I MARRIED MY ENEMY FOR REVENGE

I barely slept that night.

The conversation followed me everywhere, refusing to leave my head no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

Why should I even care?

Why should one conversation matter after seven years?

This was the same man who had girls around him all the time back then. The same man who stood there while my heart broke into pieces.

So why was part of me still thinking about what he said?

"Avalan!"

My mother's voice pulled me away from my thoughts before my bedroom door opened. She stepped inside, carrying different fabric samples and jewellery catalogues, looking far too excited for someone whose daughter had agreed to marry a man she hadn't spoken to properly in seven years.

"You're not ready yet?" she asked, surprised.

I blinked slowly. "Ready for what?"

"For the engagement preparations." She frowned lightly. "His family will be here soon."

Right.

The engagement.

For a second, I completely forgot this was actually happening.

Yesterday, marriage still felt like a decision I had made. Today, there were fabrics, jewellery catalogues, and relatives coming over. Apparently, revenge came with wedding preparations.

My heart panicked immediately.

I forced myself out of bed while my mother talked about decorations, guests, and family expectations. My thoughts were louder.

My mother stopped talking and looked at me.

"What?"

"You've barely heard a word I've said."

"I've heard you."

"Then what did I just say?"

I looked at the fabrics in her hands.

"Something about colours."

"I haven't mentioned colours in five minutes."

I sighed.

"Did something happen with Shadric yesterday?"

My eyes moved to hers.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you've been distracted since I came in."

I looked away.

"He thinks I don't know the whole story."

"About what happened seven years ago?"

"Apparently."

"Do you believe him?"

"No."

The answer came easily. Too easily.

Because if I didn't believe him, why had I spent half the night thinking about what he had said?

By afternoon, the house had turned chaotic.

Relatives moved around excitedly while voices filled every corner of the sitting room. Fabrics covered the sofas, jewellery boxes sat open on the table, and different family members argued over decorations as if the wedding were happening tomorrow.

I sat quietly while one woman adjusted the sleeve of a dress against my arm.

"This colour fits her perfectly."

"No," another disagreed immediately. "Gold would look richer."

Situations like this were never really about the people getting married.

It was always about appearances, expectations, and family reputation.

"Avalan, sit properly," my aunt scolded lightly when I shifted uncomfortably.

I straightened without replying.

Everything about today felt exhausting. Too loud and fake. Yet I noticed the exact moment he walked in.

I didn't hear the door open.

I didn't hear anyone call his name.

But my body reacted before my mind did.

And when I finally looked up, his eyes were already on me.

He stood beside his father near the entrance, calm and composed as relatives greeted him warmly.

"Avalan, come and sit beside him."

My aunt tapped the space beside him excitedly.

My stomach twisted immediately.

I didn't want to.

But refusing would create attention I wasn't ready for.

I walked over and sat beside him, painfully aware of the tension between us.

He was sitting too close.

I could smell his cologne faintly now, and the familiarity of it irritated me instantly because it dragged old memories back before I could stop them.

"You look tired."

His voice was low enough that nobody else noticed.

I kept my eyes ahead. "And you sound concerned."

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

Then quietly, "Maybe I am."

I turned sharply to look at him, searching his face for mockery or manipulation.

But his expression stayed calm.

That alone got me more annoyed.

Before I could reply, his mother placed a small velvet box on the table.

"We finally picked the engagement ring."

Everyone leaned closer. Everyone, except me.

My chest raced in panic as she opened the box carefully, revealing a beautiful ring resting against white satin.

Reality hit me again. This was real.

I was actually sitting beside the man I still blamed for turning my private feelings into public humiliation… I was preparing to marry him while our families smiled around us, as if this were some perfect love story.

That irony made me sick.

"What do you think?" my mother asked softly.

"It's nice," I answered quietly.

Beside me, I felt his attention shift towards me, as though he noticed every tiny change in my voice.

"Put it on her," one of my aunties said excitedly.

Before I could react properly, the ring was already in his hand.

The room suddenly felt hot and small.

I kept my breathing steady as he turned toward me, reaching for my hand slowly.

The moment his fingers touched mine, my body reacted.

And judging from the slight pause in his movement, so did his.

I hated how my body still noticed him.

His fingers wrapped around my hand gently as he slid the ring onto my finger.

The contact between us was brief but dangerous.

Memories rushed back too quickly. The younger version of me who once wanted this ring, who once dreamed about him looking at her this way, came back alive.

When the ring settled properly onto my finger, his thumb brushed lightly against my skin before he let go.

It was a small movement. It could have been accidental, but it was enough to send my heartbeat racing.

His eyes lifted to mine slowly.

And there it was again. That guarded look. That gaze made me feel like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.

"You don't have to force yourself."

His voice was quiet enough that only I could hear.

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"That's interesting," I murmured. "Coming from you."

His expression shifted.

The noise around us faded as the tension tightened between us.

"You still think I wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.

My throat dried instantly.

"Why are you doing this now?"

His gaze stayed on mine. "Doing what?"

"Trying to convince me I got everything wrong."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to get you to question what you think you know."

"After seven years?"

"You wouldn't listen seven years ago."

"And somehow, that's my fault?"

"I didn't say it was."

"You don't have to. You keep standing there talking as though one conversation should suddenly make me doubt everything I remember."

Before he could respond, my cousin appeared beside us.

"We should take engagement pictures!"

The room immediately burst into agreement.

"Yes! Stand closer together."

"They look good already."

"Wait, let her fix her hair first."

Closer?

My stomach dropped.

I stood up too quickly from the sofa. "I need water."

Nobody stopped me—nobody, except him.

The moment I turned away, his fingers caught mine.

I stopped.

Relatives were talking, laughing, and discussing decorations, but for me, everything suddenly slowed.

I looked down at his fingers around mine.

Then, slowly, back at him.

And for the first time since all this started, his calm expression cracked slightly.

"Avalan"

My name sounded different coming from him now.

There was an edge to it I hadn't heard before.

"Stop looking at me like I'm your enemy."

Enemy?

After everything he did?

A bitter smile nearly left my lips.

Slowly, I slipped my hand from his and stepped back before answering.

"You really don't understand, do you?"

His brows hardened slightly.

"You destroyed every good thing I ever felt for you years ago."

"And now," I continued, holding his gaze firmly, "you suddenly expect me to believe whatever story you want to tell?"

"Avalan—"

"No."

I cut him off. Because if he kept talking, I feared I might actually listen.

"You don't get to confuse me anymore," I said quietly, my voice steadier now. "Not after what you did."

He looked away. I couldn't tell whether it was pain or frustration.

I didn't care which. This had stopped being about love a long time ago.

But that girl no longer existed.

What stood before him now was someone built from years of pain, bitterness, and anger.

Someone who remembered every moment she hated herself for loving him.

And if he thought marriage would erase any of that, then he clearly didn't know me at all.

I held his gaze for one final second before stepping away from him completely.

But this time, my heartbeat wasn't racing because of old feelings. It was racing because, after seven years of carrying what he had done to me, I finally had the chance to make him lose something, too.