You weren’t doing good.

It had been one year since your marriage. Technically, there was a wedding but everything was an arrangement, no romantic feelings, no sincerity in vows, the rings were taken off as soon as the event ended. The only mutual things ever since was hatred.

The stupid engagement turned your life into somewhat catastrophic and miserable. You’d suffered through countless sorrows in one year, fucking 365 days.

First thing, you had to take a hiatus on car racing.

Second thing, you had to move to New York. The most hustling city in the world that you never had an intention to stay longer than one-week vacation.

And the third thing. The worst. The major cause for the unexpected problems above. You were forced to deal with Mark Lee on daily circumstances.

You didn’t know who the hell Mark Lee was, his name sounded plain and tasteless. However the indifference soon transformed into hatred. Mark was your worst nightmare.

You didn’t use the word ‘hate’ on regulation. Despite the fact that you’re a cold, heartless and sometimes brutal human being, you didn’t use hate toward any people ever. Until you jumped into this marriage.

It’s clear that Mark hated you back, indeed more than you hated him.

The bottom line was your hate for him dipped in a thin shell of something that felt like love. But you promised yourself you’d crack it, break it and unleash pure hatred in its place before he got to you.

Besides the role of a decent wife, you also had to be his personal accountant. You had complete no knowledge about paperwork, how to do a schedule, how to prepare a espresso, how to use the printer. You’re a car racing enthusiast, business was not your cup of tea, neither anything relevant to numbers and stocks. You risked your life on the circuits, you enjoyed the name chant, you hit 150 on the dash whether it’s a Honda Civic or a Lamborghini Roadster. You’re not meant to wear pencil skirt and sit in front of a computer ten hours a day.

You were not a rebel. Kind of. Yet it’s not considerably ungrateful if you refused to have post-graduated education and started off with the career as a racer. You’re capable of keeping yourself alive with the amount of money you made from it, a championship triumph alone could purchase you a lavish life in one year, six month in excess if you’re an economical person. Therefore you didn’t suppose it’s anything wrong to live the life you truly desired as long as you didn’t harm anyone.

For the whole time being on this planet, you had no clue about what your family do for a living. Your father did something relevant to politics and your mother, she owned a chain of restaurants. You’re not supposed to play a huge role like a heir of a kingdom, your brother already helped with the restaurants and politics, screw that. The most significant thing was that no one in your family went against your passion in car racing, which you’re genuinely thankful that they didn’t judge you. Until, until they announced you about the engagement with some unknown motherfucker named Mark Lee. They announced, not asked, you had to emphasize on that. The reason behind this was the worst thing in the bad things you could possibly think of yet totally pointless. Your grandmother had a promise with his grandmother that one of their grate children would marry the one another. And the lottery called your name, him either.

Arrangement was arrangement, there’s no contract on paper to cancel and you had to oblige it despite how much you wanted to protest. But now you wished you had fought harder for yourself. You didn’t predict this marriage is a serious disaster.

...—...

It’s not your fault that Mark’s involved in this marriage, neither it was that you had an appearance resembles his first love. It’s none of your fault that you looked like the girl who shattered his heart. But your hair, your face, your eyes, your shoulders, whatever it is on your body reminds him of someone he had to forget.

You looked like her yet not. The constant scowl, not the same. The determination in your eyes, not the same. The logic of your speculation and the witty things you uttered out loud, not the same. The flexibility of your limbs, not the same. Your voice. More beautiful than hers.

Contrasting with your inferential hate, his hate toward you was irrational. He hated how you senselessly changed they way he looked at his first love. He hated the halfheartedness in your behavior. Hated the sarcasm and snark in your voice whenever you talked to him. Hated how mercilessly you were when you’re on the race tracks. Hated how he fell under your spell, treacherous yet charming. Hated that slowly it’s not her when he looked at you, it’s you when he looked at her.

He forgot to mention that his first love was your sister and you absolutely had no clue about it. Your high school best friend— Jolene was attending a college in Vancouver when he dated her. He knew you for years but you never knew who he was until one year ago. You’re a distinguished car racer. People always went insane for something that was not the stereotype. He’s not misogynistic person but it’s odd to see a woman managed to succeed in racing let alone a sophisticated woman like you.

