My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔵

Lord Saetiao [Khao]

The fire roared in the hearth, its glow licking the edges of the room with a feverish intensity. I sat in my armchair, swirling the port in my glass before taking a slow sip, the richness settling on my tongue. The taste was wasted on me tonight. My mood had been soured beyond repair, my high spirits crushed beneath the weight of my own stupidity. A single candle flickered beside me, illuminating the bowl of grapes at my side. One by one, I plucked them from the vine and ate them, chewing with a slow, simmering anger.

Lord Chuo's horrendous revelation replayed in my mind over and over, his voice curling around my name like a snake coiling around its prey. Marriage. To him. The very thought sent a violent shudder through me. I could still see the smug triumph in his eyes as he slid the papers forward at the table that evening, the Lords watching in silent amusement as I sealed my own fate. It had been a masterful move, executed with the precision of a blade finding the perfect spot between the ribs. And I had let it happen.

The embarrassment of it all burned hotter than the fire before me. I should have seen it coming. I should have anticipated his treachery, his cunning. He had stolen the Princess from me, stolen my victory, and now he sat somewhere, gloating. I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to destroy him.

With a sudden snarl, I hurled my glass at the mantlepiece. It shattered against the stone, dark wine dripping onto the carpet, hissing as it met the flames. My breath came sharp, chest rising and falling. The sound of the door creaking open made me snap my head around. My servant stood there, composed despite the scene before him.

"My Lord," he said carefully, "Lord Chuo has arrived. He requests a private audience with you."

I exhaled sharply through my nose, rubbing my temple as if to will away the headache pounding at my skull. "Let him in," I said, voice as cool as I could manage. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he had unsettled me.

Moments later, Chuo entered, every step measured, deliberate. He had dressed the part of a man with no regrets—a deep navy silk robe with intricate embroidery, cinched at the waist, his collar open just enough to hint at the lines of his throat. The flickering light cast sharp shadows against his cheekbones, accentuating the cruel beauty of his face.

"You seem troubled, Saetiao." His voice dripped with feigned concern, and he did not bow. Of course, he wouldn't. He never did.

I leaned back, masking my scowl behind a smirk. "How very kind of you to notice. What brings you here? Have you not done enough damage for one night?"

Chuo made a quiet, amused sound as he strode to the side table, where a decanter of port waited. He poured himself a glass without asking, lifting it in mock salute before taking a sip. "A long ride makes a man thirsty."

"Then drink up," I said dryly. "And leave."

He ignored me, his gaze flicking over me as he set the glass down. "We have matters to discuss, whether you like it or not."

"I can't imagine what remains to be said."

"You will be my husband." He said it so plainly, so simply, as if it were a truth as certain as the rising sun.

I scoffed. "You sound pleased."

"Oh, quite the opposite. But pleased or not, it's happening."

"Over my dead body."

Chuo chuckled. "You say that as if it changes anything."

I met his gaze, my fingers tightening around the armrest. I knew I could not undo what had been done, not without causing a spectacle I could ill afford. He had cornered me, and he knew it. But there was one thing I could still do—one thing I had always done to him. I could make him suffer for it.

I shifted in my seat, crossing one leg over the other, letting my robe slip slightly from my shoulder. "Is this truly what you wanted all along, Chuo? Me? You could have simply asked. I would have been... accommodating."

His jaw tensed, but his expression remained carefully unreadable. "You are insufferable."

"And you are predictable."

The air between us grew charged, the unspoken tension that had always lurked beneath our rivalry simmering dangerously close to the surface. I tilted my head, watching the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. He hated me, but hatred was a fine line away from something else entirely.

Then, suddenly, he moved.

In one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me to my feet. Before I could react, he pushed me backward, forcing me onto the table a few paces away. My breath hitched, hands pressing against the polished wood as he stepped between my legs, trapping me in place.

"Chuo—"

"Be quiet." His voice was low, heated. His hands pressed firmly against my waist, holding me in place. I could feel his breath against my neck, feel the warmth radiating from his body. Every nerve in me screamed to shove him away, to remind him exactly who I was.

But I didn't move.

I swallowed, feeling his fingers twitch against my skin. My lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. He was so close. Too close. I hated it. I hated how my pulse quickened, how my body betrayed me in his presence.

"What are you doing?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Chuo exhaled sharply, a sound like frustration, like restraint. For a moment, it felt like he would lean in, would close the space between us entirely. But then—just as suddenly as he had touched me—he pulled away.

He turned his back to me, his shoulders stiff, his breath uneven. And then, without another word, he strode out of the room, leaving me to wonder what might have happened if he had surrendered to his desire. 

And a part of me wished he had. 

Fuck. 

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