The night was carved in crystal and glass.

Vienna’s Grand Imperial Hall, full of people from the world's elite. Power-suited men flirting with diamond-draped women exchanged smirks, kisses, and secrets under gold-dipped chandeliers. But none of them silenced the room like my presence did.

Draped in a high-necked, blood-red gown that whispered authority with every step, I knew the power of presence. My heels clicked like punctuation marks on marble, each step making the murmurs grow louder. Lawyers across continents bent to my will. My name was a poisonous blade, my reputation echoing in every courtroom I’d conquered.

At the top of the grand staircase, I paused. Let them look. Let them speculate if I was here to poach the Vortigen deal. I was. And more.

Because he was here.

Archeron Morpheus Leuvremont.

The bane of my ambition. The shadow that never quite left. He stood near the far bar, effortlessly magnetic, surrounded by sycophants who mistook proximity for privilege. His empire was built on fear and brilliance. Ruthless. Precise. Relentless.

Our history was bloodless war—courtroom duels, hostile takeovers, contracts broken just to make a point. He once tanked a client’s billion-dollar merger simply because I was lead counsel.

Petty. Infuriating. Brilliant.

His eyes found me first. Of course they did.

I descended with the poise of inevitability. Let the world watch. Let them see the thorn meet its mirror.

“Wassup, Leuvremont,” I said, voice smooth and flat, the name sharp on my tongue.

“'Sup, Casanove.” His smirk was infuriating. He handed me a glass of wine—expensive, red, dramatic. "I heard you dismantled the Metzinger dynasty."

"They were rotting. I just applied pressure."

“You’ve always had a talent for pressure.”

“And you’ve always had a talent for getting in the way,” I said, annoyed.

"Still poetic, I see," he said with a smirk.

"Still dramatic, I see," I replied.

The air between us crackled, tension veiled in champagne and civility. Around us, conversations faltered—eyes darted. People sensed it: not attraction, not hostility. Something sharper. Older.

Rivalry.

“You’re here for the Vortigen contract,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

“I’m here to win.”

“Then you’re going to be disappointed.”

I smiled without warmth. “You always assume the world bends for you.”

He leaned closer, not enough to touch, just enough to provoke. “It usually does.”

I sipped the wine. Dry. Overpriced. Like him.

Above us, the chandelier gleamed crimson, casting fractured light across his cheekbones. For a moment, the room blurred. Only the battle remained.

“Let’s see who bleeds first, Morpheus,” I whispered.

His smile deepened. “Ladies first.”

The banquet continued around us, but we had already drawn first blood.

The bloom had opened. And the thorns were ready.

I sat at the front of the stage where the bidding would start.

Thirty minutes before the bidding began, I had a storm of what-ifs circling in my head. "What if I never followed the path carved in someone else's name?" "What if I had become a doctor? A space engineer?"

I’d been in my seat for fifteen minutes. No one dared sit next to me.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Of course. Who else would dare but Leuvremont?

“If I say no, will you walk away?” I replied, irritation bleeding through my voice.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother asking. I was going to sit here regardless.” His tone was laced with mockery.

“It’s surprising you’re not glued to the side of a woman dripping in diamonds.”

“Don’t bid for the Vortigen contract,” he said, leaning in, “and I’ll give you ten billion.”

“I’m not short on money,” I replied icily.

“Fifty billion.”

“I told you—”

“One hundred billion.”

I slipped in my earpods, eyes locked on the stage.

I wasn’t here to talk.

I was here to win.

A tall man in a silver suit stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight pinned him in place like a moth.

Before the Vortigen contract was even whispered onto the stage, the room indulged in its appetite for excess. The auctioneer’s voice rang through the hall like an aria of power and privilege.

“Lot One—A château in the French Riviera. Starting bid: five hundred million.”

“Six hundred,” Morpheus said lazily, swirling his wine as if it were blood.

I leaned back in my chair. “One billion.”

Morpheus didn’t even flinch. “Two.”

A murmur rolled through the room.

He was doing it again—turning every bid into a spectacle. I wasn’t about to let him outshine me.

“Three,” I said, lips curled in amusement.

The château was a trophy, nothing more. But it was also a battlefield.

“Sold—to Ms. Casanove.”

The next items paraded through: a rare Fabergé egg, a stolen Banksy resurfaced through legal loopholes, an emerald necklace that once belonged to an exiled queen.

Each item became a skirmish.

“Eight hundred million,” I said for the necklace.

“Nine hundred,” he countered.

“1.2 billion.”

He hesitated.

I smiled. “Sentimental value?”

“Just hate losing,” he replied coolly.

“Sold.”

The crowd was no longer watching the items. They were watching us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the most awaited event, The Vortigen bid. One of the most exclusive and game-changing contracts in global trade history. The starting bid—ten billion.”

Silence.

Then: “Fifteen billion,” I said, removing one earbud.

