rough palm. "Sit," I commanded, my voice low and firm.

She paused, her eyes widening in surprise. "Huh?" her voice came out in a confused whisper.

I didn't let go. "I said sit. We need to talk," I reiterated, locking eyes with her. The intensity of my gaze, the unexpected firmness in my voice, seemed to momentarily stun her.

She slowly sat back down, her eyes searching mine.

The restaurant, with its symphony of sounds, was suddenly silent. The stage was set, and our story, however forced, had just begun.

"Come on," she said, her tone softening into a bitter resignation. "We've been enemies since kindergarten. It's not like this is some fairy tale romance. It's a no, plain and simple."

I scoffed. "As if I hadn't already figured that out."

"Honestly, I was going to say no the moment my mother proposed this whole thing. But, you see, I was in a bit of a predicament. A helpless situation, if you will." She paused, her gaze hardening.

"So, you came here to tell me that you're counting on me for this?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Hm you can brag to your friends, tell them you rejected me. It'll be a good story, right?"

Her words were laced with bitterness, tinged with a strange sense of resignation. It was a tempting offer, looking back on our history. The thought of boasting about finally getting one over on Y/N was undeniably amusing. Yet, there was something else simmering beneath the surface, a desperation, a concealed need.

And I knew why she was playing this game, why she was counting on my rejection.

Her though remained blissfully unaware of this. She thought she was just playing my pride, pushing my buttons, making me the bad guy. She didn't realize I knew her motivations, her desperation, the stakes she was playing with.