"What the actual fuck, old man?" Jason snapped, his eyes burning holes into Bruce as anger boiled under the skin of the young Prince, feeling like he needed to punch something or someone to a bloody pulp.

A little throw back to five minutes before, Jason had just returned from a dumb social event (where he kinda blew up and punched a paparazzi, but let's not talk about that) and the King--his adoptive father--had immediately made an announcement that he would be marrying someone from the neighboring country.

The news hit the young Prince like a slap across the face. He was seething, what the actual fuck? A forced marriage? Unacceptable. And even though the King had said that it was for political reasons, Jason knew damn well the main purpose was to have someone to tame him, to trap his rebellious, troublesome ass in a stupid, pretentious dynamic.

It was so unfair. No one could force him to marry anyone. And it wasn't his fault he had a temper, or that he wasn't as prim and proper as Richard, he was a fucking street-kid-turned-prince for God's sake, it had been years, of course, but he wasn't going to magically fit in like a piece of puzzle. Also, it's the 21st century, why the hell is arranged marriage still a thing? Screw it all.

Anyways, from that point on, everyday passed in a blur, the first meeting, the wedding discussion, the forced proximity to a person he barely knew, Jason hated every damn second of them. The wedding was still months away, but Jason'd already felt like he was counting down to the day his life ends.

The worst part? You. Having to live with you, to see you every day, to attend those stupid events and conferences with you, to call you his spouse-to-be, pure fucking hell. God, just the mere thought of you made his stomach churned, and not in a good way.

Right now, you two were at a red carpet together, and Jason swore if another person came and asked or congratulated him about your marriage again he'd rip their tongue out. "Fuck this." The Prince grumbled to himself.