“Twenty,” Morpheus responded without missing a beat.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

It escalated quickly—billion by billion, voice by voice, until the other bidders were drowned out by the duel.

“Seventy-five billion,” I declared, my voice cutting clean across the room.

Morpheus’s jaw flexed. “Eighty.”

A flick of my wrist. “Eighty-five.”

His smirk twitched. “Ninety.”

I didn’t even blink. “One hundred.”

A gasp rippled across the hall.

The auctioneer raised an eyebrow. “Going once…”

Morpheus raised a hand. “One hundred and forty.”

Silence.

I stood. “One hundred and fifty.”

The hall stopped breathing.

The auctioneer turned. “One hundred and fifty billion, going once… going twice…”

I could feel him watching me—calculating, questioning, wanting to challenge. But this wasn’t about money anymore.

This was personal.

“Sold.”

I exhaled.

The Vortigen contract was mine.

And so was the first win of this war.

Morpheus stood beside me, smiling like he’d just lost a coin toss instead of a kingdom.

“Well played, Casanove,” he said softly. “But this is just the prologue.”

I didn’t look at him. “I hope you brought armor, Leuvremont. Because this is just the beginning.”

IHe smirked—but it was tight, edged with irritation. He leaned in, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let his words slide like silk over a blade.

“Why would I need armor,” he murmured, “when I already have a sword sharp enough to keep you up all night?”

Of course. He wouldn’t let the night end without slipping in one of his signature provocations with double meaning words.

I didn’t flinch. Just met his gaze, cold and steady.

“Winning against you,” I said, voice crisp as shattered glass, “is more than enough to keep me awake tonight.”

His smirk faltered for half a second.

And that was the second win of the night.

His smirk faltered for half a second.

And that was the second win of the night.

I rose slowly, gathering the folds of my gown with calculated grace.

“Excuse me for a bit,” I said, letting a smile ghost across my lips. “I have a contract to sign.”

I didn’t wait for his reply.

Let him stew in the aftermath.

Let him watch me walk away with the victory—and the crown.

After signing the contract, I stepped into a quieter corner of the hall and dialed.

“Mind if I bother you?” I asked, already smirking.

A groggy voice answered, “Yes. I was about to sleep. You just called me in the middle of the night.”

“Want me to deduct your salary?” I teased.

“Just like I said—I'm coming, my best best best friend and best best boss!” she replied instantly, voice snapping into energy.

I ended the call, amused, and returned to my seat—still within earshot of a trio of gossiping women behind me.

“I didn’t know that woman is richer than Mr. Archeron,” said the one in the black slit dress, voice dipped in curiosity.

“You didn’t know her? Oh my gosh! She’s that famous lawyer who dominates every courtroom she steps into. I heard she speaks almost every language,” the one in the red ruby backless dress added, almost breathless.

Well. I never expected fan club commentary tonight.

Then came the dagger. “Then why are there so many rumors that she pays off judges to win?” the woman in the white spaghetti dress said with a snort.

Wow. The audacity.

“I bet she can’t beat Mr. Archeron in business,” another chimed in—this one wearing a blue gown I recognized immediately.

She clearly didn’t realize I owned the very designer label she was flaunting. I even commissioned that collection.

I popped a grape into my mouth, savoring the fruit and the irony.

Then, of course, the inevitable eyesore arrived and slid into the seat beside me like he owned the world.

“Casanove,” he greeted smoothly.

“You drunk?” I asked, not even glancing at him.

He frowned. “I’m not. Do I look drunk to you?”

“No, you usually look like a homeless man begging for my attention. But right now? You look like a drunkard.”

He chuckled. “Me? Beg for your attention? Who even are you?”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to sit next to someone mildly interesting. No one here catches my fancy. It’s all so boring.” He reached for a grape from my plate.

I slapped his hand. “Hey! Get your own!”

As I leaned over to snatch the grape back, I caught the wide-eyed stares from the gossip trio.

“I didn’t know you wanted me so bad,” he said, voice low, smirk wide.

I straightened immediately. “I didn’t know those two have that kind of relationship,” one of the women whispered, not quietly enough.

“This is all your fault,” I snapped at him, glaring.

“My fault?” He scoffed. “You’re the one who leaned in like you were about to kiss me.”

Disgusted, I shoved the plate of grapes into his lap. “All yours. I don’t want them now. They’re already contaminated.”

He laughed as I stood up, brushing my gown.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” he called after me.

I didn’t turn around.

“I only miss my peace and quiet, Leuvremont.”

The cool night air outside the Grand Imperial Hall was a welcome relief. I stood near the valet circle, arms crossed, trying to ignore the ache in my heels and the low buzz of champagne still coiling in my blood.

I checked my phone.

2:04 AM.

No sign of her.

I called again.

“Where are you?” I asked as soon as she answered.

