Morning sunlight slipped gently through the tall curtains, spreading a warm golden glow across the room. Iram stirred slightly, her head heavy and thoughts slow, as if her mind was still trying to catch up with reality.
She shifted under the soft blanket and slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, everything felt unfamiliar.
The ceiling was too high. The room too elegant. The bed beneath her impossibly large — a king-sized bed covered in smooth white sheets that definitely did not belong to her home.
Her eyes widened.
She sat up suddenly, heart racing, confusion washing over her face. Memories of last night returned in scattered flashes — the party, the dizziness, the car ride… and then—
The door opened.
Alex leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a playful smile already forming on his face.
"Well," he said lightly, "princess finally woke up."
The nickname hit her like a spark.
Iram froze for half a second before realization struck. She looked around again, recognition settling in — the luxurious room, the unfamiliar surroundings… and then the truth.
She was in his house.
Her expression changed instantly. Surprise turned into anger, and her blood seemed to boil. She threw the blanket aside and stood up quickly.
"What am I doing here?" she demanded.
Alex shrugged calmly. "You needed somewhere safe to sleep."
"I don't need your help," she snapped, already moving toward the door. "And I definitely don't stay at my enemy's house."
She tried to walk past him, but Alex stepped forward, blocking her path — not aggressively, just enough to stop her from leaving in her rush.
"Relax," he said, his tone still annoyingly calm. "At least have breakfast before declaring war this early in the morning."
"I said move," Iram replied sharply, trying to push past him.
She placed her hands against his arm to shove him aside, but Alex didn't budge. Instead, he gently but firmly held her wrists, stopping her movement. His grip wasn't painful, just strong enough to keep her from storming out.
"Let go of me, jerk!" she snapped, struggling slightly.
A slow smirk appeared on Alex's lips, amusement flickering in his eyes.
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her pause.
"Do you even know," he said teasingly, "what you did when you were drunk, beauty?"
Iram stopped struggling for a moment, confusion replacing anger.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, suspicious.
Alex's smile widened, clearly enjoying her reaction.
"You talked nonstop," he continued casually. "Argued with the car radio… accused my steering wheel of judging you… and," he added with a soft chuckle, "you insisted I promise not to let your family find out you couldn't even walk straight."
Color rushed to Iram's face — half embarrassment, half frustration.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "You also said you hate me… about five different times."
She crossed her arms defensively. "Because I do."
"Yet," Alex replied smoothly, releasing her wrists and stepping back, "you trusted me enough to fall asleep without worrying."
His words lingered in the air longer than either of them expected.
Iram looked away, annoyed that she didn't have an immediate response. The anger was still there, but now mixed with something else — uncertainty.
Alex turned toward the hallway. "Breakfast is ready," he said casually. "You can leave after that if you still want to."
He paused at the door and glanced back with the same teasing smile.
"Try not to start a fight before coffee. Even enemies deserve basic survival rules."
Iram watched him walk away, frustration bubbling inside her — yet curiosity quietly followed behind it.
And for the first time, she realized something unsettling:
Being around Alex felt far more dangerous than being his enemy.