The Enemy Who Loves Me

Adrian POV

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Adrian's POV

"Young Master, should I drive you to the Morreti mansion, or do you have somewhere else in mind?" the driver asked, his tone as formal as ever.

I was about to answer when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Without glancing at the screen, I held up a hand, signaling the driver to wait.

"Hello?" I answered, already disinterested.

"It's Josh. Are you on your way?"

I frowned. "On my way where?"

Silence. Then, an ear-splitting yell erupted through the speaker, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

"Don't tell me you're backing out of your promise! I told you there's a gathering today—Monday, Adrian!" Josh was practically seething.

Oh. That.

"Right," I said lazily, leaning back against the leather seat. "I remember now."

Josh huffed, clearly unimpressed. "So? Are you coming, or am I going to have to hunt you down myself?"

A smirk tugged at my lips. As if he could.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. The idea of going home felt suffocating—another night of forced smiles, meaningless conversations, and my parents pretending to be the perfect couple. No thanks.

"Mm," I hummed, dragging out the silence for dramatic effect. "I'm coming."

Josh let out a relieved sigh. "Good."

I ended the call and turned to the driver. "Take me to the bar."

"Yes, sir," he responded, pulling the car into motion without hesitation.

By the time we arrived, I was already bored. I unlocked the door myself, stepping out before the driver could rush to open it for me. 

The air was crisp, laced with the distant hum of city life, but I barely paid attention as I made my way to the entrance.

The moment I reached the door, a security guard blocked my path. "ID, sir," he requested, his voice steady but firm.

I didn't react, just slipped a hand into my pocket and handed it over.

He barely glanced at the card before his eyes widened in realization.

"S-Sorry, Mr. Morreti! I didn't realize it was you!" His voice cracked, a bead of sweat forming at his temple.

I said nothing. Didn't acknowledge the stammering. Didn't reassure him.

I just walked past.

The atmosphere shifted the moment I stepped inside. 

Dim lights, deep bass thrumming through the floor, the scent of expensive liquor and desperation clinging to the air.

Immediately, a hostess rushed to my side, her red lips curving into a practiced smile. "Mr. Morreti, right this way," she purred, leading me toward the VIP section without question.

Josh and the others were already seated, glasses in hand, loud and obnoxious as ever.

But before I joined them, something—someone—caught my eye.

A girl. Sitting at the bar, dressed in a red crop top and black mini skirt, her heels tapping lightly against the stool.

There was something effortless about her confidence, the way she carried herself—sharp, poised, dangerous.

She wasn't like the usual women who came here, trying too hard to be noticed.

No, she expected to be noticed.

And when she picked up her glass, her reflection barely shifting as her gaze scanned the room—I knew.

She wasn't just here to drink.

She was watching.

My lips curled slightly as I leaned back, swirling the whiskey in my hand.

Then, her eyes finally found mine.

Even from across the room, I saw it—the flicker of recognition. The sharp, instinctive tension in her posture.

She knew me.

The smirk tugged deeper.

She knew exactly who I was.

And now, I wanted to know exactly who she was.

I sat there watching her and the way that guy left with a frown I am sure she turned him down well.

Feisty.

Mmm, in another man's arm.

What is he doing?

I hate disgusting men like that.

Does she look like she's enjoying it? 

Whys a soft teenage girl like her here anyways?

Before I could stop myself I was already out of my seat and towards them.

"She said to let her go, are you deaf?" I bellowed.