The Enemy Who Loves Me

Fiona Pov

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I wouldn't call my life special. In fact, there isn't much about it that's mine. 

Every decision, every move I make—it all belongs to her. My mother, the woman who demands perfection.

My feet pound against the pavement, the rhythmic thud matching the beat of my heart. 

Not out of desire. 

Out of duty. 

Six laps? Seven? It doesn't matter. 

I don't stop until I'm told. The burn in my lungs is familiar, almost comforting. A reminder that there's no room for weakness. 

No room for mistakes.

By the time I finish, my body is drenched in sweat, but the cold shower strips it away, leaving only the rigid discipline I've been raised on. 

No time to waste. No lingering. I throw on my clothes and head downstairs.

The basement smells of gunpowder and steel. My trainer's already waiting, arms crossed, impatience written all over his face. I don't bother apologizing. We move straight to the range.

The moment my fingers curl around the gun, something inside me settles. This— is the one part of the training I actually enjoy. 

The adrenaline. The focus. The rush that surges through me as I pull the trigger. 

The sharp crack of the shot. 

The satisfaction when the bullet hits its mark.

A small smile tugs at my lips—

"What's there to feel proud of?"

The voice slices through the air, sharp, cutting. I freeze. My stomach twists, the blood drains from my face.

My mother steps forward, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. "Just that little shot, and you think you've achieved something?" Disgust laces her words. "You disappoint me. How many times have I told you? Emotions are for the weak."

The sting should've faded by now, but it never does. I keep my face blank, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat. 

I'll never be enough for her. I've known that since the moment I was born. A girl. A disgrace. The unwanted reminder of my father—

"Follow me to the office," she commands, turning sharply on her heel.

I don't hesitate. I set the gun down with steady hands, even as my insides churn. 

My footsteps are near silent, a stark contrast to the sharp clicks of her heels echoing down the corridor.

The office is as cold and precise as the woman who owns it. Neatly stacked files. A massive wooden desk. Not a single thing out of place.

She doesn't sit. Instead, she leans against the desk, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Then, without preamble, she tosses a photograph onto the surface.

"I have a mission for you," she says.

I step closer. The image is of a boy, his face strikingly familiar.

"Adrian Morreti," I murmur.

Her lips curl. "You'll dress as a boy and get close to him. Become his friend. Earn his trust. Learn his father's secrets."

The weight of her words sinks in. Adrian Morreti isn't just some rich high school kid. 

His father rules the underworld, a man even the most ruthless criminals fear. And she wants me to infiltrate his life.

My pulse spikes, but I force my face to remain unreadable.

My mother notices the flicker of hesitation anyway. Her gaze sharpens, her voice dropping to a sneer. "What's wrong, Fiona? No matter how much you try, a girl will always be a girl."

I don't react. Arguing is useless. Her disappointment is a permanent stain I'll never wash off.

She dismisses me with a flick of her hand. As I turn to leave, my eyes drift back to the photograph.

Adrian Morreti's blue eyes stare back at me, unreadable.

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A week later, I sat in the backseat of a sleek black car, staring out at the blurred scenery.

Fiona no longer exists.

My mother made sure of that.

I repeat the name in my head like a mantra, forcing it to settle into my bones.

Jack Griffo.

Son of Mr. and Mrs. Griffo. An ordinary boy from an ordinary family. A student at Philli Elite School.

The words feel foreign, but they have to become mine.

Because for the rest of this mission—Jack Griffo is who I am.

Weeks bled into days, and then, at last, the mission began.

I'm going to a new school.

Heart pounding, I weaved through the bustling streets toward the bus station. A taxi was out of the question—too posh and I'm supposed to keep a low profile.

The strap of my new but worn-out school bag dug into my palm, a silent reminder of my new identity.

Jack Griffo.

The school bus stopped and I boarded it cautiously, shouldnt I be dropped off since it's the first day today? 

Sigh.

The bus was silent but I still felt weird. It was my first time on one, and the suffocating closeness of bodies, the stale scent of sweat and metal—it was overwhelming. 

None of the students talk to me and I like it like that, I was too nervous to think about a decent conversation.

So, I forced myself to stay calm, claiming an empty seat and steadying my breath. But my mind wouldn't stop.

"What if he hates you?"

"What if I can't get close?"

"If he finds out who you are…"

My mother's voice slithered into my thoughts, cold and merciless.

"He won't hesitate to get rid of you. And neither would I."

A shiver crawled down my spine. It wasn't a warning—it was a promise.

I clenched my fists. There was no room for mistakes.

By the time I stepped onto the school grounds, my heart was a steady, controlled beat. 

The towering glass building reflected my carefully crafted image back at me—blazer crisp, posture rigid, eyes void of emotion. Jack. Not Fiona.