He’s dazzled, so were the others.

“I’m not doing any work today. I have other important things to do than breastfeeding you breakfast. xx”

Mark walked into his office with a note and empty paper take-out containers on his wooden desk.

It took him everything to not toss the containers against the wall and send you on your way back to unemployment. Well, technically you did have a job. A job that were able to afford you a 3 million dollars Bugatti in less than two years. Anyhow, you’re going to stuck in here until he said otherwise. He didn’t like people enjoy what’s his, those desperate eyes when you’re on the racing tracks. Everyone wanted you, including him. That’s undoubted.

Despite of your job being Mark’s PA, he never saw you at your desk. Literally never. He had called you by the telephone for the eighth time and the other side was dead the whole time. Walking out of his office, his eyes raked around to find you. A scowl plastered on his face as he spotted you at the copy machine. You were engrossed in a conversation, with a male employee.

Mark stalked out toward you, clutching the poor plastic folder in his hand.

“Y/N…” He snapped his fingers twice, like you were his pet.

You swiveled your head, giving him your unimpressed look, before resuming your conversation with the guy. At this point, he was completely mute and nervously darted his eyes at Mark.

“If you’re not in my office in sixty seconds, I’ll just assume you’ve resigned,” Mark said easily and you infuriatingly twisted your head again. “Gladly.”

Ignoring the bad mannerism, he turned around and stormed back to his office. The corner of his mouth twitched as he heard footsteps behind him after ten seconds. As he stepped inside the wide room, a subsequently loud banging noise the door echoed into the wall.

“What the hell?”

“Arrange a meeting at 3.” He threw the folder at you carelessly which you caught in your hands with a grimace on your face.

“And I remind you,” he continued, “I’ve worked with everything in me to reach what I’ve got today. I’ll be damned if something as foolish and careless as an office fling will stain the reputation of this company.”

He turned back to his computer and resumed working, ignoring the fact you were still there, your eyes on him, looking like you were about to stab a stapler into his chest. A grin tickled his mouth, but he didn’t let it loose. You were here, you were angry, and you were going to do what he said until he let you go.

Those were the simple facts.

And he was going to **** you at some point.

This was an assumption, but he was rarely wrong.

“And make us a dinner reservation at Gramercy Tavern.” Mark added, ignoring your dark face.

“Us? I’ll need the other person’s name.” You tapped on your phone to take note.

“The other person is you.” His voice was flat.

Your eyes arrowed from the screen to Mark, “I’m not going anywhere with you.” You glowered at him.

Besides the occasional dinners with your and his family, you never hang out with Mark. His presence irritated you that you felt the urge to poke your eyes blind with your fingers every time you see his hands—goddamn ugly face. There’s no possible way you would spare one second to be near this motherfucker.

“And I don’t care.”

“You’re pissing me off,” you said quietly, your eyes still searching his face.

“And that’s turning me on,” he retorted, his voice flat. “So you might wanna tone down the hate glares if you don’t wanna find yourself being fucked on this desk with the blinds still open.”

“You know what your problem is, Lee? You still haven’t decided if you hate me or like me. That’s why you act like this every time I’m around other men.” There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in your voice. You owned up to this.

What you didn’t know was that he knew exactly how he felt about you.

He hated you, but was attracted to you. It was really that simple.

“You know what I feel right now, Ms. Y/L/N? I feel like you will go to dinner with me, whether you like it or not.”

Mark glared at you across the table. He asked you to order, not to chitchat with the waiter. Weird. It’s either a scowl on your face that scared people away or a severe silence with your zipped lips. No in between. It’s acknowledgeable to everyone around you that you’d never been a friendly and sociable human being.

“Thank you.” You said before the waiter steps backward and turns away.

“What did you say to him?” Mark tossed you a suspicious look. He’s not big fan of gossips but he actually wanted to know what you were talking about. To a stranger. You and him never, ever communicated for longer than sixty seconds. And you talked to that guy for literal five minutes straight, smiling, laughing and touching— you patted on his back once.

