Joxi_Jash

When fiery, ambitious Isabella Carter clashes with arrogant yet brilliant Alexander Blackwood, sparks fly—but not in a good way. As rivals in the corporate world, they stop at nothing to sabotage each other. But when fate forces them into an unexpected partnership, the line between hate and love begins to blur.
Will their hatred burn into something deeper, or will their pride keep them apart forever?

From Nemises To Lovers

The obsidian mirror no longer merely shimmered—it pulsed.

Alexander stood before it, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though steel felt laughably useless in the face of something so ancient, so aware. The fractured surface now resembled a spider's web spun in smoke and fire, and from its deepest curve… the wrong version of Isabella watched him.

> "She's mimicking me," Isabella whispered, her voice ragged.

Alexander glanced at her. "No. She's studying you. Like a predator memorizing prey."

They had sealed the library. No one else was allowed near the mirror now. Not even the High Mages. Only the two of them knew the truth—that the mirror wasn't a relic.

And something inside it remembered freedom.

That night, Isabella poured over the book of the First Flame, searching for an anchor—anything to hold her mind steady as the version of herself in the mirror grew stronger, more synchronized.

> "There's a ritual here," she told Alexander, voice tight. "A way to sever the mirror's tether… but it requires blood. My blood."

Alexander's eyes darkened. "Then we find another way."

She shook her head, resolute. "If I wait, she'll break through. And if she takes me, Alexander… you won't be able to tell us apart."

> "I already can," he said quietly.

> "But will you, when she wears my face and speaks like me?"

Alexander stepped closer, resting a calloused hand on her shoulder.

> "Because only you hesitate before sacrificing yourself. She wouldn't."

That moment lingered—too brief, too fragile.

Just before dawn, the mirror cracked once more.

Thick, tar-like ichor oozed down its surface, hissing as it hit the stone floor. The wrong Isabella in the reflection pressed her palms to the glass and whispered words in no language they knew—but Alexander felt them in his bones.

> "We have to begin the severing," Isabella said. "Tonight. Or there won't be a choice."

The mirrored Isabella tilted her head, eyes gleaming.

And then she mouthed a word with perfect clarity.

Chapter 138: Reflections That Bleed