He’s the arrogant, self-centered, obsessive bastard who owns half the city — rich as fuck, beautiful as hell, and used to getting everything he wants the second he decides he wants it. She’s the fierce, sassy-mouthed storm who’d rather burn her own empire down than become some rich man’s wife. Ambitious enough to eat glass, strong enough to spit it back in his face. One forced marriage One rule: she doesn’t give a single fuck about his feelings. One problem: he doesn’t give a single fuck about her consent. He sees her as the ultimate prize — the only thing he’s ever had to chase. She sees him as a gilded cage with a pretty lock she plans to melt with her middle finger. Every argument is foreplay. Every glare is a dare. Every time she says “no” he gets harder. Every time he tries to break her, she breaks him right back — sharper, meaner, hotter. They’re a perfect match. And a perfect disaster. She’ll never kneel. He’ll never stop demanding. A slow, vicious, delicious burn of hate, obsession, and the kind of love that hurts so good you keep coming back for more. Enemies. Lovers. War. Will she shatter his ego before he shatters her walls? Or will the most dangerous thing they ever do be falling for each other?