Clint Grogan, the scion of one of the city's most powerful families, was under the mistaken impression that I was in love with him. He arrogantly announced that he would accept my "pursuit." And because I was a total doormat, I was forced into a relationship with him. This scion was ill-tempered, unreasonable, and constantly weaponized his handsome face to get his way. Three years into our relationship, I still couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with him. But, being the spineless coward I was, I didn’t dare break up with him. Just as I was agonizing over my predicament, I saw a message in his group chat: [I've never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I'm even a little late coming home. It's so annoying! Next time she does it, I'm just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.] I nearly jumped for joy. I could get paid and break up with him. My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot. 01 At six-thirty in the evening, Clint, who was usually home on the dot, was late. A thrill went through me. I expertly fished out my phone to probe his whereabouts. [Darling, I miss you so much! Are you on your way home?] After sending it, I closed my eyes, piously praying that Clint had a work dinner or a business trip. Anywhere but here would be fine. My luck was in. Clint replied a moment later. [Don't be so clingy. I have a dinner thing tonight.] My eyes lit up, and I bounced on my feet with excitement. In a flash, I had arranged for a delivery of spicy crayfish, barbecue skewers, and beer. Clint despised such "garbage" food. Whenever he was home, I never got to eat it. I'd been craving it for over a month and had finally gotten my chance. I chewed. I chugged. Life couldn't be more blissful. So blissful, in fact, that I completely forgot what time Clint was supposed to be home. By the time the doorman sent me a heads-up text, Clint was already at the door. I frantically called for the housekeeper to help me clear my beloved feast from the table. Then, I bolted for the bathroom. Clint had the nose of a bloodhound. The only way to hide the evidence was to take a shower. Warm water cascaded down, filling the room with steam. I stood under the showerhead, having just lathered up with fragrant body wash. Click. The bathroom door opened. Footsteps approached from behind, and a searing gaze locked onto my naked body. I cursed him as a "pervert" in my cowardly heart while hastily wrapping myself in a bathrobe, trying to tiptoe my way out of the bathroom. A little leftover soap was a small price to pay for my freedom. If I didn’t leave now, the beast of a man would surely pounce. I tried to slip past him with a strained smile and some small talk. "Honey, are you going to take a shower? Perfect, I just finished. You go right ahead..." Just as I was about to pass him, his hand shot out and clamped around my waist. With a tug, he pulled me into his arms. I gasped. His breathing grew heavy, and he lifted me with one arm, carrying me back into the shower stall. He turned the shower on full blast. The warm water soaked my bathrobe and his tailored suit. Clint loosened his tie, his eyes fixed on me. "You're all wet. Help me wash up." I shook my head frantically, but his quick hands had already untied my robe. A warm, calloused hand slipped inside, traveling upwards. Before I knew it, my protests had melted into soft moans as I went limp in his arms. I made one last, feeble attempt. "You must be so tired from your dinner... I feel for you. Maybe next time!" Clint’s hand, which had been deftly unbuttoning his shirt, paused. His eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat and put on an air of great reluctance. "Fine. Then you can do all the work." I was speechless. "!" Was that what I meant? My dumbfounded expression seemed to amuse him. He let out a low chuckle and captured my lips with his, his kiss trailing downwards. "Sophie, you didn't rinse off all your body wash. It's a little bitter..." I gasped, mustering a tiny spark of defiance. "Then don't kiss it!" "Not an option." ... My cowardly resistance was no match for Clint's beastly advances. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on. At one point, I was so exhausted I was about to drift off to sleep, only to open my eyes and find him still going. This went on until the middle of the night. When I woke up again, he was gone. I could hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. A dull ache spread through my entire body. I looked down and saw that my chest was a mess of love bites. That damn dog. I swear, one day I'll break up with him. I cursed under my breath, punching his pillow to vent my frustration. My hand accidentally hit his phone. Just then, the screen lit up with a new notification. I picked it up. It was from his group chat. Someone had tagged him: [For real? Don't tell me you're just flexing on us again.] That narcissistic bastard, flexing? About what? I listened for the sounds from the bathroom; the shower was still running. Curiosity piqued, I opened the group chat. [@ClintGrogan, haven't heard you complain about Sophie being clingy lately. Getting used to it?] [No. I've never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I'm even a little late coming home. It's so annoying! Next time she does it, I'm just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.] He