“Quiet down.”

Christopher’s voice cut through the air, words dripping with disdain and frustration.

He grit his teeth as you doubled over the toilet bowl again.

Half an hour had passed since your vomiting episode had begun and even now, it showed no signs of stopping. In the dim off-white light of the bathroom, you seemed even less appealing than you were normally, skin washed out by the light. Your hair was a mess, matted and tangled into a clump on your head. The clothes you wore, thick and hideously colored, made you look frumpy and fat.

This was not the woman he was shown in the portrait.

Fingers digging into his sleeve as a string of clear vomit dripped from your mouth into the toilet after multiple minutes of dry-heaving, Christopher turned his nose up at the smell and noise. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor’s tiles. He’ll have to get divorced with you—soon. The companies have merged and your role is complete. He had no desire to take care of someone so useless.

And, the cleaners will have to be called again.

Christopher shuddered at the thought of having to use the bathroom after you. You sullied any surface you touched and then some, spreading dirt and grime throughout his carefully maintained space. Even after regulating you to the guest bedroom and small part of the kitchen, Christopher couldn’t stop himself from obsessively wiping down every surface in the penthouse before he touched it—worried that you might’ve touched it first.

“Can you keep it down or not?” He ground out, waiting for an answer as you continued to retch.

This is taking way too long.

Your marriage to him was your father’s only condition for the company merger. At the time of the deal, Christopher had very little information on you. Your father was unnaturally careful about media attention and went out of his way to avoid any and all paparazzi, meaning that no one outside of his closest circle even knew he had a daughter.

So, Christopher expected a haughty and spoiled rich heiress. He can deal with arrogant brats—they constantly flocked towards him to no end for money and fame, so he agreed to marry you. All he had to do was throw some money your way and you’d be wrapped around his finger in no time. As long as you didn’t get in the way of his business, he could tolerate living with such an annoyance.

But, Christopher expected a haughty heiress, not whatever this is.

On the day of the marriage—your father had insisted it to be a simple signing of the certificate instead of having an official ceremony, a penguin waddled into his penthouse. With great difficulty, you took a seat at the dining table to sign the marriage certificate, and Christopher was already regretting his decision. He had finally realized why your father had seemed so desperate to marry you off. The roundness of your stomach could only be explained by a pregnancy, and with the legitimate father out of the picture, you would only be a disgrace to your family’s reputation. However, if you were to be married to Christopher, the baby could be passed off as his.

Christopher was furious.

Yet, in the moment, he lacked the time to deal with you. Between the merging of the two companies and the consolidation of power, he was so busy that he forgot about you.

Christopher heaved out a frustrated sigh as you finally lifted your head, lips wet with vomit. Your eyes wandered, widening when you finally registered his presence.

“Are you finally going to listen to me? You’re disturbing my work.”