THE HATING GAME
SYNOPSIS
"Are you okay?"
That voice. Calm, deep, and somehow warm enough to cut through the chaos in my head.
Of course I wasn't okay.
Mum and Dad had been at it again, throwing words like knives at each other. It was always about the company, always about power. Dad was obsessed with fighting the Lincolns, and even our family vacation couldn't stop him. Mum hated it. She said he cared more about the company than us.
And it was our birthday. Mine and Daisy's.
I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran. Down to the beach. The one place that always listened when nobody else would. I sat at the edge of the sea, pulling my knees close, watching the waves rise and crash as if they could understand how I felt inside.
That's when I heard him again.
"You're crying," he said softly, and I turned to find a boy standing a few steps away. He looked my age, maybe a little older, with messy dark hair that danced in the wind. His eyes were kind, too kind for a stranger.
He walked closer and sat beside me, staring at the sea like it was something sacred.
"I think it's a crime to make a pretty girl cry," he murmured, a tiny smile playing on his lips.
Something fluttered in my chest. I hated that it did.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white handkerchief, neat and clean, with the initials A.D embroidered on one corner.
"Here you go."
"Your name's A.D?" I asked, my voice barely above the waves.
"Yeah. My initials," he said, glancing at me with a grin that made it hard to look away.
I whispered a small thank you, pressing the cloth to my eyes, feeling something strange…..a rush, a spark. A feeling I couldn't name.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Dahlia," I replied quietly.
"Dahlia," he repeated, slow and soft, like he was tasting the sound of it. Somehow, it sounded different on his tongue.
He smiled again. "Do you want to do something fun? Maybe play around, then talk about why you're crying?"
He stretched his hand toward me. I stared at it for a moment before taking it.
And just like that, it began, something I didn't see coming.
It started ten years ago.
CHAPTER ONE
DAHLIA'S POV
The room smelled like power.
I sat there with my chin raised and a satisfied smile curving my lips, pretending not to notice the eyes on me. Approval. Admiration. Envy. I could feel it all, wrapping around me like perfume. Moments like this made everything worth it, the sleepless nights, the endless pressure, the legacy I was forced to carry.
I had done it again.
Another deal sealed, another win for Lincoln Cars. But this wasn't just any deal. This was the one Adrian Smith wanted, the one he fought for with that unbearable arrogance of his. And I had snatched it from right under his nose.
Just thinking about his reaction made me smile wider. I lived for that look on his face, the flash of disbelief, the clench of his jaw, the quiet rage he tried to hide behind his charm.
"We have heard so much about you, Miss Lincoln," Mr. Kelvin, the head of the board, said with a polite smile. His tone carried respect, the kind reserved for people who mattered. "It's a shame you took so long to contact us."
I leaned forward, confidence dripping from every word. "We were simply being patient, Mr. Kelvin. As the saying goes, we were saving the best for the last."
A soft wave of laughter rippled around the table. I didn't join them. I only smiled, poised, unreadable. Just like my father taught me.
Kelvin nodded approvingly. "Then it's a yes. We'll move forward with your proposal. I'll have our lawyers connect with yours to finalize everything. I'm looking forward to working with you."
I rose to my feet, heels clicking on the marble floor, sharp and deliberate. "I'm glad to have you on board, Mr. Kelvin. You won't regret it."
Polite applause followed as I shook his hand. The meeting ended, and people began gathering their papers, but for me, the real victory had already happened.
That's who I am. The deal closer. The heiress who never loses. The face of Lincoln Cars. The woman who doesn't bow or break.
I am Dahlia Lincoln.
And if you're wondering why I fight Adrian Smith like my life depends on it, why I savor every time I get to take something from him, here's the truth—this isn't just business. It's blood.
The feud between the Lincolns and the Smiths started long before I was born. Our great-grandfathers were friends once, or so the story goes, until betrayal tore everything apart. The Smith patriarch stole my great-grandfather's design, the one that could have changed the automobile industry forever. He took it, built his empire on it, and left my family's company in ruins.
My great-grandfather never recovered. He died bitter and broken.
Since then, it became personal. The kind of hatred that doesn't fade, just evolves. My grandfather carried it. My father perfected it. And now, it runs in my veins.
Lincoln Cars has risen again, stronger than ever, and the Smiths remain our biggest rivals. Every year, we take turns sitting on the throne. But I've made it my mission to make sure we stay there, on top, untouchable.
And today was proof that I was succeeding.
My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down.
Congratulations, Dahlia. Another victory for us. Come home early tonight. Family dinner. We need to talk.
I sighed. Family dinners at the Lincolns' weren't about food or laughter. They were strategy meetings dressed up with silverware.
Still, I typed back a simple Okay, Dad, and tucked my phone away.
My assistant, Claire, was already gathering the documents with her usual quiet efficiency. "All set, ma'am," she said softly.
"Good." I stood, smoothing my suit jacket. "Let's call it a day."
Today, Adrian Smith had lost.
We'd crossed paths too many times to count. Award nights. Business conferences. Charity galas. Every encounter was a silent war, words laced with mockery, smiles sharp as blades. He loved getting under my skin, and I never gave him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
He was everything the media adored. Charismatic. Powerful. Dangerously handsome. The kind of man who could ruin you with a smile and make you thank him for it. But to me, he was just another Smith and that canceled everything else.
My father always said hatred was fuel. And I believed him.
Daisy would be there too. My twin sister. My opposite.
Where I was sharp, she was soft. Where I saw battle, she saw beauty. Daisy lived for the stage, for applause, for the spotlight. She never cared about the company wars or our family name. But she had one weakness, a dangerous one.
Adrian Smith.
The thought made something inside me twist. While I worked to destroy him, she dreamed of him. The enemy's son. The man who would burn us if given the chance.
I never understood her heart, how she could be so reckless. Sometimes I wondered if we were even related at all.
And then there was Liam, our younger brother. Sweet, quiet Liam. The only one who still believed peace was possible. He wanted no part in this feud, no part in the empire or the war that came with it. But in our world, neutrality is weakness.