Love Between Two Enemies Part One

THE WAR WE INHERITED

New York had a way of pretending it had no memory.
Skyscrapers rose where scandals once burned, cafés thrived where blood had been spilled in boardrooms, and families like the Ashfords and the Morettis wore their success like polished armor, hiding decades of hatred beneath tailored suits.

Ethan Ashford had grown up inside that armor.

From the outside, his life looked enviable—thirty-two years old, heir to Ashford Industries, one of the most powerful real estate empires in Manhattan. He lived in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, drove cars that made strangers stare, and attended galas where people laughed too loudly and lied too easily.

But from the inside, his life was ruled by a single sentence his father had carved into him long ago:

“Never trust a Moretti.”

Ethan didn’t remember the first time he heard that name. It had always been there, like a shadow stitched into the family crest. The Morettis were spoken of in low, venomous tones during family dinners. Their name surfaced in board meetings as a warning. Their existence was a stain on Ashford history.

“They destroyed us once,” his father used to say.
“We will never allow them the chance again.”

Ethan had never questioned it.

Until the night he met Isabella Moretti.


---

The annual New York Heritage Gala was a battlefield disguised as a celebration. Crystal chandeliers glimmered like weapons, champagne flowed like truce offerings, and the city’s most powerful families gathered under one roof, pretending they weren’t constantly at war.

Ethan adjusted his black tuxedo, his jaw tightening as he scanned the room. He hated these events. Too many smiles. Too many enemies wearing silk gloves.

“Relax,” his mother whispered beside him. “You look like you’re about to declare war.”

He almost laughed.
If only you knew.

Then he saw her.

She stood near the far balcony, bathed in soft golden light, wearing a deep emerald gown that hugged her figure with quiet confidence. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, her posture elegant but unforced—like she belonged everywhere without trying.

She was laughing at something a man beside her had said, and the sound—warm, unguarded—cut through the noise of the room and hit Ethan somewhere he didn’t expect.

His chest tightened.

For a moment, the world narrowed to her smile.

“Who is she?” he asked before he could stop himself.

His mother followed his gaze.

Her face changed instantly.

Every muscle in Ethan’s body went rigid.

“That,” she said softly, dangerously, “is Isabella Moretti.”

The name landed like a gunshot.


---

Isabella Moretti had grown up with her own version of the truth.

Her grandfather’s portrait hung in the Moretti estate like a martyr’s shrine. The story was told and retold at family gatherings: how the Ashfords had betrayed them, stolen land, ruined reputations, and left the Moretti name bleeding in the streets of New York’s elite society.

“Never forget,” her father had told her, eyes sharp with old anger.
“The Ashfords smile while they stab you in the back.”

Isabella hadn’t forgotten.

But unlike the rest of her family, she had learned to ask questions silently.

She believed in facts. In contracts. In truth buried beneath pride.

That belief had made her dangerous.

As she turned away from the balcony, her eyes met Ethan’s across the room.

The connection was immediate—and unsettling.

She felt it in her spine, a sudden awareness, like standing too close to a flame.

He was watching her openly now. Not arrogantly. Not carelessly.

Curiously.

Her heart skipped, then hardened.

Ashford, she realized instantly.

She didn’t know how she knew—but she did.


---

They shouldn’t have spoken.

They both knew that.

But fate, cruel and amused, had other plans.

Moments later, they found themselves standing beside the same marble bar, separated only by a polite inch of space and a shared silence thick with tension.

“Champagne?” the bartender asked.

“Yes,” Ethan said.

“No,” Isabella said at the same time.

They looked at each other.

Something flickered between them—challenge, intrigue, recognition.

She lifted her chin. “Actually, I’ll have a whiskey. Neat.”

Ethan smiled despite himself. “Bold choice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Judgment already?”

“Observation,” he replied.

“Dangerous habit.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The air between them buzzed.

“I’m Ethan,” he said finally.

She hesitated—just a second too long.

“Isabella.”

No last names.
They both knew better.


---

They talked for ten minutes.

Ten minutes that felt like a betrayal.

Isabella discovered he wasn’t what she expected. He listened more than he spoke. He didn’t brag. He asked thoughtful questions about architecture, history, and art.

Ethan discovered she was sharp, witty, and nothing like the cold, manipulative Moretti monster he had grown up imagining.

When her laughter softened, when her eyes darkened with thought, something inside him shifted—something dangerous.

“This is a mistake,” Isabella said quietly, as if reading his mind.

“Yes,” Ethan agreed.

Neither of them moved.


---

The illusion shattered when her father appeared.

His presence was immediate, oppressive.

“Isabella,” he said sharply. “Step away.”

She stiffened.

Then his eyes cut to Ethan.

Recognition flared.

Hatred followed.

“Ashford,” he spat.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Ethan straightened. “Mr. Moretti.”

“You have a lot of nerve,” her father said. “Speaking to my daughter.”

Ethan’s voice was calm, but his heart pounded. “The feeling is mutual.”

Isabella’s hand trembled at her side.

This—this—was the war she had inherited.


---

That night ended with distance, anger, and unresolved tension.

But it didn’t end the story.

It started it.

Because later that evening, alone in his penthouse, Ethan couldn’t forget her eyes.

And across the city, Isabella stood at her window, realizing with terrifying clarity:

The enemy she was warned about felt dangerously like home.

In Part Two: “Lines Drawn in Blood”

Ethan discovers a hidden clause in an old Ashford–Moretti contract that could destroy both families.
Isabella is forced into an engagement she doesn’t want.
And when they meet again—this time behind closed doors—their attraction turns into something far more dangerous than desire:

Truth.