You glowered at him, again. When it came to interaction with Mark, you barely put on a facial expression that radiated positive energy. “Why do you ask?”

“Whatever.” He gave up. This conversation had no potential for a good ending. Opposite of his speculation that you’re going to bite back, you peacefully leaned on your chair. You hands tucked in your overcoat, your eyes infuriatingly squinted at him. “What?” He barked.

“Why are we here?”

An amusing smirk displayed on his lips at your question. A question that both of you knew the answer. “You know what day it is today.”

Of course you did. How could you forget the fateful day that changed your life. Forever. One year anniversary of your wedding.

“It’s not like we have anything cheery to celebrate.” Your lips curled but the smile didn’t seem to touch your heart.

Abruptly, the dished respectively served on your table, interrupting the awkwardness between you and him. You flashed the waiter a thankful smile and a slight nod. And Mark had to admit, that smile looked way more genuine that the one you slung at him a split second ago.

He pressed his elbows on the table, his back merely bent forward. “Still, you’re my wife and I’m your husband. I suppose I should find some way to enjoy this special day.”

Such as **** you raw in his car.

Your eyes glinted with levity, licking his body up and down. There’s a fact that either of you wordlessly agreed to keep it in silence. Besides the hatred, the lust was mutual. But you’re not going to be one who crack first. You would never crack.

The rest of the dinner went on in serenity, no argument. You’re actually grateful that Mark let you finish your food and enjoy the dessert thoroughly without disturbing your meditating mind by his stupid mouth. You couldn’t stand his presence but you could suffer it as long as he knew how to act properly. Most of the time, he did not.

The leaves crunched beneath your boots as you walked your way to the parking lot. Your hands tucked deep inside your pockets due to the sharp chill of October weather. You adored fall and everything came with it—the cozy clothes, the riot of earthy colors on the trees, the hint of cinnamon and smoke in the air.

From a distance, you could already see his sleek black Audi A8. Typical Mark. He’s into somewhat elegant and modest. Unlike you. Your Bugatti Chiron would look showy and ostentatious next to his car.

Feigning boredom, you casted your eyes on your wristwatch. Still, no matter what time it was, it’s showtime. The moment to unbox the gift you secretly prepared for him. You’d been keeping your mouth shut long enough and you’re about to detonate from the thrill. You wanted to see Mark’s reaction.

“My best friend is visiting us.”

Your heart skipped a beat and the crunching noise beside you briefly vanished. “I beg you pardon?” Mark twisted his head and glanced at you. Even under the dim light of the night, you could see the obvious astonishment plastered on his face.

You knew everything. You’re just too marvelous at pretending to be clueless. How the hell could Mark think that you had no idea what was between him and Jolene when he’s literally in a marriage with you. However, you knew it two months later than you should’ve. When Jolene saw the photo of you and him at your wedding, she told you about her past relationship with Mark. Through messages.

He should’ve known the only, only thing prevented you from choking on his **** was morality. There’s no way on earth you would **** your best friend’s ex even if he’s your legal husband. As a matter of fact, he’s clearly still not over her.

Nonetheless, you’re going to play this game a little longer. If Mark wanted to play you, you would play him back.

“Jolene is visiting us. Tomorrow.”

Your tone was nonchalant, so was your face. Mark couldn’t inspect nothing in you, it truly looked like you’re simply informing him. His jaw ticked as he swiftly brushed off his shock, one blink and his dark eyes glistened with the mischief again. You’re amazed by how fast he managed to mask his true emotion.

“I’m excited to meet her.” He mused and quickened his steps again.

Of course he was.

Jolene was working in Canada after her college graduation. The poor girl could not make it to your wedding but it’s alright, that ceremony was meaningless. As she’s on a business trip, she decided to drop in for a brisk dinner. You knew her intention was purely checking on you yet you couldn’t help the weird feeling inside your chest about the encounter. Anticipation, worry or the worst— jealousy.