The love for my enemy

Chapter One: The Thorn in His Side

The Salvatore mansion had a distinct smell of desperation and cheap whiskey. Klaus Mikaelson would know—he had spent more time there than he cared to admit. Tonight, however, he wasn’t here to antagonize the Salvatores. No, tonight, something—someone—was drawing his attention in ways he’d rather not admit.

Arianna Montgomery.

She was leaning against the mantle, gesturing wildly as she retold a story that had Caroline doubled over in laughter. Klaus couldn’t help but notice how she gestured with her wine glass, spilling droplets onto the expensive rug. A part of him admired her chaos. The other part wanted to throttle her for it.

“Why am I watching her?” Klaus muttered to himself, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “She’s insufferable.”

“Talking to yourself again, Niklaus?” Damon appeared by his side, wearing his usual smirk. “Let me guess: you’re planning another over-the-top scheme to ruin someone’s life? Or is this your brooding hour?”

“Not now, Damon,” Klaus snapped, his gaze flickering back to Arianna. Unfortunately, Damon noticed.

“Ah,” Damon drawled, following Klaus’s line of sight. “Of course. Arianna. She’s like a tornado in heels, isn’t she?”

Klaus glared. “I’m not interested in her.”

“Right. Sure,” Damon replied, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “That’s why you’ve been standing here for ten minutes, staring at her like she’s the last bottle of bourbon in the house.”

Before Klaus could retort, Arianna herself appeared, wine glass still in hand and a devilish grin plastered on her face.

“Talking about me?” she asked, her tone teasing. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”

“Ah, Arianna,” Klaus said, flashing his most insincere smile. “I was just admiring how effortlessly you manage to spill wine on every surface you touch. It’s quite a talent.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “And here I thought you were admiring my charm. But I suppose that’s too much to expect from someone whose only hobby is monologuing about his superiority.”

Damon snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “This is fun. Do you two need a referee?”

“Go away, Damon,” they said in unison.

Arianna leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, Klaus, if you spent less time scowling and more time being... oh, I don’t know, tolerable, you might actually make a friend or two.”

Klaus chuckled, shaking his head. “And if you spent less time talking, Arianna, you might actually say something worth listening to.”

The air between them crackled with tension, but not the hostile kind. It was the sort of tension that made Klaus simultaneously want to strangle her and... well, do other things he wasn’t ready to admit.

By the end of the night, Klaus found himself standing outside, watching Arianna leave. She turned back once, her smirk still firmly in place, as if she knew exactly how much space she was taking up in his head.

And for the first time in centuries, Klaus Mikaelson wondered if he’d met his match—not in battle, but in banter.