In Love With My Enemy

Isabella Roosevelt

The lights flickered overhead as I scurried behind Mr. Harrington, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor, a sound that echoed through the vast, empty hallways. His long strides were a challenge for my 5’6" frame, but I was determined to keep up, no matter how out of breath I felt.

After all, I’d been doing this dance for five long years—chasing after him, trying to anticipate his needs, and fading into the background like a shadow that knew its place. Always on edge, always riddled with anxiety, because five years ago, my father sent me here as a spy, a pawn in his grand game. Alfred Harrington, a man who molded his empire with an iron will and now set his sights on politics, driven by ambition.

The Harringtons were generational enemies of the Harringtons, locked in a rivalry that spanned decades, and I was the youngest daughter in a family where obedience was non-negotiable, a rule carved in stone. My father was strict and rarely there when I was growing up, so I could never say no to him, not then, not now, not ever.

“And Mr. Harrington,” I panted, struggling to match his relentless pace, “your lunch is on your desk. Mr. Smith will be here in 45 minutes. I’ve prepared the minutes from your last meeting with him, so you can refresh your memory.”

He glanced at me, his expression as inscrutable as ever, a mask that never slipped. He wouldn’t remember my first name; he never did. But that worked in my favour, allowing me to remain anonymous in a world where anonymity was a rare gift.

The less memorable I stayed, the safer I was, the more I could blend into the background. I harboured a deep dislike for him, a resentment that simmered quietly beneath the surface, yet an inexplicable admiration lingered alongside it, a contradiction I could never fully understand. Perhaps it was his undeniable achievements that commanded respect, achievements that no one could dispute. He wasn’t a player or a narcissist; his dedication was solely to his work and his family, and no one else, a fact that both intrigued and repelled me.

I couldn’t decide if this admiration was a virtue or a vice. In matters of work, I found myself looking up to him, yearning to emulate his success, as if earning his approval might validate my existence here, in this world where I felt out of place.

“Why am I not getting any updates on the development of the ‘Continental’ app?” he asked sharply, his tone as cutting as a blade.

“You fired the whole team,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. The regret was instant, the words hanging in the air like a damning confession. But ‘honesty’ was the only currency I had in this high-stakes game.

The only reason I’ve managed to avoid getting fired is through my ‘loyalty’ and ‘honesty,’ despite my frequent work-related mishaps. Everyone else is too afraid to speak up or provide genuine answers when he’s angry.

Whether it’s due to my own recklessness, overconfidence, or simply my inability to bite my tongue, I find myself being the only one who offers him real responses instead of just nodding along with “Yes, sir” and “Sorry.”

He stopped abruptly, causing me to collide with his broad back. “What?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. You fired the entire team last week. They weren’t meeting your expectations.”

I know what you’re thinking—does he have a bad memory? No, he simply doesn’t care enough to remember.

His jaw clenched, the tension in his shoulders palpable. “And what about you, Ms. Brown? Are you meeting my expectations?”

Right, I work here as Isabelle Brown to conceal my identity.

I hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze on me, each second stretching painfully long. “I don’t think anyone can meet your expectations, sir.”

He sighed, running a hand through his soft brown hair. “Call William,” he said, resuming his brisk walk. “Tell him to assemble a new team with a fresh proposal by the end of this week.”

“But Mr. Harrington,” I protested, “today is Friday!”

He glanced back at me, his grey eyes piercing. “And what is your point, Ms. Brown?”

My heart raced. He was handsome, I’d give him that. But beyond the chiselled jawline and piercing eyes, there lay a void where any redeeming qualities should reside. He was a problem wrapped in a tailored suit, a man who could make or break careers with a single nod.

Lucas Harrington's presence is both captivating and intimidating. With his strikingly handsome face, piercing gaze.

What drew me in the most was his scent - a heady blend of sophistication and raw power that seemed to linger in the air long after he had passed by.

His muscular, broad frame only added to his commanding presence as he towered over everyone, leaving no doubt about his influence and authority.

“My point is that it’s impossible. The weekend is upon us, and William is already stressed.”

“I’ll be in for lunch,” he’d said, dismissing me like an afterthought. “Don’t disturb me till the time Smith arrives.”

He stepped into his hollow office, the door closing behind him.

I held my shaky hands as I shook my head unable to speak. Again, he was a very handsome man.

But he was an asshole.

I nodded, my voice trapped in my throat. As I turned to leave, William—the perpetually frazzled colleague—ambushed me with his presence.

“Oh, good morning, Bella,” he greeted, his eyes darting around as if expecting disaster. “What now?”

I hesitated, then spilled the dreaded news. “He wants you to assemble another team with a new proposal for the app by the end of this week.”

William’s face contorted into a mask of frustration. “No, no, no,” he muttered. “I’m done. What’s next? A team of unicorns and leprechauns?”

“He’s serious,” I insisted. “And please, don’t hate me. Everyone already does. He always makes me deliver the bad news. Please talk to him once and tell him you can’t complete this task in three days.”

“No, absolutely not. I am so tired.” He whines making me anxious.

“You have to tell him that. He always rolls his eyes at me and looks at me like I just told him I killed his whole family. I hate that man. And I will—" I stop mid-sentence as I notice William’s eyes widening, and he quietly starts taking a step back.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington. I have to go back to work. Gotta put that team together for the proposal. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” he says before rushing off.

What the fuck?

Uh-Oh.