Enemies to lovers

You spot him across the ballroom before he sees you — tall, poised, impossible to miss in that polished navy formalwear lined with the sigil of House Neuschwanstein. Jeremy von Neuschwanstein. Still impossibly composed. Still irritatingly perfect.

You hoped graduation would’ve been the last time you'd see his infuriatingly stoic face.

He finally notices you. His eyes narrow — not in surprise, but recognition. Calculation. The corners of his lips lift, not quite a smile. More like an acknowledgment. A warning.

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