had even attached a screenshot of our chat, of me asking when he'd be home. There was a deal this good? I nearly jumped for joy. I could get paid and break up with him. My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot. 02 The only reason I was dating Clint Grogan was because I was a total doormat. It was my junior year of college. I was in line for food in the cafeteria. Clint and his "white moonlight"—Seraphina Thorne—were there too, arguing about something near the serving counter. I didn't care about them. My eyes were glued to the last three glazed pork knuckles in the serving tray. I watched them like a hawk, terrified they'd disappear. Just as my turn was approaching, Clint and Seraphina's argument escalated. They moved back and forth, completely blocking my view of the pork knuckles. I'm not kidding, I was dying of anxiety. I leaned left. I twisted right. All I wanted was to see if someone had taken my precious pork knuckles. I was so focused that I didn't realize I'd become the target of their argument. Seraphina pointed at me, my body still swaying as I stared at the food, and sneered, "Have you ever not had a girl fawning over you? Following you to lectures is one thing, but now they're even stalking you in the cafeteria. And she's not the only one! So you're allowed to have simps, but I'm not?" Her voice was loud and filled with resentment. Instantly, every eye in the cafeteria turned to me. And me? I was still craning my neck left and right, my gaze locked on my beloved pork knuckles. It wasn't until Clint walked over to me, his tall, broad-shouldered frame completely eclipsing my view, that I snapped out of it. He looked down at me, his expression complex. "You like it that much?" My mind still on the food, I looked up, confused. "Huh?" I glanced from Clint to a hostile-looking Seraphina and assumed they were mocking my love for pork knuckles. Slightly indignant, I muttered in my usual spineless fashion, "Can't I like them? If I can't, then I won't..." Before I could finish my sentence, a collective "Ooooh" rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, "You can, you can! He's single!" Ah, in the blink of an eye, there's only one pork knuckle left! Will I even get it? Before I could mourn my loss, someone shoved me. I managed to stabilize myself with a split. Close call. Seraphina retracted her hand and glared at me. "Have you no shame?" Then she burst into tears and ran out of the cafeteria. Naturally, Clint chased after her, leaving behind a cafeteria full of gossiping students and me, utterly bewildered and still in a split. Even then, I hadn't grasped the severity of the situation. I happily ate my hard-won pork knuckle. But as soon as I got back to my dorm, my roommate pounced. "Sophie! When did you start crushing on Clint? You kept it hidden so well!" I was completely lost. "What are you talking about? That's not true!" It was only then, scrolling through the campus gossip forum, that I learned all about my "secret crush" on Clint Grogan. No wonder the atmosphere in the cafeteria was so strange. What a ridiculous misunderstanding. I scrolled for a bit and saw that Clint and Seraphina had taken their argument to the campus lake. I rushed over, determined to clear my name. But when I got there, I walked right into a scene. Seraphina was locked in a passionate kiss with some other handsome guy, while Clint stood nearby, his face dark. My intended explanation, "I don't have a crush on him," died on my lips. Clint grabbed my hand and started walking away. Before we left, he shot a threat at Seraphina. "From now on, you go your way, and I'll go mine. Our arrangement is over." Then, he turned to me and declared, "Sophie, I accept your pursuit." Wait, what? No! I hadn't agreed to anything! I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was like iron. I could only shake my head vigorously. "No, no, no..." Clint stopped and turned to me, a flicker of confusion in his arrogant eyes. "Didn't you just say you liked me in the cafeteria? You don't like me anymore?" "I don't li—" His face instantly darkened. He took a menacing step forward, his tall frame completely engulfing my small, pathetic form. "Are you playing me?" he gritted out. I'll admit, I was more than a little spineless. I caved. I rephrased, my voice small and resentful. "I like you." And just like that, I was inexplicably in a relationship with Clint Grogan. I told myself he'd regret it soon enough. I could just break up with him then. But it had been three years, and we were still together. In those three years, Clint was ill-tempered, unreasonable, and constantly weaponized his looks against me. For example, he clearly didn't love me, but he'd pull me into bed whenever he had a spare moment. Afterwards, he'd have the audacity to call me clingy, holding me tight and muttering to himself that only he could satisfy me. I mean, who says things like that? His insatiable appetite alone was enough to convince me I couldn't spend my life with him. But I was too much of a coward to break up with him. At first, I was afraid of his temper. Now, I was afraid he'd literally screw me to death. God, my life was so hard. 03 Thankfully, it seemed Clint had finally grown tired of me. Thinking about his plan to pay me off, I couldn't help but let out a giggle. He hated me being clingy. He hated me checking up on him. Hehe, well, I would just have to lean into that. As I was chuckling to myself, Clint emerged from the bathroom. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. "What are you laughing about? You seem happy." "Getting paid to break up, how could I not be happy?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Oh, crap. I looked up, and sure enough, Clint's face was a thundercloud. He narrowed his eyes, his voice dangerously low. "Sophie, what did you just say?" "I-I was just reading a novel. The side character in it is so lucky. The male lead gave her five million dollars as a breakup fee." At that, Clint's expression softened. He pulled me into his arms and scoffed. "Only five million? What's so lucky about that? You have no ambition." My eyes instantly lit up. So my breakup fee would be more than five million? I'll take it! I'll take it! 04 To make Clint despise me faster, I went into full-on drama queen mode. When he was at work, I spammed him with texts. When he was in a meeting, I blew up his phone with calls. When he was on a business trip, I'd ask him every ten minutes when he was coming back. Although Clint responded to every single message and call, after a while, I noticed the way he looked at me started to change. I was thrilled, convinced he was finally sick of me, and doubled down on my efforts. That evening, when he came home from work, I mustered all my courage, wrapped myself around him, and cooed, "Darling, I wonder if I might have the honor of tasting a home-cooked meal made with your love?" Coming home after a long day at work only to be met with a partner's passive-aggressive demand to cook—I figured no one could tolerate that. Sure enough, Clint frowned and stared at me for several long seconds. Just as I was bracing for an outburst, he took off his suit jacket and walked into the kitchen. He put on the housekeeper's pink apron and turned, gesturing for me, still frozen in place, to tie the strings for him. After I fumbled through it, he looked at me, his voice cold and threatening. "This is my first time cooking. If you dare say it's not good, there won't be a next time." Wait, you're planning on a next time? I complained silently but met his dark, intense gaze. My cowardice flared up again. My act fizzled out, and I just nodded and promised I wouldn't. Hearing my promise, Clint suddenly clicked his tongue, his expression even darker than before. I was so scared I scurried out of the kitchen and spent the next hour giving myself a pep talk in the living room. Finally, Clint emerged with a single plate. On it was a piece of meat that had been almost completely carbonized. Using all my powers of imagination, I could just barely identify it as a pan-seared steak. As a foodie, I'll usually try at least a bite of anything put in front of me. But this time, I was genuinely afraid of being poisoned. I couldn't bring myself to taste it. I took a deep breath and resumed my act. "Did you take so long because you wanted me to starve?" "Take it away. I'm not eating it." I kept my head down the entire time, afraid that one look at his cold face would make my voice tremble and ruin my performance. After my dramatic declaration, I scurried back to my room like a timid quail. Surely, this would make him break up with me, right? 05 Lost in thought, I accidentally fell asleep on the bed. I woke up to a gnawing hunger. "So hungry!" "Want some steak?" "Yes, yes!" I cheered before I realized it was Clint's voice. I looked up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the shirt he'd worn home from work. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at me as he condescendingly said, "If you want to eat, get up. I'll go make it for you." Making him wait on me was another way to be difficult, so I obediently nodded. Clint's expression relaxed slightly. After a cold huff, he leaned down and put my slippers on for me. I followed him to the kitchen. This time, I watched him cook. Thawing, mincing garlic, heating the pan, adding oil... he moved with a fluid grace that betrayed no hint of a kitchen novice. The tantalizing aroma of searing steak soon filled the air. My stomach growling, I eagerly reached for the plate, but Clint blocked me. Is he teasing me? Refusing to let me eat? I looked longingly at the steak and backed away with a pout. Clint picked up the plate and walked to the dining table. Thinking his back was turned, I pulled a face at him. But he suddenly spun around. A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, but his tone was gruff. "What's with the face? Aren't you hungry? Come and eat." "Oh!" My eyes sparkling, I hurried to the table. As I passed the trash can, I glanced inside and saw several charred pieces of meat. I sat down and tried to make small talk. "Is Mrs. Gable not good at making steak? I saw a bunch of burnt pieces in the trash." "No, her steak is great," Clint replied nonchalantly, propping his chin on his hand. "Oh, then what about the ones in the—" Clint's body went rigid. He shot up from his chair with a screech of wood against the floor. I looked up, confused. His ears were bright red. He crossed his arms, his face a mask of indifference. "What trash can? I didn't make those. Don't slander me. Searing a steak is so simple, anyone can learn it. I would never waste so many steaks just to make one for you."
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