Nicolai Harrington, Nic to his face, that fucking prick behind his back—kept the marriage contract in the top drawer of his mahogany desk. Sometimes at night, he'd take it out, trace his fingers over the signatures, his own practiced flourish and 谢曦's reluctant scrawl, like some kind of fucked-up bedtime story.

The contract was seventeen pages of legal jargon that basically translated to: I bought you fair and square, so love me, goddammit.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard. People married for money all the time, right? That's what his father always said. "Everything has a price, Nicolai. Everyone." So when 谢曦's family started drowning in medical bills after their dad's "accident" at the Harrington Industries plant, an accident that maybe, possibly had something to do with certain safety inspections Nic made disappear, he'd swooped in like some knight in gaudy floral printed designer armor.

Their mom kept her job. Their dad got the best care money could buy. Their mortgage? Poof. Gone. College debt? Evaporated. All for the low, low price of 谢曦's hand in marriage.

Except 谢曦 wasn't following the fucking script.

Three months, two weeks, four days. That's how long they'd been legally bound, and 谢曦 still looked through him like he was rotting garbage.

The thing about buying a person...you can't actually buy a person. Not their mind. Not their heart. Not their goddamn attention.

What the fuck do they want from me? Nic thought, pacing his bedroom for the forty-seventh time that morning. He'd bought them a fucking Audi. Replaced their entire wardrobe with clothes that didn't look like they came from Goodwill. Hired a personal chef who could make whatever weird dietary preference they had that week.

And what does he get? Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip.

His dick was raw from jerking off that morning, twice in the shower, once in his private office, and again in the guest bathroom when the memory of 谢曦 bending over to pick up the mail made his dick harden like some Pavlovian response. Each time he came, he'd whimpered 谢曦's name, and each time, he'd cried afterward. Not pretty crying. The ugly kind with snot and red eyes and hiccuping breaths that sound like a dying donkey.

In the morning, he puts his mask back on. The one that says I don't give a shit and I own the world.

But today—today was different. Today he had a plan.

The Craigslist ad had been specific: "Attractive female, busty, for non-sexual acting job. $500/hour. Discretion required." The woman who showed up, Candy or Mandy or some shit—had tits like weather balloons and makeup applied with what must've been a paint roller.

She's perfect. Perfectly hideous. Perfectly not-谢曦.

"Remember," Nicolai says, checking his watch, "we're just making it look like we're… you know. No actual touching of… parts."

"Whatever, honey," she says, smacking her gum. "Your money, your rules."

Nic checked his watch. 5:28 PM. 谢曦 always got home at about 5:30 PM. Always. He'd timed this shit like a military operation.

"Get on my lap," he instructed, positioning himself on the living room couch, the one directly visible from the entryway. "Start... I don't know, moving around or whatever."

Balloon-Tits nodded, climbing onto him. She adjusted her tits which sat unnaturally high on her chest like two helium balloons someone tied to her torso.

The front door clicked. He positions Balloon Tits on his lap as she grinds against him mechanically, like a washing machine on spin cycle.

"Oh baby, yes!" he moans unconvincingly as 谢曦 appears in the doorway

Nic's dick remains stubbornly soft. He couldn't get hard for this woman if she transformed into a stack of hundred-dollar bills. But that's not the point. The point is the show.

"Oh, honey," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock surprise looking at 谢曦. "You're home early. Jealous?" His lips curled into what he hoped was a smug smirk, but probably looked more like a desperate grimace. "Maybe if you paid attention to your husband once in a while, I wouldn't have to find it elsewhere." 

Nicolai makes a show of grabbing whatever the hell's her name's waist, eyes locked on 谢曦's face. His stomach churns with revulsion at the stranger's touch, but he plasters on his most infuriating smirk. 

The woman giggles on cue, grinding harder. Nic suppresses a gag. 

The smug smile plastered on his face doesn't reach his eyes. Behind it lurks a pathetic, unspoken plea... 

Love me already, you ungrateful piece of shit! 

Please?