The Enemy in a suit

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in business, it’s that power doesn’t always speak the loudest. Sometimes it just stands there, towering in an Armani suit, watching the world bend at its feet.

Tonight, power has a name.

Caelum Drayke.

And he’s standing three feet away from me, smirking like he owns the universe.

The worst part? He kind of does.

I force my spine straighter, every muscle tight under the shimmering emerald silk of my gown. My company’s entire future depends on tonight’s gala running flawlessly. One wrong move, one slip, and the sharks in this room will smell blood.

And there is no shark bigger or more dangerous than the man watching me like I’m some kind of joke.

“You missed a spot,” Caelum murmurs in a voice that’s smooth enough to cut glass. His glacial blue eyes flick to the tray of champagne flutes I’m arranging. “Right there. Fingerprint smudge.”

I bite back a sharp retort. He’s not a guest tonight he’s the client. The client whose billion dollar merger announcement is being hosted at my event. The client who could catapult my boutique event planning firm into an entirely new stratosphere of prestige if everything goes right.

But of course, Caelum Drayke isn’t here to make my life easy.

He’s here to remind me exactly how far below him I am.

“Thank you for your keen observation, Mr. Drayke,” I say, voice as sugary as the champagne bubbles. I polish the glass with a napkin, plastering on a smile. “Would you like to inspect the table linens next, or should I bring a microscope for your convenience?”

A sharp chuckle rumbles from his chest. The sound is low, dangerous. “Fiery. I like that.”

I grit my teeth. Billionaire men like him are used to women melting at their feet. I refuse to be one of them.

The ballroom glitters around us, drenched in soft golden lighting. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings like frozen fireworks. My team moves seamlessly through the crowd, every tray, flower, and décor element meticulously placed. This gala is perfection. I’ve spent weeks orchestrating every detail, working eighteen-hour days, losing sleep and sanity.

And now this man this arrogant, infuriating man is threatening to ruin it with nothing more than a smirk and a perfectly tailored suit.

“Relax, Ms. Vale,” Caelum says smoothly, slipping a glass of champagne from the tray I’m holding. His fingers graze mine deliberately he knows it and I hate the jolt of awareness that races through me. “I’m only trying to ensure everything meets… my standards.”

I take a steadying breath. “Don’t worry, Mr. Drayke. If you’d like, I can have the entire ballroom torn down and rebuilt to your liking within the next ten minutes. We wouldn’t want the empire builder to settle for less than perfection, would we?”

His smirk deepens, as if my sarcasm entertains him. “An empire builder? You make me sound like a villain.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

His gaze sharpens, something dark flickering in those icy eyes. For a moment, the banter between us feels… dangerous.

“Noted,” he says, voice dropping low enough to send a chill racing down my spine. “Careful, Ms. Vale. Villains don’t play fair.”

Before I can fire back, one of his associates approaches, murmuring something about reporters waiting for an exclusive. Caelum nods but doesn’t take his eyes off me until he walks away, every step radiating command.

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding, pressing a hand to my racing heart.

God, I hate him.

And I hate that my body reacts to him like this like he’s gravity, and I’m helplessly drawn in.

---

By nine o’clock, the gala is in full swing. Music floats through the air, glasses clink, laughter ripples from clusters of investors and industry elites. Everything is perfect. Or at least, it was until Caelum Drayke took the stage.

I should be relieved. He’s finally speaking, announcing his highly anticipated merger deal. This is the moment every journalist, photographer, and billionaire in the room has been waiting for. My company will be credited with orchestrating the evening. My reputation will soar.

But as Caelum’s rich baritone rolls over the microphone, I feel an ominous prickle at the back of my neck.

He commands the crowd effortlessly. Not a single person dares speak over him. His voice is calm, confident, and ruthlessly precise like every syllable has been measured and sharpened.

And then it happens.

“And of course,” Caelum says smoothly, “none of this evening would have been possible without the team behind it. My sincere thanks to our sponsors, partners, and…”

His pause is deliberate. Calculated.

“…to the stunning décor and planning by Vale Events, led by Miss Saphira Vale.”