“I’m literally five minutes away, bestie. Do not yell at me or I will crash this car into a fountain.”

I hung up, amused despite myself.

Behind me, the tall doors swung open.

Footsteps. Confident, deliberate.

Of course.

“Waiting for your chariot?” Morpheus’s voice slid beside me like a silk knife.

“I have one. She’s just fashionably late,” I said, eyes forward.

“She?”

“My secretary.”

“Ah. The one who threatened to run you over?”

“She didn’t threaten. She promised.”

He chuckled, then extended a hand toward the sleek black car pulling up to the curb. His.

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

“I’d rather walk barefoot on hot coals.”

He smirked. “I can arrange that.”

I glanced at him. His tie was loose, jacket slung over one shoulder. Somehow still infuriatingly elegant.

“You think offering me a lift will make up for all that earlier nonsense?” I asked.

“No. I just think you’re tired, cold, and too proud to admit you don’t want to wait out here alone with gossiping mannequins staring from the window.”

I hesitated. Just for a second.

Then my phone buzzed.

"Sorry bestie. The car just died. I hate this job. Pick me up instead??"

Fantastic.

I sighed and turned to him. “Fine. But only because my driver has abandoned me in my hour of need.”

He opened the car door with an exaggerated bow. “Your majesty.”

I slid inside. “If this is some ploy to lock me in a confined space and wear me down—”

“You’ll still win,” he interrupted, settling beside me. “You always do. That’s the problem.”

The door shut. The engine purred. Vienna blurred behind us.

For a moment, silence. A rare, comfortable kind.

But with him, peace was always the eye of a storm.

“You really paid one-fifty billion without blinking,” he said eventually, voice unreadable.

“I had to make a point.”

“Which is?”

“That I can outbid, outmaneuver, and outlast you any day of the week.”

He leaned back, watching me from the corner of his eye.

“You keep saying you hate me, Casanove,” he murmured, “but you never walk away.”

“I don't need to walk,” I replied smoothly. “I only need to win.”

He smiled then, like he liked the fight.

And I hated that a very small, dangerous part of me did too.

The G-Wagon that supposed to get me was here in the middle of the road not working.

"Isn't that your car?" He asked

"It is." I replied

He drive near Maxi

"Get in," he smiled

Maxi blinked. “Oh my God, is that—?”

“Yes,” I said tightly, already regretting everything.

He leaned against the window. "I thought I'd do you a favor. I'll get someone to fixed your G-wagon and have it in your hotel by the morning."

Mira gave me a look that said please don’t ruin this for me, and practically threw herself into the car. “It’s cold. I’m tired. He has seat has a warmer.”

Leuvremont didn’t speak at first. He simply watched me from the corner of his as he pulled out from the curb.

I could feel his stare.

“What? Why don't you just focus on driving?” I snapped.

He shrugged. “You don’t let people help you. It’s oddly satisfying watching you tolerate kindness like it’s poison.”

“It is poison when it comes with strings,” I said, folding my arms.

Maxi whispered, “This is better than every K-drama I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re not helping,” I hissed.

Leuvremont chuckled. “Your secretary’s fun. Maybe I should hire her.”

“She bites.”

“She’d fit right in.”

"How much would you offer then?" Maxi fight

"Fifty mill." He replied

"I'll pass, too small. Not even near to my overtime payment." She replied

I let out a laugh "Told you, she bites."

The ride was smooth and too quiet. The tension settled like velvet, thick and luxurious, dangerous.

When we arrived at the hotel, he stepped out first and opened the door for me like some kind of black-tie villain.

I stepped out. Maxi followed, clutching her bag like it contained nuclear codes.

“Get some sleep,” he said, voice dropping. “You’re going to need it.”

I met his gaze, sharp and unflinching. “What for?”

“For whatever’s next.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving nothing but the scent of cologne and trouble in his wake.

Maxi exhaled beside me. “Okay. I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Why you hate him. Why you can’t look away.”

I didn’t answer.

Because for once, I didn’t have the words.

As soon as we were in the elevator, Maxi turned to me with a smirk that spelled trouble.

“So… should I start planning the wedding or just the enemies-to-lovers press release?”

I gave her a glare sharp enough to slice concrete. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ve already started,” she said, grinning. “You know what I saw? A very handsome enemy personally chauffeuring my very scary boss home like a gentleman villain. That’s not rivalry. That’s foreplay.”

“You watch too much drama.”

“You are the drama,” Maxi shot back. “And tonight? Emmy-winning performance. Especially the part where he took grapes from your plate like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Maxi.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I will throw you out of this elevator.”

She just giggled. “It’ll be worth it.”

The elevator doors opened. I stepped out first, my heels echoing across the marble floors.

Behind me, Maxi muttered under her breath, “Next time just kiss him and save us all the tension.”

I pretended not to hear her.

But the smirk tugging at my lips betrayed me.