I moved with purpose, heading straight for the principal's office. 

The receptionist barely looked up before motioning toward the door. Pushing it open, I stepped inside.

Behind the desk sat a fat, bald man—his cheerful grin deceptive to anyone who didn't know better. But I did.

"Ah, Jack," he greeted, voice dripping with feigned warmth.

The smile didn't fool me. 

This man wasn't just a harmless principal—he was my mother's watchdog, planted here to ensure I didn't stray from the mission. 

His presence alone was a reminder: Failure is not an option.

"Your class is B," he continued smoothly, but before he could say more, a knock interrupted him.

Relief flickered through me as the door creaked open, revealing a young man with an easy smile.

"Principal, I heard we have a new transfer student in Class B," the teacher said, stepping inside.

"Indeed." The principal gestured toward me.

The teacher's gaze met mine, warm and welcoming. "I'm Robin," he introduced himself, extending a hand.

I took it, shaking firmly. "Hi, Mr Robin, Jack Griffo."

"Great! Let's get you settled in," Mr Robin said, turning toward the door.

I followed him, keeping my steps measured, my mind already bracing for what was next.

The second we entered the classroom, the buzz of conversation died. Every pair of eyes locked onto me, sizing me up, analyzing the new face in their midst.

Robin smiled. "Let's welcome our new student. Jack, introduce yourself."

I stepped forward, keeping my expression neutral. "Hi, Jack Griffo," I said flatly, my voice devoid of warmth.

I barely finished speaking before my gaze swept the room, searching.

Then I saw him.

Adrian Morreti. Oh lord.

He didn't need to do anything to stand out—his presence alone commanded attention. Golden-blond hair, sharp blue eyes, an air of quiet authority.

The moment my gaze lingered a second too long, he felt it. His icy stare snapped to mine, unreadable yet piercing, as if he were already questioning why I was watching him so intently.

I quickly averted my eyes, masking my thoughts behind a cold facade.

But it was too late.

Something in his stare told me he wasn't the type to ignore curiosity.

The morning passed in a blur, every interaction carefully measured, every move calculated. By the time the first bell rang, I was relieved to step out of the class I heard nothing in—but also frustrated. No progress. No inroads to Adrian.

As I exited the class, my breath hitched.

A set of two boys we're heading past me.

Adrian and probably his best friend.

I turned away swiftly, pretending not to notice—but I'd already been caught.

From the corner of my eye, I saw it. The flicker of suspicion. The slight tilt of his head as he leaned back in his seat.

"Adrian, is something wrong?" I hear his friend ask, concerned.

Adrian's gaze didn't leave me. "Nothing," he murmured. "Let's go."

They headed out and I can't believe I cowered instead of introducing myself. Also why is he looking at a boy like that? I'm a boy! Jack Griffo! 

I guess a bit of introduction has been done.

He noticed me.

I exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension as I made my way to the next class. The crowd of students thickened as they rushed to their various destinations and I wished I was taller, and when I finally reached my next class, I squeezed inside, immediately engulfed by the press of new faces and curiousity.

"Great," I muttered under my breath.

Spotting an empty seat, I moved toward it—

Only for a busty girl to shove past me and drop into the spot, her smugness radiating off her like cheap perfume.

Annoyance flared. My first instinct was to let it slide—until she lifted her chin, gloating.

Never back down.

I plastered on a sharp, polite smile. "Excuse me, I was about to sit there. Would you mind getting up?"

I knew I was a new student but I had rights.

She glanced up, startled by my tone, then scoffed. "Do you see your name written here? First come, first served." Her voice was loud—intentionally, drawing the attention of the class to us. To me.

A beat of silence. Then—

"The new boy was about to sit there, and you took the seat without asking," a softer looking girl in class pointed out. I frown

Murmurs rippled through the class, voices agreeing, frowning at the blatant unfairness. The busty girl's face flushed red with shame, but her pride held her glued to the seat.

I smirked inwardly. I didn't need the seat. I'd already won. If there was another I'd go sit there, I was a new student after all I should stay calm and low, follow the mission and stop looking for trouble.

But as I decided to stay low, a strange sensation crept up my spine.

Like I was being watched.

I glanced sideways—

And froze.

Across the crowded class, standing by the wall, was Adrian.

Our eyes met. We're in the same class again?!

This time, I couldn't look away.

His expression was unreadable, but his gaze held something different now.

Curiosity. Interest. A silent challenge.

The class rattled on, friends talking amongst themselves, but in that moment, one thing was clear—

He wasn't just suspicious anymore.

He was watching me now.

I'm not the only one who's curious.

He was too. But I'm a freaking boy