My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯

Prince Thyme [Sea]

Papa's study felt suffocating, its high walls towering over me as I sat there, slumped on the sofa, pretending to listen to the endless - and irritating - prattle about the wedding. Mama was engaged in yet another discussion with the planners, and the Queen of Chonburi - as unyielding as ever - tried to divert the attention onto herself. Evidently, she would not allow Mama to command entirely over the management of the event, and she began to infiltrate her traditions and opinions with a newfound arrogance that clearly infuriated Mama. 

A civil friendship was undetectable. For now.

My eyes flicked toward the magnificent folder they were fawning over, filled with sketches of wedding outfits, flower arrangements, and seating plans. The very sight of it all made my stomach churn. I didn't want to be here. Everything had been a nightmare these past few weeks, and with the day of the wedding creeping closer, I felt like I was sinking deeper into quicksand.

And Luka... That dickhead. After what had happened between us the other night at the pool, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. I was furious -- at him, at myself, at the world. He hadn't even bothered to show up today, probably off gallivanting, leaving me to drown in all this madness. I clenched my fists, trying to swallow the anger that was bubbling up in my chest. The image of the Princess of Chiang Mai, her life upended by scandal, flickered in my mind. I wasn't far off from sharing the same fate -- dragged into something I didn't want, torn between duty and... him.

"Thyme, dear, you need to pick the final design for the wedding outfits." My mother's voice cut through my thoughts, and before I could react, she shoved the folder onto my lap. The weight of it felt like a cruel joke.

"Mother, I—" I tried to protest, but she cut me off, smiling sweetly as if that would make this any easier.

"Go on, darling," she insisted. "We've narrowed it down, but your final choice is important. After all, it's your wedding."

I stared at the sketches, a blur of gold, silver, and white in my vision. Every page I flipped felt like another stone added to my chest. "I... I'm not sure," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Not sure? How can you not be sure?" The Queen of Chonburi chimed in, her voice sharp yet deceptively polite. "It's a simple decision."

"Thyme, darling, what about these linens? Or the floral arrangements?" A planner piped up. "We need your input on the music, too. And the seating arrangements! Have you given any thought to—"

The questions flew at me all at once, their voices blending into a cacophony of expectations and demands. My breathing quickened. I couldn't focus. My mind was spinning, and all I wanted to do was scream that I didn't care, that none of this mattered to me. I had bigger concerns, like how I was supposed to survive this wedding, this life—him.

"I—excuse me," I mumbled, my voice barely audible as I stood abruptly, knocking the folder onto the floor. I didn't even look back at the stunned faces around me as I fled the room, desperate for air.

The corridor outside was mercifully empty. I stumbled forward, finally collapsing against one of the wide window sills. Curling up beneath it, I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my arms, trying to force the rising tide of panic back down. The pressure in my chest tightened, my throat constricted as hot, angry tears welled in my eyes. 

I felt trapped, helpless. The world was spinning too fast, and I struggled to keep up.

And it was all Luka's fault. 

The corridor was quiet, but the weight in my chest made everything feel unbearably loud. Each breath was ragged, trembling as I pressed my forehead against my knees. Maybe if I stayed hidden, maybe if I just sat here long enough, I could make it all go away -- the wedding, the expectations, him.

Then, I heard the sound of footsteps. Slow. Approaching. I tensed, refusing to look up, praying silently that whoever it was would turn around and leave me alone. But the footsteps stopped. Right in front of me. My heart sank. I had no choice but to glance up.

Of course. Luka. He stood there, staring down at me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, a mix of curiosity and something else I couldn't decipher. My chest tightened further, shame burning in my veins because, despite everything, despite the mess in my head, my heart leapt at the sight of him.

Embarrassing. That was so fucking embarrassing.

"Go away," I muttered, turning my head, my voice thick with emotion. He was the last person I wanted near me right now, especially after last night. The reminder of it alone made my skin flush with anger, humiliation -- something else I didn't want to admit.

But Luka didn't move. Instead, much to my disappointment, he knelt down right in front of me. His presence was too close, too overwhelming. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low, irritatingly calm, like he wasn't the reason I was falling apart.

I scoffed, wiping at my face angrily, trying to hide the tears I couldn't seem to stop. "What do you think?" I snapped. "Leave me alone."

But of course, he didn't. He never did. Instead, he reached out, his thumb gently brushing away the tears on my cheek. The warmth of his touch burned, sending sparks through my skin, a reminder of the way his hands had felt the night before. I hated it. I hated him.

"You're crying."

"Obviously." My voice cracked as I tried to shove his hand away, but it lingered, his thumb moving slower, almost tender. It was unlike him, this gentleness. It unnerved me.

I glared at him, my stomach twisting with a nauseating mixture of anger and... something else. Something dangerous. His dark eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was a flash of something -- something I recognised all too well. Lust. It flickered behind the calm, like a fire waiting to ignite. Just like last night. 

What the hell was he doing? Why was he looking at me like that? Why was he so goddamn beautiful?

"Stop," I hissed, slapping his hand away this time, harder. I needed space. I needed him gone. "Don't act like you care."

His expression didn't change, but I noticed the small, infuriating grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He was enjoying this, playing with me. "I do care, Thyme."

I know you want me, Thyme. 

I wanted to scream, wanted to hit him, kick him, anything to make him stop smiling like that. My voice shook, my composure slipping, my anger boiling over. "You don't care about anyone but yourself. You didn't even show up today! You left me to deal with all this alone, like you always do. You never think about how any of this affects me, how you affect me."

Luka didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch. Instead, his hand returned, more forceful this time, cupping my cheek as if to force me to confront him, to meet his gaze head-on. His fingers were warm, steady, grounding me in the worst way possible. "Then tell me how I affect you," he whispered, his voice a challenge. His thumb brushed over my cheek again, and I cursed my body for betraying me, for how much I felt him.

I stared at him, my heart racing like it was trying to break free of my chest. Every part of me wanted to push him away, to lash out and fight back. But I was too tired. Too exhausted by everything. The pressure of the wedding, the expectations, my own conflicted feelings about him. And yet, despite it all, the warmth of his hand against my skin was intoxicating.

So like the fool I was, I let him touch me. I let him wipe away my tears.

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hello my lovely readers!

again, i'm so sorry for the slow updates - life has been a bit chaotic recently!

hope you are still interested in reading this book hahaha

more regular updates this weekend, i promise!

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until then!