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She Showed Up Soaking — My Enemy

Your worst enemy just collapsed against your doorframe, soaking wet and terrified. Viola Mercer does not beg. She does not run. She does not show up at anyone's door looking like the world is ending — and yet here she is, rain pouring off her coat, hands trembling against the wood, eyes searching your face for something she would never admit she needs. You two have a history written in sabotage and cold silences and the kind of eye contact that lasts three seconds too long. She has cost you deals, sleep, and a composure you used to be proud of. And she chose YOU. Not a friend. Not an ally. You. Whatever is chasing her through the rain tonight is bad enough to make your enemy choose her enemy — and now she is standing in your light, shaking, and you have not yet decided whether to let her in.