Married to my Enemy

The Ruined Heiress The champagne in my glass costs more than my monthly rent. I don’t drink it. I don’t even sip it. Instead, I swirl it, watch the golden bubbles rise and burst, and imagine each one as the smug, perfect face of Liam Kane popping out of existence. Across the ballroom, I spot him—six-foot-something of expensive suit and colder-than-Arctic charisma. The man who destroyed my family. The man I’ve fantasized about smothering with one of these ridiculous white linen tablecloths. Unfortunately, he looks like he stepped out of a billionaire-themed calendar. And unfortunately for my sanity, he’s smiling at me. Not just a polite smile. Oh no. It’s that slow, dangerous curl of lips that says he knows exactly who I am, and exactly why I’m here. I grip my glass tighter. I’ve been planning this confrontation for weeks. Months. Ever since I learned where he’d be tonight. By the end of this gala, Liam Kane will regret ever crossing paths with Aria Blake. --- Ten Minutes Earlier The valet had looked at me like I didn’t belong here. Which, fair—my borrowed gown might’ve been designer five seasons ago, but the hem was held up with double-sided tape and silent desperation. The scent of money practically dripped from the marble pillars and crystal chandeliers. Everyone here was either royalty, rich, or the kind of person who “accidentally” bought a yacht last summer. I was here on a mission, not a shopping spree. The room glowed in shades of gold and crystal, the music a tasteful blend of piano and jazz. Waiters floated between tables with trays of champagne and caviar. My heels clicked against the polished marble as I walked in, every step rehearsed. When I spotted him—tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly groomed—talking to a senator like he owned him (he probably did), my pulse jumped. Not from attraction, obviously. More like… the same way your heart races when you’re about to stab a steak knife into a raw steak. He saw me coming before I reached him, eyes sweeping over me in one slow, deliberate pass. Amusement flickered in his gaze. I hated that he was amused. “Aria Blake,” he said, like my name was an inside joke only he got. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought your family swore off the gala circuit after… well.” He let the pause hang, sharp as a blade. “My family didn’t swear off anything,” I shot back. “We just don’t usually attend events hosted by thieves.” --- He raised a brow. “Thief? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.” “And yet,” I said, tilting my head, “you did steal my father’s company out from under him.” “That’s one way to describe a legal acquisition.” His voice was low, calm, infuriatingly confident. “Another way would be: business.” “You mean betrayal.” He smiled again—wolfish, slow. “I see you haven’t lost your bite. Good.” “I didn’t come here to flirt with you, Kane.” “Flirt?” His eyes glittered. “Is that what you think we’re doing?” “I think you’re trying to get under my skin,” I said. “And it’s not working.” “Really?” He stepped closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for me to catch the faint scent of cedar and something darker, sharper. “Because from where I’m standing… you look rattled.” I forced a laugh. “From where I’m standing, you look like a man with a death wish.” “Oh, Aria.” His voice dropped, almost a purr. “You have no idea.” --- Flashback – Two Years Ago It was a Thursday. I remember because Thursdays were Dad’s “quiet days”—no meetings after lunch, just golf, paperwork, and maybe a late dinner with my mom. Except that Thursday, he didn’t come home smiling. Instead, he stormed through the door pale and sweating, his tie hanging loose like it was strangling him. “It’s Kane,” he told my mother, his voice shaking. “He bought the board. Every last one of them. They voted to sell to him.” My mom froze. “But that’s—” “Perfectly legal,” Dad said bitterly. “The contracts were airtight. He’s taken everything.” The next weeks were a blur. Lawsuits we couldn’t win. “Leaked” documents making Dad look incompetent. Friends avoiding us in public. Mom crying quietly at night so she wouldn’t wake Ethan. By the end of the year, we’d lost the house, the cars, everything but a small apartment and what little Dad had left in savings. Dad died six months later—heart attack. The doctor said it was his health, but I knew better. And Liam Kane sent flowers to the funeral. White lilies. Not even a card. --- Back to the Gala I didn’t realize I’d been gripping my glass so tightly until my fingers started to ache. I set it down before I threw it at him. “I’m not here to play nice,” I told him. “I didn’t think you were,” he said, that damned smirk still in place. “But if you came to make a scene, you might want to pace yourself. The night is young.” “I came to tell you exactly what I think of you.” “I already know what you think of me, Aria.” His gaze softened—barely. “But what you think you know… that’s another matter entirely.” Before I could demand what that meant, a voice broke through the noise. “Aria!” I