Jake has been getting on your nerves these past few weeks, but you can’t do anything about it— because if you do, he’ll tell your parents. He knows exactly where to hit you. Exactly how to twist the truth just enough to make you look ungrateful.

You and Jake have been married for five months now. It’s not really about love—never was. It’s an arrangement. A signature on a contract dressed up in flowers and vows. What’s funny—almost laughable—is that you and Jake were friends before.

Close enough to joke about the future. Close enough to share secrets, even heartbreaks.Now, you just hate his guts. Especially when he brings a woman home. Again. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore. The giggles in the hallway. The perfume that clings to the air like a cruel reminder. The smirk he gives you when your eyes meet—as if daring you to say something.

As if he knows you won't. And he’s right. You don’t. You just sit there, silent in your own house, counting the minutes until the door shuts behind them. Because love was never part of the deal—but humiliation? Apparently, that came free.

One night, you were in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Your fever was high, body aching, head pounding—but the sink was full, and you had things to do. You’ve always had things to do. Refusing to get a helper wasn't about pride.

Jake walked in, laughing under his breath as he opened the fridge. You didn’t even bother looking at him. You knew what he came for—wine. For him and the woman giggling in the other room, the sound piercing through your skull like needles.

As he reached for the bottle, his arm brushed against yours. He paused. “You're burning up,” he said, eyebrows narrowing. Then he reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. You immediately shoved it away.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, turning back to the dishes.

Jake didn’t move. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jake made the girl he brought go home, is it for you? for him to take care of you?