Bound in Flames

Enemy Under One Roof

The car pulled into the sleek driveway of the villa nestled along Bali’s pristine coastline. Tara’s eyes narrowed as she took in the glass-fronted house with ocean views and modern minimalist decor. It was gorgeous—but it might as well have been a prison. Trapped in paradise with the most irritating person on earth.

Raka sauntered past her with that usual smugness, hands in his pockets. “Nice place, right? Perfect for a honeymoon.” His grin was slow and wicked.

Tara shot him a cold glare. “This isn’t a honeymoon.”

He chuckled. “Not yet, anyway.”

She ignored the remark, gripping her duffel bag and muttering under her breath. Seven days married, and he already made her want to throw him off a cliff.

---

The villa was large enough that they could avoid each other—if Raka played along, that is. They’d agreed:

Separate bedrooms.

No touching.

Minimal conversations.

It was a perfectly reasonable arrangement for two people who couldn’t stand each other. Tara thought she could survive if she kept her distance—spending most of her time surfing or running along the shore.

But Raka wasn’t interested in keeping things polite.

Whenever she tried to avoid him, he found ways to be right where she didn’t want him. He’d appear in the kitchen just as she reached for something, brushing too close, or take the remote when she tried to watch TV. If she shut the door to her room, he’d knock “accidentally” on his way past.

It was a game to him. And Tara knew, from the glint in his eyes, he was enjoying every second.

---

Tara woke early, grateful for the silence in the villa. She tiptoed to the kitchen, savoring the peace, and made herself a cup of coffee. Strong, black—just how she liked it. She took a seat at the kitchen island, hoping for a quiet moment before the day began.

But, of course, Raka appeared.

Wearing nothing but loose sweatpants and a grin, he strolled into the kitchen like he owned the place. His dark hair was a mess, and his sleepy eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Morning, wife,” he greeted, sliding onto the stool next to her.

Tara exhaled sharply. “Don’t call me that.”

Without asking, he reached across and snatched her coffee mug.

“Hey!” Tara protested, glaring at him. “That’s mine.”

Raka raised the cup to his lips, eyes never leaving hers, and took a slow, deliberate sip. The audacity in his smirk was enough to make her blood boil.

“Mmm,” he hummed, savoring it. “Perfect. Just like you.”

Tara stared at him, stunned by the sheer nerve. “You’re unbelievable.”

Raka leaned back in his chair, cradling the mug in his hands. “What’s yours is mine now, sweetheart.” He winked, adding, “Marriage perks.”

Tara clenched her jaw, trying not to rise to the bait. “If you want coffee, make your own.”

“Why bother?” he said, taking another leisurely sip. “It tastes better when it’s stolen.”

She shot him a warning look, but Raka’s grin only widened, like he was daring her to argue.

“Give it back, Raka.”