I'M NOT THE ENEMY

The footsteps of a young man echoed as he moved down the corridor, each stride measured and unhurried, carrying him toward the chamber at the end.

He paused before the doors, his breath tightening in his chest, then pushed them open. The hinges groaned, and golden light spilled across his face as he stepped inside.

On the bed, a woman sat poised, her presence radiating through the room.

Her complexion gleamed with the luster of polished ivory, her features delicate yet striking. From the elegant arch of her brows to the curve of her lips, she seemed carved by perfection itself. Her eyes glimmered with quiet fire, framed by lashes so long they seemed unreal. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in a dark, silken river, her posture regal and commanding.

The man entered fully, and she could not help but stare. His frame was tall, his form sculpted with precision. A fitted suit traced the breadth of his shoulders, tapered to a narrow waist, and draped over strong legs.

His face looked almost too refined for reality: a sharp nose, full lips, brows that framed eyes alive with intensity. His hair, styled with effortless care, was neat yet unruly enough to hint at rebellion. Though only twenty-four, his presence carried the weight of years far beyond his age.

Her breath hitched, though she masked it quickly.

The silence between them pulsed, alive with what neither dared say.

Finally, Camela broke it.

“You know I will not get married to you,” she said, her voice slicing through the stillness. “I refuse to be another pawn in your father’s game.”

“You speak as though I asked you to,” he replied, his tone calm, steady, yet edged with something that unsettled her. He closed the space between them, each step steeped in tension. “Do not confuse my presence with obedience. His will is not mine.”

Her eyes flickered, a fragile mix of disbelief and hope. “Then why are you here?”

“Because,” he answered, pausing just long enough for the silence to thrum between them, “if you cannot bear his command, and I refuse to obey it as well… then perhaps we should stand together instead.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and dangerous.

Camela turned fully toward him, the fire in her gaze clashing with the storm in his. For a heartbeat, they simply stared, two forces colliding without sound.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words followed.

“You cannot mean that,” she breathed, though her tone carried more yearning than doubt.

“I mean every word,” he replied, stepping closer until only a breath separated them. His voice lowered, intimate and edged with warning, like a predator circling its prey. “I have no interest in taking you as a wife for his selfish ambitions.”

Camela shook her head, though her eyes never wavered from his. “Do you realize what you are saying? To defy George Willow, your father, is to invite destruction, and…”

“I know exactly what George Willow is,” he interrupted, and for the first time anger broke through his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. “I have lived under his shadow long enough. I will not remain trapped in his control.”

Her heart pounded, her resolve quivering. She wanted to look away, to free herself from the spell he wove around her, but she could not.

“Simon.”

His name slipped from her lips, soft and hesitant, as though she were testing how it felt to say it aloud. At that instant, the door behind them creaked.

Both turned sharply, their hearts thundering, as a figure’s shadow stretched across the threshold.

“Father,” Simon said, his voice carrying defiance wrapped in grace.

---

Alejandro stirred awake in a vast bed, silk sheets twisted around his bare body, the heavy duvet sliding from his chest as he sat up.

The chamber around him was lavish yet oppressively still, the bed its commanding centerpiece. The faint scent of leather and wine hung in the air.

A movement caught his attention. Enzo reclined in a velvet chair in the corner, a crystal glass of red wine resting in his hand. He looked as though the room belonged to him alone, dressed in a dark tailored shirt left slightly unbuttoned, trousers molding to long legs. Careless elegance cloaked him, sharpened only by the glint of cold amusement in his gaze.

Alejandro’s chest tightened. His body felt weak and strangely sensitive, every inch of bare skin prickling against the air. The silk sheets slid lower as he moved, and when his hand brushed down his stomach, he realized he was completely naked, yet still untouched. His eyes narrowed on Enzo with sharp suspicion.

“What did you do to me?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low with suspicion.

Enzo swirled the wine lazily, the crimson liquid catching the light. “You think too little of me, Alejandro,” he said smoothly. “If I wanted you helpless, you wouldn’t even be speaking.”

He rose, every movement deliberate, and crossed the room. When he stopped at the edge of the bed, he bent slightly, close enough that Alejandro caught the scent of oak and smoke on his skin.

“I’m not your enemy,” Enzo murmured, his gaze roaming Alejandro’s bare torso before drifting lower, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Though you make it difficult not to admire what I see.”

Alejandro scoffed, hiding the heat that twisted in his stomach. “Then why am I here?”

Enzo’s smirk faded, replaced by a glimmer of something darker. “Because I intend to bring Derulo down. And you, Alejandro…” his voice dropped, cold as steel, “…you are going to help me take my revenge.”

Alejandro laughed dryly. “You’ve chosen the wrong man.”

But Enzo only chuckled, finishing his wine before setting the glass on the nightstand. “No,” he said with dangerous certainty. “I’ve chosen exactly who I need.”

He straightened, moving toward the door. Alejandro’s eyes followed him, trying to piece together the layers behind those words. Just before leaving, Enzo paused with his hand on the door handle, glanced back, and let his gaze sweep boldly over Alejandro’s exposed body.

“Get dressed,” he ordered, his smile returning. “I have something to show you. And for the record…” his gaze lingered with deliberate slowness, “…you’re even more captivating than I imagined.”

The door shut behind him, leaving only the echo of his words in Alejandro’s chest, a heat he did not want to acknowledge yet could not suppress.