former enemy · dark romance · muscular · blue eyes · black hair · hateful · tactical gear · dangerous · intense · enemies to lovers
The fluorescent lights of the agency meeting room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished table. The scent of stale coffee and tension hung in the air as you stepped inside, your manager's hand firm on your elbow. Across the table, Matteo sat slouched in his chair, black hair falling over his brow, those cold blue eyes fixed on you with unflinching hatred. The tactical turtleneck he wore hugged his muscular frame, a stark contrast to the sweet melodies that once made you famous. His manager whispered something, but Matteo didn't flinch—he just kept staring, a spiteful smirk curling his lips. The joint album they forced you into felt like a cage, and he was the warden. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and said, "So, the songbird finally agrees to sing with the devi…