The Enemy Who Loves Me

Fiona POV

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Fiona's POV

The moment we stepped into the VIP room, I felt like I had entered a completely different world. The air was quieter, heavier—charged with an intensity I couldn't escape. Unlike the chaotic energy of the club outside, this space was controlled, intimate.

And I was alone with him.

Adrian Morreti.

The boy I was supposed to get close to. The boy who wasn't supposed to be looking at me like this—sharp, assessing, like he could peel back my layers and see straight into the secrets I was trying so hard to keep.

"Are you okay?" His voice was smooth, deep, but laced with something unreadable as his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice coming out too soft, too breathless.

His gaze lingered for a second longer, making my stomach twist in ways I wasn't ready to analyze.

"You can sit down," he said, gesturing to the plush seat across from him.

I hesitated, but it was like his voice carried some unspoken authority—hypnotic, commanding. Against my better judgment, I lowered myself onto the chair.

And instantly regretted it.

His stare never wavered, intense and unreadable, making my skin prickle. I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every move I made under his watchful gaze.

Why was he looking at me like that?

Did he suspect something?

Did he know?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

"Why a-are you staring at me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he knew I was nervous. As if he liked it.

"What's your name?" he asked abruptly.

My pulse spiked.

"Fiona," I answered instinctively—then immediately regretted it.

Idiot. Stupid. Reckless.

I was supposed to be careful. I was supposed to be Jack. But in just one second, I had let my guard slip.

Adrian's eyes darkened slightly, his fingers tapping against the glass in thought. "Fiona," he echoed, tasting my name like he was trying to commit it to memory.

I forced a casual smile, praying he wouldn't linger on it.

"What brings a girl like you to a club?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

I latched onto the question like a lifeline. "I needed to relieve some stress," I said, grateful my voice came out steady this time.

His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he leaned back, his expression lazy. "And did it work?"

"Not yet," I admitted truthfully.

His smirk deepened.

"What about you?" I asked, desperate to shift the focus away from me. "Why are you here?"

He let out a low chuckle. "I was forced by a friend."

I raised a brow. "Somehow, that absolutely surprises me."

"Why?"

I find myself smiling as I say, "Well you don't look like someone who can be forced to do something he doesn't want to,"

"Mmm, he's my friend," he simply replied in a solemn tone.

Hearing this, I stood up. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said, suddenly feeling guilty.

"You're not," Adrian replied smoothly. "If anything, I should be thanking you. You just saved me from a painfully dull night."

I hesitated before slowly sitting back down. Truth be told, I didn't want to go home yet either.

A silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then—

"I noticed you were staring at me earlier," Adrian said suddenly, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. "Do you know me?"

My breath caught.

Shit.

"No," I lied, too quickly. "Why would I?"

His smirk didn't falter. "Huh. Funny."

Before I could panic, he turned his head slightly. "Waiter."

A man appeared almost instantly. "A bottle," Adrian ordered, then flicked his gaze back to me. "Do you want one?"

I opened my mouth to refuse, but something about the way he looked at me—the curiosity, the amusement, the silent challenge—made me change my mind.

"Yes," I said, nodding.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression before he leaned back into his chair.

Minutes later, the drinks arrived. I took a cautious sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol slide down my throat.

"Thank you… for earlier," I said, meaning it.

Adrian tilted his head slightly. "No problem."

For some reason, the casual kindness in his voice surprised me. Someone like him—powerful, dangerous—shouldn't be capable of gentleness.

I took another sip, trying to ignore the strange warmth settling in my chest.

"Calm down," he murmured, watching how quickly I drank.

"Mmm," I hummed, already feeling the alcohol take effect.

His gaze flickered. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I answered automatically.

Adrian stilled.

"Oh," he muttered. "You're still a minor."

I frowned. "Aren't you also a minor?"

The corner of his lips curled. "Oh, you'll be eighteen soon."

The words left our lips at the exact same time.

My stomach dropped.

His smirk disappeared.

The air shifted.

His sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, a calculating glint flashing across them. "Wait." His voice was slower now, more dangerous. "How did you know that?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing for an excuse.

"I—uh—just guessed," I stammered, reaching for my drink in a desperate attempt to cover up my mistake.

Adrian didn't blink.

Didn't move.

Didn't believe me.

The silence was deafening, stretching between us like a blade ready to drop.

Then, his gaze flicked to my fingers clutching the glass. He leaned forward slightly, the intensity in his expression making my breath hitch.

And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.

I wasn't the only one studying him tonight.

Adrian Morreti was studying me, too.

And he was already suspicious.