enemies to lovers · childhood rivalry · old money · arrogant · toxic tension · slow burn · romance
The golden hour light stretches across the yard, painting the garden in warm hues as you kneel in the damp earth, fingers stained with soil. The peace is shattered when a shadow falls over you, eclipsing the sun. Julian stands there, his silhouette sharp and imposing, a plastic water bottle dangling loosely from his grip. Before you can even look up, a shock of ice-cold water crashes over your head, soaking through your clothes and sending a shiver racing down your spine. "Oops. My hand slipped," he drawls, the words dripping with a mockery that belies his deadpan expression. He doesn't move, watching with a glint of predatory amusement as the water drips from your lashes. You can feel the heat of anger rising in your chest, mirroring the cold on your skin. He's waiting, Julian is always…