MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

THE LETTER

Amara's Pov.

The envelope was still in my hands. I hadn’t moved since we got to the room, we were supposed to be moving my things in. Following orders. Sharing a bed, a room, a marriage. Instead, we were staring at a piece of paper that shouldn’t exist.

“Open it," Daniel said quietly. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Not looking at me. Looking at the envelope like it might bite. I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. The paper was thick. Expensive. The kind our fathers used for contracts. There was no stamp. No return address. Just both our names written in black ink: "AMARA AND DANIEL"

My hands were shaking. “Are you going to just hold it all night?” Daniel asked. There was no bite in it. Just tiredness. I peeled it open with shaking fingers. The seal broke with a soft tear. One folded sheet with our names written with black ink. The letters slanted like whoever wrote it was in a rush, or angry. Daniel leaned over so we could both read it. His shoulder brushed mine. Rule.2. No touching. Neither of us moved away.

"Daniel. and Amara. You don’t know why your fathers hate each other. They told you it was business. A bad deal 20 years ago. That’s not true. I know who really started it. I know the name. And I know why they’ve kept you two in the dark. Your families’ enmity wasn’t an accident. Someone wanted it. Someone made sure it happened. That same someone has been watching you since the engagement was announced. If you want to know the truth, come alone by tomorrow, 11 p.m. at Old Andrews warehouse on 4th Street. Back entrance, come together and don’t tell anyone. Not your fathers. Not the police. If you do, you’ll never know. You’ve been living a lie. Time to find out who wrote it. A friend."

The paper made a soft sound when Daniel let go of it. It fell onto the blanket between us, face up, like an accusation. For a long time, the only noise was the AC. A low hum that suddenly felt like the only thing keeping us from falling apart. “A name,” I whispered. My voice came out smaller than I intended. “They know a name.” Daniel picked the letter up again. Read it a second time. His jaw was tight. The muscle in his cheek jumped once, then again. “Someone wanted it,” he repeated. “Someone made sure it happened.”

“That means this whole thing. The merger. Us.” I swallowed. “It wasn’t just our dads being stubborn. It means we were set up."

The word hung in the air. I pulled my knees up to my chest. The bed was huge. King size. Too big for two people who weren’t supposed to be in it together.

“Do you believe it?” I asked. “That someone did this on purpose?” Daniel didn’t answer right away. He stared at the letter like he could burn holes in it. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I grew up hearing the story. How your dad stole the shipping contract. How my dad leaked the deal to the press. How they ruined each other"

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “It was the bedtime story in Andrew's house. Don’t trust the Nicholas. They’re liars. They’re thieves.”

“And in my house it was the opposite,” I said. “Don’t trust Andrews. They’ll stab you in the back and smile while they do it.” We looked at each other. Really looked. For the first time since we’d been forced into this room, there was no anger. Just confusion.

“But I believe someone’s been watching us,” Daniel said. He set the letter down carefully, like it was evidence. “The photos. The texts. The cameras in the living room.” My stomach twisted.

“Who would do that?” I asked. “Who benefits from us hating each other?”

“Exactly,” Daniel said. “If our dads made up, if the companies merged for real, if we...” He trailed off. “If we, what?”

“If we actually got along,” he finished quietly. “The merger would be unstoppable. Whoever wanted them weak would lose". I nodded slowly. The pieces were starting to fit, but the picture they made was wrong. “11 p.m.” I said.

“Tomorrow at the warehouse. If we go, we’re disobeying both of them,” Daniel said. He stood up and walked to the window. Pulled the curtain back an inch. The city lights were out there, indifferent. “If we don’t go, we will stay in this Forever with rules and pretending we need no answers.”

He turned around. For the first time tonight, he wasn’t keeping distance. He wasn’t Mr. Andrew’s son. He wasn’t my husband by contract. He was just Daniel. Tired. Angry. Trapped. “What do you want to do, Amara?” The question hit me harder than it should have. No one had asked me what I wanted in months.

I thought about Rule 1,3 and 7. No emotions, no interfering and don’t care. Rules we’d made to survive each other. I thought about them, and I threw them out. “I want to know,” I said. My voice was steadier now. “I want to know who did this to us. To our families. To 20 years of... whatever this is." Daniel nodded once. Slow. Decisive.

“Okay. Then we go. Together." The word "together" shouldn’t have made my chest feel lighter. But it did. He folded the letter along the original crease and put it in the nightstand drawer. Locked it. The small key went into his wallet. Like that would keep it safe. Like a locked drawer could protect us from whatever was waiting at 11 p.m.

We stood there for a moment, not sure what came next. “Your suitcase,” Daniel said, gesturing to the half-packed bag on the chair. “You were moving in.” I nodded and started pulling clothes out. Shirts, jeans, the one dress I wore to the wedding. Daniel watched me for a second, then opened his closet and shoved hangers to the side to make space. We worked in silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was... careful.

When I was done, I sat on my side of the bed. He sat on his. A full foot of blanket between us, a border neither of us crossed.

Neither of us slept. I counted the minutes, I could hear Daniel breathing. Slow, then fast, then slow again. He wasn’t asleep either.

At 2: 14 a.m. my phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound made both of us jolt.

Unknown number. My heart was in my throat as I picked it up." Good. I’ll be waiting. Bring the letter" No name. No signature. Just that. I didn’t show Daniel. I locked the screen and set the phone face down. “Who was it?” he mumbled, half-asleep. “Spam,” I lied. The word tasted awful. He grunted and turned over. I just turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow night. A warehouse. And the name of the person who ruined both our families. I thought about our parents, about 20 years of bitterness that started before I was even born. What if the letter was a trap or what if it was worse than a trap? What if it was the truth? My mind wouldn’t stop. I replayed every memory I had of my father talking about the Andrews. Every time Daniel’s dad said the word "Nicholas" like it was poison. "Had it all been a lie?" I reasoned.

Around 4a.m, I heard Daniel shift. “You awake?” he whispered into the dark. “Yeah.”

“You scared?” I considered lying about Rule 1. “Yes,” I admitted. “Are you?” A pause. “Terrified.” The honesty knocked the air out of me. “Me too,” I said. Another long pause.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. We could burn the letter. Pretend we never got it.”

“We could,” I said. “But then we’d never know.”

“And if knowing ruins everything?” I turned my head on the pillow. I could just make out his profile in the dark. “Then at least it’ll be our choice. Not theirs.” Daniel didn’t answer. But after a minute, his hand moved on the bed. Not touching me. Just closer. Resting on the blanket between us.

I didn’t move my hand away. We lay like that until the sky outside turned gray. Neither of us slept. At 6: 30 a.m. Daniel’s alarm went off. We both got up like we’d agreed to it. Shower, coffee, suits. The normal routine. Except now there was a secret between us. A time. A place. A name we don’t know yet.

In the car on the way to the office, Daniel broke the silence. “If this is real,” he said, eyes on the road, “if someone really did this...”

“Yeah?”

“We make them pay.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel under it. “Not for the companies but for us.” I looked out the window. Lagos was waking up. Traffic, hawkers, billboards with both our family names on them. “For us,” I repeated.

He pulled into the parking garage at the Andrews Tower. Before he got out, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the letter. He didn’t open it. Just held it. “11 p.m.” he said. “Back entrance.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I added. “Not our fathers. Not the police.” We got out of the car. I was afraid. But for the first time since the wedding, I wasn’t afraid of Daniel. I was afraid of what we were about to find out. And I was afraid that once we knew the name, nothing would ever be the same again.