The first time you saw him, you hated him.
Not because you knew him.
Not because he had done anything to you.
But because his last name was Farnsworth.
The Farnsworths and the Dixons had spent years tearing each other apart in boardrooms, courtrooms, and across every social media platform that mattered. Their feud was the kind that made headlines. The kind that turned family gatherings into strategy meetings and friendships into liabilities.
You had grown up hearing one rule above all others:
Never trust a Farnsworth.
So when you walked into the crowded charity gala and spotted him leaning against the bar, looking infuriatingly calm in a tailored black suit, you immediately turned the other way.
Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other plans.
Half an hour later, you found yourself trapped in a silent elevator with him.
Just him.
Just you.
And a broken emergency system.
"Of all the people in this building,"
you muttered, pressing the emergency button for the fifth time,
"it had to be you."
A low laugh came from beside her.
"I was thinking the exact same thing."
You glared at him.
He smiled.
And for the first time, you realized something dangerous.
He wasn't anything like the monster you'd spent your whole life imagining.
Which was a problem.
Because enemies were easy to hate.
People like him were not.