Episode1: Sparks and Spats
Thelma adjusted the strap of her worn backpack as she hustled down the busy streets of the city. Her sneakers squeaked against the pavement, echoing her frustration. Another late delivery. Another angry client. Another reminder that life had a funny way of testing her patience.
And then… she ran straight into him.
“Watch where you’re going!” Thelma barked, glaring up.
He didn’t even flinch. Hands tucked casually into the pockets of a perfectly tailored suit, he smirked down at her with an air of entitled amusement. The kind of smirk that made her stomach twist in annoyance—and, she had to admit, a tiny spark of curiosity.
“And you might want to watch your attitude,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with charm and condescension all at once.
Thelma’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Do you even know how rude that sounded?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Rude? Me? I think you’re exaggerating… as usual.”
She huffed, stepping back. “You think? Seriously? You literally just bumped into me and—”
“—And you nearly dropped your coffee. Yes, I noticed,” he interrupted with a grin that made Thelma want to roll her eyes so hard they might get stuck.
She crossed her arms. “Well, thanks for noticing, Mr. Perfect. Do you always go around acting like the world owes you an apology?”
He laughed, a rich, warm sound that grated on her nerves. “Only when it’s worth my time. And I must admit…” He leaned in slightly, his golden-brown eyes glinting with mischief, “…this encounter is quite entertaining.”
Thelma felt her cheeks heat up—not from embarrassment, but from pure irritation. “Entertaining? Seriously? You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, yes. Charming? Definitely,” he said, straightening his jacket. “By the way, I’m Sebastian Vale.”
Thelma blinked. “Sebastian… Vale?”
“Billionaire. CEO. Fashion icon,” he added casually, like it was nothing. “And apparently, your new nemesis.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me? Nemesis?”
He smirked, giving her a slow, teasing bow. “You heard me. This… feud of ours? It’s just beginning.”
Thelma clenched her fists. “Feud? I don’t even know you!”
“And yet, you already hate me. Perfect.” He tipped his head, that infuriating smirk still in place, and walked away as if he owned the sidewalk… which, in a way, he probably did.
Thelma stared after him, muttering under her breath, “I will survive this billionaire nonsense. Just wait, Sebastian Vale…”
And little did she know, fate had a very twisted sense of humor. This wasn’t just a chance encounter. This was the start of a war—and maybe, just maybe, the start of something else entirely.
Thelma couldn’t believe her luck. Or rather, her misfortune.
Her best friend, Kemi, had insisted she come to a charity gala hosted by none other than Sebastian Vale—the same infuriating, smirking billionaire who had humiliated her on the street just yesterday.
“Come on, Thelma,” Kemi had said, tugging at her hand. “You work too hard. Let loose! This is your chance to see the rich and ridiculous in their natural habitat.”
“Or be publicly embarrassed,” Thelma muttered, shoving her simple dress into place. It was chic, yes, but nowhere near the sparkling gowns of the millionaires around her. She felt like a sardine in a sea of champagne and diamonds.
And of course… there he was.
Sebastian stood near the entrance, chatting effortlessly with investors and socialites, his tailored suit sharper than a razor. The man was infuriatingly perfect, and yet, Thelma had to admit—it was kind of impossible not to notice him.
Before she could decide whether to storm out or hide behind a plant, he spotted her.
“Ah, the girl with the attitude,” he called across the room, voice smooth and teasing. “I wondered if you’d show up. Or did you just follow the smell of free hors d’oeuvres?”
Thelma glared. “I came because my friend forced me. Not to make conversation with a… pompous—”
“—Billionaire,” he finished for her, grinning. “Yes, I know. It suits me.”
She groaned. “I need a drink.”
Kemi nudged her toward the bar. “Just… try not to punch him. Or spill your drink on his designer suit.”
“Very funny.” Thelma scanned the room for a quiet corner, but it was impossible. Sebastian somehow had a way of making his presence felt—even from across the room.
And then, as if fate had a wicked sense of humor, their paths collided again.
Thelma turned sharply to avoid bumping into another guest, only to run straight into… Sebastian.
“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed, nearly spilling the champagne glass she had grabbed.
“Careful,” he said smoothly, catching the glass before it could tip. “Or you might ruin my favorite suit.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Do you do this on purpose?”
“Do what?” His smirk was maddening. “Save your clumsy life from spilling alcohol on me?”
“Annoy me,” she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
“Noted,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I’ll make it my life goal.”
Thelma wanted to scream, but she reminded herself: this was just one night. One… torturous… glamorous… ridiculous night. And Sebastian Vale would not win.
She didn’t know then, of course, that winning wasn’t exactly the point.
Somewhere between the cocktails, awkward dance-offs, and his infuriatingly perfect smile, Thelma began to suspect that maybe… just maybe… Sebastian Vale wasn’t entirely the enemy she thought he was.
But that was a dangerous thought. Dangerous thoughts, after all, often led to broken hearts—and messy champagne spills.
