[Nina Ha]

I hate this ship. I hate the idea of going on a cruise. I hate having to play pretend and act as if don't get sea sick. I hate being stuck in this hell of a honeymoon. I should be back home, enjoying a day of passion and love at Liv's summer villa. Instead, I'm stuck with Bret.

The fact that, inspite of being a popular and loved socialite, Alivia has to keep me hidden as if I were some monster scares me. No-one knows how connected we are to each other. We're meant to be. That is, unless Bret decides we should start a family.

I puke at the thought of having kids with him. I don't care if he's filthy rich or has properties all around the States and in seven other countries. I don't like the idea of being related to the McCullum family. Their values are the opposite of mine; they'll never align, no matter how much Bret tries to play lovebird with me. I'll never cozy up to him. Until I have the chance to be with whom I truly love, I'll keep up this game for his money.

Speaking of the Devil, Bret is already here, his eyes glued on me and his hands shaking at the thought of grabbing me. I suspect he only sees me as a piece of meat, and not a person. I ignore his gaze, but end up regretting it. He now leans very close to me and snatches the magazine I'm reading from me. He has no fucking respect.

I snap at him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He retorts. "This is the question I am supposed to ask. Did you forget our dinner, sweetheart?"

I recoil as I hear that nickname. I hate when he calls me darling, sweetheart or anything like that. Can't he just stop pretending he's into me when all he wants is fucking me and displaying me as his trophy?

"Get ready. You have twenty minutes. Do as I tell you, or you'll face consequences." Bret's voice is now a mechanical hiss. Still, I'm not scared. I can't afford to be scared, or I'll fall in his trap of hatred, manipulation and possession, and be stuck there forever.

So, I have to refine my strategy. I choose my most provocative dress, a bright red one with lacy motives. Short, sleeveless, siren shaped and with a vent on the left side. Its heart shaped neckline is low cut enough to make my boobs stand out. I've also chosen my sexiest lingerie to match the dress.

I close the outfit with thin killer black heels and a whole lot of jewelry: gold, diamonds, rubies and pearls glow on my neck and my wrists; however, I keep it simpler with my ears, picking a pair of white gold circle shaped earrings. I spray my most expensive perfume, put a shocking red lipstick on my lips and take a look at my perfectly polished nails. The matte black is a statement: it's a symbol of passion and freedom.

I refuse to wear a coat: I want Bret to be dazzled by my looks. This way, he'll be distracted and I'll be able to sharpen my claws, making his sufferance more subtle, yet more painful. I'll make him regret getting in the way. He'll end up leaving when I'm done playing him.

Here he comes, with his devilish grin and a slimy glare. He has all the bad intentions of this world. He thinks he's able to do anything he wants with me. Too bad for him, I only accepted this dreadful marriage for a paycheck. He may think I'm some desperate gold digger, but he's in for a rude awakening.

The twenty allotted minutes have passed. I have to find Bret at the restaurant. It's easy to find—it's called Golden Anchor and is a semi-open space with a red velvet curtain as a door. As I'm about to make my bold entrance inside, a waitress in total black stops in my tracks. "Bernina Ha, right?" I nod, grinning at her.

"Your husband is waiting for you at table 22. Have a good dinner." How does she know Bret? He must've buttered up to her, or maybe she knows him thanks to connections with his family and their multiple companies.

It doesn't really matter, though. All I have to do is find his table, play nice but, at the same time, make sure he has a miserable dinner. Hopefully, he's caught by surprise and doesn't find ways to retaliate.

He notices me first. Instead of being impressed by my looks, he's annoyed. "You're late, Bernina. You know I hate that."

I correct him. "I'm fashionably late, Bret. It's you who was ungodly early. So, stop being a spoil sport for fucking once and enjoy the view."

He gives me what I perceive as a predatory glance. "Nah, this view is a lot better." He eyes my partly exposed breasts. Gosh, he's such a sleazebag. What do our families see in him beyond his net worth? To him, women are none other than dolls he can play at his pleasure.

I try to shift his focus onto something else. To do so, I point at my expensive jewels. "Nice, yeah. Too bad I couldn't find the perfect ring to match the rest. I'm sure you have one, right?" I pucker my lips in the most plastic and least natural way possible. Instead of paying attention to me, Bret keeps checking his phone.

"Come on, don't tell me your boring trading news is more interesting than my package, Bret. What's the problem? Already tired of me?" I come closer to the thin line between subtle provocation and straightforward taunting. I don't mind if he thinks I'm playing with fire. I'm sure he has dozens of other women he talks to behind my back. Not a big deal. It'll make me get out of this hell of a marriage more easily.

"No, Nina, it's not trading news. How can you be so stupid?" Typical of his. Insulting me and my intelligence has been a constant since we were forced into wedlock. I've never found it acceptable, and I'm definitely not going to let it slide.

"Excuse me? Me, stupid? How dare you talk me down like that, Mister Perfection?" I don't raise my voice; however, my hard hiss is enough to attract other customers and even the waitstaff, who glance around uneasily.

I continue. "I shouldn't even be here, to be fair. I know what you want. You only married me to show me off like some trophy, as if I weren't worthy of respect and consideration. You can go find yourself a bimbo, loser." I don't stand up and go. I still expect him to pay for my dinner, too. Since he thinks he can be a smartass and treat me like his property, I'll make sure he won't come out of here unscathed.

"Bernina, I don't like your tone. Watch your mouth, or you're gonna regret it." His threats are dead air to me. He can yap as much as he wants. I won't be his again.

He concludes. "By the way, since you were so curious about my phone activities, I was talking to my lawyers." He's preparing divorce papers, I see. I assume he has somebody else he's waiting for. I guess I can amp up my theatricals.

"Lawyers? Huh. I see. I won't ask you for more details. I guess it's top secret."

"Yeah, it is. Let's enjoy dinner, okay?" Hypocrite. He isn't here solely for eating delicacies and sipping pricey wine. "Next time you try to nose around your business, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget." He has stood up and has now grabbed my bare wrist. He holds it so tight that I have to plaster a fake smile.

Then, he slides his other hand underneath the neckline of my dress and attempts to squeeze my breasts. "Back off, asshole!"

He slaps me and growls. "How did you call me?"

I let go of his hold, stand up and push him on his chair, retaliating by slapping back. "I told you to back off! You know what? It's over. I don't care if you leave me with nothing. You and your disgusting family are predators who see women as trophies. That's enough!"

The waitstaff are so taken aback that, instead of offering me to leave the restaurant, escort Bret off. He, of course, threatens to sue everyone, including me. Good riddance.