Forced to Marry my Enemy

The Keet University smelled like rain and old books. Alina hated both. Rain ruined her boots. Old books meant Professor Zee’s surprise Advanced Calculus quiz. Neither helped when she’d slept 3 hours and her coffee was cold. She shoved through the Economics Department doors, black gown swishing, bag slung over her shoulder. At 21, Alina had perfected looking put-together while feeling like an unstudied midterm. “Alina!” That voice — broken glass wrapped in velvet — belonged to Zain. The hallway silenced. It always did for Zain. 6’2”, black shirt straining over broad shoulders, scar from wrist to elbow. Eyes like a winter storm. Mafia heir. Topper. The boy who made professors resign. Also, unfortunately, her fiancé. “Didn’t hear you,” Alina said, not looking back. “Must be your ego blocking the airwaves.” Gasps. No one talked to Zain like that. Except Alina. He was beside her in two strides. “You’re late. Again.” “And you’re breathing,” she shot back. “Equally disappointing.” His jaw ticked. The only honest reaction she ever got. The rest was cold calculation — same look he used solving equations in 30 seconds. They hated each other. Everyone at UoK knew. Alina and Zain: two toppers at war for 1st since freshman year. She beat him by 0.5 last semester. He beat her by 1.2 before that. Professors posted grades separately to avoid riots. What no one knew: they were engaged. Forced. Doomed. Three months ago, it wasn’t rings. It was blood. Alina’s father, Dr. Morris, was ambushed leaving Jusan Hospital. Three men, guns, demanding his cardiac drug research. Alina was in the backseat. Gun to her father’s head. Hands shaking, she called 1122. “Location.” Cold. Calm. Wrong for 22. Thirty seconds later, a black BMW slammed into the attackers. Zain stepped out, pistol ready. Two shots. Two men down. He checked her father’s pulse, then her. “You’re bleeding.” Shrapnel had cut her arm. He pressed his jacket to it. “Pressure.” No softness. Just command. Saving Dr. Morris was business — the Zaden family ran half of Keet City’s pharma. Saving Alina was... unknown. Two weeks later, Zain’s father Jack came to inform, not ask. “Your daughter saved my business. My son saved your life. Debt’s even. Marriage.” Alina: “I’m not a debt.” Jack smiled, cold. “You’re an asset. My son needs a smart wife. You’ll do.” Then photos hit the table — her brother Aris leaving school. Her mother shopping. “Engagement. Or funeral.” So they got engaged. A week later, Alina learned why. Six months earlier, at a gala, she’d saved a drunk, bleeding Zain from rival attackers. Smashed a fire extinguisher, dragged him to her car, paid a clinic in cash, left. He never saw her face. But he never forgot the jasmine scent and the scar on her left thumb. Now they were engaged. And hated each other. Because Zain didn’t know she was that girl. *Present day.* “Spot quiz. Chapter 7,” Zain said, falling into step. Most words he’d said publicly all week. Alina hadn’t read it. “Since when do you care if I fail?” “I don’t. But I don’t beat second-place.” She still won. 27/30 to his 26. He cracked his pen. She hid her smile. War was their love language. *That night.* 11:47 PM. Unknown text: _“Want to break engagement. Contact this number. -1133445566”_ She called. “You’re stupid for calling,” a man said, American accent. “Zain doesn’t want this either. But if YOU break it, Jack can’t retaliate.” Line dead. Signed _X_. New text. Photo: Zain bloody in a car, a woman’s hand with a scarred thumb holding his wrist. _“He keeps this. He’s looking for her. Not you. Break it.”_ Alina’s scar burned. She deleted everything. Opened her laptop. If X wanted war, he chose wrong. *Next morning.* Zain to Jack: “I want to break the engagement.” “No. She raised profits 12%. She’s an asset.” “She’s weak. She’ll get killed.” Jack: “Good. You’ll save her. Again. I sent you that night. I knew she saved you at the gala. Jasmine. Scar. I collected her.” Zain left, shattered. Drove to UoK. Found Alina asleep in the library, pencil on her cheek. Innocent. Kind. _His._ The thought ambushed him. He didn’t know why his chest hurt. Why he covered her with his jacket. Why he’d kill anyone who took her. Text: _“She’s going to break it. Stop her. -x”_ He deleted it. Sat across from her. Waited. The war was just beginning.