My Nemesis is my Fiancée

LYDIA ARNAULT

"LYDIAAAA"

I groaned as my mother's voice thundered down the hall. Another daily performance or mother vs my life choices. I shoved my textbooks aside, careful not to knock over my laptop as she had a habit or turning her frustration into educational demonstrations if she found my things in the way.

"You still haven't gotten ready?" She asked, arms folded over her chest like some empress judging peasants. Her gown sparkled black, a thousand tiny sequins catching it like stars. My stomach sank. I totally forgot about today.

The ARNAULT GALA.

The annual ARNAULT GALA for A-listed actors, actresses, business managers wasn't just any event...IT IS THE EVENT OF THE YEAR. My family treated it as a national holiday and naturally every conversation in the house for the last month had been about how to shine brighter than others.

Yet I forgot about today. Mom is surely going to kill me if she gets to know I forgot about today. My grave will be right beside grandma's grave, my name engraved in that black stone. I shuddered at the thought.

"Lydia, hurry up!" Mom snapped, stepping back as if to admire the chaos she had orchestrated.

I groaned. While I was engaged in my thoughts, the makeup artist had already arrived, armed with brushes and palettes that looked more like war paint than cosmetics. The stylist hovered nearby holding a pile of gowns and shoes like a referee to ready enforce rules I hadn't agreed to. Mom herself flitted around the room like she was conducting an orchestra, hairpins in one hand, a curling iron in the other.

"You'll need foundation first." The makeup artist said politely, trying not to flinch at mom's glare. "Contour, eyeshadow..."

Mom cut her ore, "No,no...she needs sparkle. Lots of sparkle. And don't forget the highlighter. Remember last year? We cannot allow those dull cheeks again."

I flopped onto the chair, staring at my reflection which was sparkling. Because glitter fixes everything. My reflection gave me a flat look, one that silently screamed: I'm a hostage, and the hostage negotiator is furious.

Mom leaned in closer. "Lydia, you have to understand, this gala isn't just a party. It's tradition. Every Arnault has attended since your great-grandmother. Your cousins, aunts, uncles...all stars. You're part of that legacy."

As if I don't know that. My mom repeats the same thing every single year. I wanted to nod, but all I could think was: Legacy is fine until it makes me want to curl into a corner and disappear. I traced the edge of the chair, remembering endless childhood dinners where my family discussed scripts, premieres, red carpets, box-office numbers, and accolades I couldn't care less about. Cousin Zara starred in action films at fourteen. Uncle Maxence designing costumes for movies I'd never watch. Jorren, Camille, Mom herself, everyone is always outshining each other. And me, quietly calculating budgets and lecture notes, pretending numbers were glamorous.

The stylist fussed with the gown, pinning it just so. "Hold still, please," she murmured.

The makeup artist dabbed at my face, Mom hovering beside me, giving advice I hadn't asked for. "Don't frown. Smile naturally. Not too much. Chin up, Lydia. You have to look approachable."

I forced my lips into something resembling a smile, but inside, I was rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all.

When they were finally done, stepping back and surveying their work like proud generals, I took a slow breath. Sequins in place. Hair glossy. Makeup flawless. I was ready.

And as I looked at my reflection one last time, I whispered silently, Please, just let me get through tonight without running into that jolly ass.

The car door opened, and a gust of cool evening air swept over me. I stepped out slowly, heels clicking against the pavement. Flashbulbs popped instantly, and I froze for a fraction of a second, the sudden brightness like being punched in the chest.

Cameras swiveled toward me, lenses snapping, clicking, capturing every detail. I kept my chin slightly lowered, moving as if my body had been instructed by some invisible choreographer. Every movement felt exaggerated, yet I had to make it look natural.

I took a careful breath, letting my eyes trace the ground briefly before allowing the flashes to hit my face. My dress, a deep midnight blue with a subtle shimmer hugged my shoulders and flared slightly at the waist, delicate enough to look elegant but simple enough that I could feel like myself in it. The sequins caught the light only in certain angles; the hem swayed just enough when I stepped. My hair was pinned back loosely, a few strands framing my face. And my makeup looked top notch according to mom.

The gala hall was even more overwhelming than I had imagined. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across the polished floors, and laughter and conversation flowed like a river I didn't want to swim in. Waiters moved silently through the crowd, carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres that smelled far too fancy to eat. I kept my clutch tight in front of me, breathing slowly.

Mom appeared beside me,"Lydia," she whispered, leaning close so only I could hear, "you need to communicate. Make connections. Talk with everyone. Smile. Show presence."

I forced a nod, lips pressed together. Presence. Smile. Connect. Every word felt heavy. But I obeyed. I moved through the crowd, careful, stopping near a small group of students and young professionals. Polite greetings, nods, a quiet "nice to meet you" here and there. I didn't speak more than I needed to, but I gave answers, asked questions, and kept my face calm.

For a moment, it felt almost... manageable. Conversations flowed. Names, small talk, casual introduction.

Then, a voice from behind made me freeze mid-sentence.

"Hi, Lydia."

My heart stopped. My stomach twisted. I knew that voice. And just like that, my carefully measured steps, my calm, my controlled smile,it all betrayed me. I froze, clutch tightening so hard it hurt. My mind went blank. Of course. Of course it had to happen. My fate is officially cursed.

And there he was. Of course. Of all the people I could run into tonight, it had to be Adrian Vale. I hated him. Hated everything about him. The way he carried himself like he owned the room. The way his brown eyes seemed to see through every excuse I had for existing. The way he smiled, infuriatingly calm, as if the world owed him obedience.

Adrian Vale. Son of Alexander Vale, one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country, the kind of man whose handshake could topple companies. Adrian himself? He should have been doing... Well, whatever people like him did, internships, networking, board meetings, running the family empire. But no. He was here, in college, performing theatrics like a seasoned actor, playing games while the rest of us actually tried to survive the semester. And somehow, somehow, he still managed to make everything look effortless.

He was standing close now, champagne in hand, leaning casually against a pillar, grin fixed perfectly on his face. "Wow," he said, taking a lazy sip. "You actually made it."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Why do I even bother thinking I can escape him?

"Of course I did," I said finally, voice low, careful, neutral. "Wouldn't miss it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't miss it, huh? Or were you hoping to hide in a corner and avoid everyone? I wouldn't blame you."

There you go. He definitely can see through my facade and I for goodness sake don't know how he does so.

Adrian took another slow sip of his champagne, leaning lightly against the pillar, eyes still on me. "So... observing everyone, or just hoping they don't notice you?" His voice was easy, teasing, but it carried that unnerving edge of certainty like he knew every move I would make.

"Observing," I said carefully, keeping my tone flat. "Mostly... making sure I survive the night." My words came out quieter than I intended, but at least they were safe.

He tilted his head, smirk softening into something like amusement. "Survival, huh? That sounds... exhausting."

I glanced at him, letting my eyes linger just a moment too long before looking away.

A waiter passed by, and the tray tilted slightly. Adrian shifted to the side, too casually, too close and my eyes widened. The glass in his hand wobbled. He swore something under his breath, just quietly enough that only I could hear, and in the next instant, warm liquid spread across the front of my dress.

I froze. Heart lurching. My mouth opened, and nothing came out.

"Oh...damn it," Adrian muttered, stepping back, eyes wide. "I...I didn't mean..."

Well here we go. Cheers to an awesome long night.