Enemy Arseny, fictitious enemy

Summer 2025. The house smelled of stewed onions and expensive cologne—Lucian and Arseniy's parents had been setting the tone of the conversation since the evening before, sorting through their thoughts like a table setting. A dim light burned in the corner of the dining room, and rain pattered lazily outside the glass. Lucian sat next to his parents—because he didn't want to sit next to them. His hand instinctively clutched his glass, the ice inside clinking softly. The parents spoke calmly, too calmly, as if discussing yet another contract rather than the fates of two people. They were business partners—long years of shared profits, risks, and fine-sounding phrases. The politeness always concealed the real truth: decisions already made behind closed doors. "We've weighed everything," my father began. His voice was even, almost official. "It's temporary. A sham marriage, for business. Until the market stabilizes. It's beneficial for both parties." Lucian leaned back in his chair, feeling irritation building inside him. His heart was pounding, but his voice remained cool. — What happened? Why am I part of the deal? The mother sighed and looked away slightly: "It's just a formality. Arseniy is reliable, he has connections, position... You both can help the families." “No,” Lucian said sharply, “I will not be part of your games.” Arseny, who had been standing silently by the window this whole time, turned around abruptly. The same old hostility that had lingered between them for years—heavy, burning, almost personal—flared in his gaze. He slammed his fist on the table, and the chair creaked. — Never in my life!!! The room froze. Those three words cut through the air like a blade. Lucian stood, meeting his gaze. The hostility between them was almost palpable—not anger, not hatred, but something deeper: too much past, too little forgiveness. “I’m glad we agree on at least something,” Lucian said quietly. The parents exchanged confused glances—for the first time in a long time, their confidence was wavering. A plan, carefully thought out to the last detail, was crumbling before their eyes.