A ripple of applause follows his words. People turn to look at me, admiration softening their expressions. This is my moment. I should feel proud. Accomplished.

But then Caelum smiles.

It’s not a warm smile. It’s cold. Mocking.

“And to think,” he adds casually, “this was all organized by someone so… young and ambitious. Though I suppose, in a world like ours, talent is rarely enough without a few… useful connections.”

The room stills. The implication lands like a bomb.

Heat floods my cheeks, humiliation clawing at my chest. He just undermined me subtly, but effectively. The investors’ smiles dim, whispers beginning to swirl. He’s painted me as a social climber, a woman who owes her success to powerful men rather than her own skill.

Exactly the kind of narrative that can ruin a woman in my industry.

I force a tight smile, but my nails dig into my palm. I can’t react not here. Not now.

Caelum continues his speech as if nothing happened, his expression perfectly composed, his tone dripping with icy charm. And I realize, with a sinking feeling, that this was intentional.

He wanted to put me in my place.

---

After the speeches, I retreat to a quieter corner of the ballroom, my head buzzing. Rage thrums through my veins, mixing with humiliation until I feel like I might explode.

I’m so distracted I don’t notice him approaching until his voice curls around me like smoke.

“Careful, Ms. Vale. People might mistake that glare for jealousy.”

I whirl around to face him, every nerve on edge. “Jealousy? Of you? Please. I was just imagining all the creative ways I could ruin your night.”

He chuckles softly, leaning against a marble pillar like he owns the room which, technically, he does. “You should thank me, actually. I just made you the most talked-about woman in the room.”

“You humiliated me.”

“I tested you,” he corrects smoothly, his icy gaze locking onto mine. “And you passed. Barely.”

My jaw clenches. “You’re insufferable.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “And you’re intriguing.”

The air between us crackles. I can smell his cologne rich and intoxicating and it’s infuriating how good he looks up close. Sharp jawline. Perfectly styled hair. Those piercing blue eyes that see too much.

I hate him.

I hate how my pulse stumbles when he looks at me like that.

“Why me?” I snap, needing to regain control. “Why hire my company? You could’ve chosen anyone.”

His smirk turns razor-sharp. “Because I like precision. And because I wanted to see if all those rumors about Saphira Vale the prodigy planner, the woman who built an empire from nothing were true.”

“And?”

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “They are. But talent without fire is boring. I needed to know if you could handle… me.”

His words send a chill through me. There’s a double meaning there—one I don’t have time to unpack.

Before I can respond, a sudden commotion breaks out near the entrance. Security rushes toward a cluster of photographers as shouting fills the room.

I turn, heart lurching, just as a massive screen behind the stage flickers.

For a split second, static fills the projection. Then, clear as day, a single image flashes on the screen—me.

Me, smiling with a man I haven’t seen in years. A man whose face I never wanted to see again.

And beneath it, bold white letters:

“Caelum Drayke’s Fiancée? Or Scandal in the Making?”

Gasps ripple through the ballroom. Photographers swarm like vultures, flashes blinding. The photo changes—another shot of me, this time slipping out of a car at midnight, taken from a grainy angle that makes it look scandalous. Headlines appear beneath it, all fabricated lies about affairs, secrets, and betrayal.

“Turn it off!” I shout, panic clawing at my chest. My team scrambles to shut down the feed. But the damage is already done.

The whispers begin. The stares. The judgment.

And in the chaos, Caelum steps forward, placing a firm hand on my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The entire ballroom watches in stunned silence as he leans down and murmurs, low and lethal, “Looks like you’re mine now, Ms. Vale. Whether you like it or not.”

Then, without warning, he kisses me.

The kiss is searing, claiming, a statement to every camera in the room: She’s with me.

But all I can think as flashes explode and reporters scream our names is that this man the one I despise is about to destroy everything I’ve built.

And maybe… I just let him.

---

From across the ballroom, Lucien Moreau watches with a predator’s smile, phone in hand. He types one message as cameras capture the scandal:

“Stage one complete. Let the games begin.”