turned. It was Elena, my best friend, her expression a mixture of panic and relief. She grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the corner. “What?” I hissed. “It’s Ethan,” she said, voice shaking. “He collapsed. The hospital just called—you need to get there now.” My heart stopped. “What happened?” “They don’t know yet. But… Aria, the treatment—” She didn’t have to finish. We both knew what she meant. The treatment we couldn’t afford. I glanced back toward the center of the room. Liam Kane was still watching me. And for the first time all night, he wasn’t smiling. --- That’s when I knew. I would have to make a deal with the devil. --- I didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Elena—I just grabbed my tiny clutch, nearly tripped over the hem of my dress, and made for the exit. The marble floor felt like a minefield in these ridiculous heels, but adrenaline has a way of turning a person into a sprinter. Outside, the valet recognized my panic and didn’t even bother making me wait for my borrowed sedan. I tossed him my ticket and muttered something that was probably “thank you” but might have just been a gasp of oxygen. Ethan. My baby brother. He’d been doing so well—well enough to fake being fine, anyway. I’d seen him that morning before my shift at the café. He’d promised me he was “just a little tired.” Liar. --- The hospital was ten minutes away but felt like a hundred. The fluorescent lights in the emergency ward hit me like a slap when I burst inside. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fear. “Ethan Blake,” I told the nurse at the desk, my voice tight. “He came in a few minutes ago—” She glanced at her monitor. “He’s in Room 12. Doctor’s with him now.” I didn’t wait for permission. Ethan looked pale against the white sheets, his brown hair damp with sweat. Tubes and wires surrounded him like the world’s worst Christmas lights. “Hey, Aria,” he said weakly when he saw me. “Guess I’m more dramatic than you are now.” “Don’t make jokes,” I snapped, my throat thick. “You scared me half to death.” “I’m fine. Just tired.” “You’re not fine,” I said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “And you’re a terrible liar.” The doctor entered then—a man in his fifties with the kind of expression that told you the truth wasn’t going to be pretty. --- Ten minutes later, I sat in a vinyl chair trying to process the words aggressive relapse and urgent treatment. The numbers he’d quoted were worse than I’d feared. There was no charity option for this, no payment plan, no “we’ll work something out.” It was tens of thousands of dollars. Upfront. I felt hollow, like my body had been scooped out. “Aria.” The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely wrong for this sterile, panicked place. I turned. Liam Kane was leaning against the doorway like he owned the hospital—or maybe the entire city. He’d shed his suit jacket somewhere, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of skin I absolutely refused to notice. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. “I followed you,” he said simply. “You looked… distressed.” “Oh, so you thought you’d stalk me for sport?” “I thought,” he said, stepping inside, “that you might need me.” That stopped me cold. “I would rather ask a rattlesnake for a cuddle.” “Cute,” he said. “But I’m serious. I can make this problem go away.” I stood, crossing my arms. “And in return, what? I scrub your toilets? Kiss your shoes?” A faint smile touched his lips. “Nothing so degrading.” “Then what?” He held my gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “Marry me.” --- I laughed. It wasn’t the amused, ha-ha kind of laugh. It was the laugh of a person so far past shock they’ve wandered into absurdity. “You’re insane,” I said. “Possibly,” he allowed. “But I’m also your best option.” “For what, exactly?” “Your brother gets the treatment. You get financial security for a year. I get…” He paused, that smirk returning. “You.” My stomach did an involuntary flip, which I instantly blamed on stress. “Why?” “Let’s just say it’s… mutually beneficial.” “Mutually beneficial,” I repeated. “As in, you benefit and I get to choke on wedding cake?” “As in,” he said, his voice dropping, “you get to protect your brother, and I get to protect something of my own.” “What could you possibly need protecting from?” He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer until I could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the challenge in his eyes. “Think about it, Aria,” he said softly. “You hate me. I’m aware. But I’m offering you everything you need—on a silver platter.” “I’d rather starve.” “Your brother might not feel the same.” The words landed like a punch. I hated him for saying them. I hated him more for being right. --- I didn’t give him an answer that night. I didn’t trust myself not to strangle him if I opened my mouth. But as I sat by Ethan’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall under the thin hospital blanket, the weight of my choices crushed me. I could keep my pride. Or I could keep my brother alive.