Sixty Days To Love My Enemy

[Lara's POV]

As it rained heavily outside, my only wish while staring in the mirror was for thunder to strike my husband’s penis and make him useless while he took his bath.

BOOM! BOOM!! BOOM!!!

A violent, deafening crack of thunder shook the entire house, rattling the glass of the bathroom window.

I blinked, my heart jumping into my throat. For one wild second, the humming in the shower completely stopped. Did it actually work?

Then, the water kept running, and that stupid, off-key song drifted right back through the wall. The sound made my skin crawl. He was still alive. And unfortunately, probably still intact.

I leaned closer to the glass, gripping the edges of the sink until my knuckles turned white. My white lace dress felt like it was choking me. I hated the way it looked on me. I hated the neat little rows of expensive creams and lipsticks someone had arranged on the vanity table like this was a real bridal suite.

The humming got louder, irritating me more.

I swept my arm across the dresser hard. Glass bottles flew. Powder compacts exploded. Lipsticks rolled under the bed. I grabbed the heaviest perfume bottle and smashed it against the wall just to hear it break. Then another. Then a jar of cream that smelled like roses and money. My breath came sharp and fast.

The bathroom door burst open.

Amiir stood there, water still dripping from his hair onto the open collar of his white shirt. Two guards burst into the room, standing at the doorway, guns already half out. Amiir looked at the mess, then at me, then made a small gesture. The men backed out, and the door clicked shut.

He stepped into the middle of the room. Glass crunched under his bare feet.

“You done?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I just stared at him, chest still heaving.

He picked up a lipstick that had survived and rolled it between his fingers. “That’s a lot of money on the floor, wife.”

He dragged out the word, tasting it. His gaze flicked down to my lips, deliberately mocking me. He wiped a drop of water from his neck with the towel, entirely unfazed by the chaos.

I laughed once, short and ugly. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are.” He dropped the lipstick. It hit the glass with a small clink. “Whether you like it or not.”

I took a step toward him before I could stop myself. “You think a piece of paper and a priest makes this real? You stood there smiling while they signed me over to you like a piece of property.”

He tilted his head, studying me. Water dripped from his hair onto the floor. “You signed it too.”

“Because I had no choice!” My voice cracked. I grabbed the nearest unbroken bottle and hurled it past his head. It smashed against the wall behind him. “You killed my parents and then you took everything. Don’t stand there acting like this is some normal marriage.”

He didn’t even flinch when the glass exploded. He just wiped a drop of water from his neck with the towel still hanging around it.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

“Or what?” I stepped closer, glass grinding under my bare feet. “You’ll kill me too? Go ahead. At least then I won’t have to listen to you hum in the shower like an over fed bird.”

He looked at me for a long second. The rain hammered harder against the windows. Somewhere down the hall a clock ticked.

Then he moved. One step. Another. Until he was close enough that I could smell the clean soap on his skin mixed with the powder I’d smashed everywhere.

“You want to talk about what happened?” His voice stayed low, almost calm. “Fine. Your parents are dead. The clan was going to carve up everything they left and hand the pieces to people who don’t share our blood. But I stopped that. You’re still breathing. You’re still in this house they left. That should count for something.”

I shoved him with both hands, hard, right in the chest. He barely moved.

“Don’t you dare,” I said through my teeth. “Don’t you dare act like you did me a favour.”

He caught my wrists before I could shove him again. His grip was firm but not painful. Just solid and unmovable.

“I did what needed to be done,” he said. “And now you’re going to do what needs to be done.”

I tried to yank my hands free. He didn’t let go.

“You can kill me,” I said, staring straight into his face. “You can kill me just like you killed them. But you will never have me. Not willingly. Not ever.”

Something shifted behind his eyes. Not anger, interest. He released my wrists slowly, like he was deciding something.

“You can have this room tonight,” he said. “I’ll sleep elsewhere. You see, I’m not completely unreasonable, my dear wife."

He turned toward the bathroom. For half a second I thought he was actually leaving. But he stopped with his hand on the handle. Didn’t look back fully.

“I’m patient, Lara. But I don’t have unlimited time.” His voice had gone flat and cold. “Sixty days. That’s what you get. Sixty days to stop fighting this, accept your role in this game, and give me an heir.”

I opened my mouth to counter him. He didn’t let me speak.

“Or I take what I want anyway. Your choice.”

The bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than a slam.

I stood there shaking. Glass glittered across the floor. Powder streaked the front of my dress. Tiny shards stuck to the bottoms of my feet, but I didn’t care enough to move yet.

I sank down among the mess. The white lace pooled around me. I picked up a crushed lipstick and smeared the colour across my palm just to watch it stain my skin.

Then the tears came. The kind I hadn’t let myself cry when I found my Dad and Mom in the pool of their blood. The tears I didn't cry when cameras flashed and people offered empty condolences at their funeral. My whole body shook. I pressed my forehead to my knees and let them come until my throat burned.

I could still hear water running. He was finishing the shower I’d interrupted. Humming again. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just put a countdown on the rest of my life.