Neither of them had wanted it.

Sehun had been in rehab when Yerin’s parent’s company was at the brink of collapse. The deal was an exchange between parents, ones who wished to be rescued and the other who wished to see her ghostly son live.

It was an ordeal that’d been forced upon them.

During their first private meeting he’d told her, “I won’t love you,” to which she’d replied, “I’m not marrying for love.”

“Of course, you’re all for the money!” He’d laughed a harrowing laugh of delirium at her poise. It was a mockery of his fleeting soul.

They’d married under the clause of a perfect act. An act that would render them an ideal couple. This was to deflect rumors that may arise and for business ventures. She’d entered his company with both a large and a small title. She was the wife of the future CEO but earned nothing more than interns would at a tiny desk, where there would appear flowers and poems riddled with lies but never a man in their place.

Sehun had been in the midst of breaking down. Haunted by blue eyes, he saw them each night in his sleep and behind his lids when he blinked. They’d followed him wherever he went and he would often begin screaming and throw things; the signs of a mad man. One day he’d brought Yerin a gift of blue lenes, begging her to wear them. Those, she’d flushed down the toilet before him. From there his mood towards her staled.

He stopped sharing the same room. It gave Yerin a peace of mind to know the nutcase would no longer steal their bed and make her lie on the floor. Then began his series of nights out; partying at clubs, getting into fights, arriving home battered, waking to throw up in the middle of the night. Every time it happened Mrs. Oh would blame her for ruining her son and bringing a curse into their home.

Yerin thought that Sehun would die that she’d see her arrival into widowhood. He didn’t die however. He became an enigma of many personas, a psychopath on his way to detonation wanting to take everything with him. His theatrics transmorfigurized into that of a lover. He’d take her hand in his and dart smiles in an air of pretense.

His conviction had been so great that a month later his mother asked Yerin to rope in Sehun and get pregnant. This she told him, a part of her believing he would follow through with his mother’s wishes. He’d laughed and scorned, “I’m never going to touch you.”

The acting of players on a stage continued with Yerin reprociating to Sehun’s actions. He blinded her into thinking she wanted this on-screen romance off-screen also.


She'd reached the pinnacle of desires. She sought for his love and affection. Her each action of warmth ended in jeer. Sehun would jab at her with a contempt she could never wholly understand.

Meanwhile her friends were zooming away from her, towards the benefits of a healthy marriage. They were experiencing the joy of children while she was very much barren, alone, unloved and unaccepted. Seeing them was like looking into another mirror of life, one as pretty as a picture. She began to dream of that when her reality was deviating even further.

Fertility became an issue. Her mother-in-law added to the stress. She was given pills and made to take them. Every night she lay awake staring into the ceiling, waiting for a husband who never came. His car would roll in after dawn. He would have trouble kicking his shoes off and trudge the staircase with leaden steps. He would ignore her on his bed and fixate on showering, letting her know of his nightly duties. Her gown would meet with a gulp of laughter or an ironic brow.

After many futile attempts at love making, she started her first rebellion. She’d sought for a call boy, taking a chapter from her husband’s book. Her revolt almost made the morning papers.

Her parents were informed. Naturally they were furious at her for shaming them. They threatened to break connections with her if she were to demolish her marriage.

Her mother-in-law had slapped her for it and Sehun, who’d worked to cover up her story, had reassuringly added, “You deserved it.”

When the bleakness of reality became apparent, it was she who hid herself in the darkness. With anti-depressants by her side, she’d convinced herself she would never be loved. She began to obsess over Sehun, going so far as to monitor his activities. It added to her depression. And on whim she started her affair with Zitao.

-

Oh Sehun grimaced and tossed the unnecessary rubbish into the bin.

Hate mail was not new to him. There was always a crackpot or two who were jealous of his standing. He was after all at the forefront of the business industry. Letters in blood however were original and unexpected. He decided to have them traced back to their owners, the idiots who thought they could frighten him with a bit of plasma.

He ignored it.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have slighted the words that spelt ‘die,’ in shaky characters on a crumpled translucent sheet.

Maybe he should have given it more attention.

It might have saved his car...

Sehun stared at it. What was meant to be a top class luxury car was now a mound of slashed tires, broken windows, missing wing mirrors, faulty seats and a gear shift that had snapped.

A fox lay crumpled on the roof, its entrails slithering all the way down to his dented bonnet.

The doors had been battered and the paint was flaking. Fresh red paint glossed over the injured car, repeating the three-letter word he’d been reading.

He muttered a string of colorful words under his breath. “How will I drive this junk?” He rammed his foot into the bumper. The car began to wail a siren.

Had anyone been in the carpark at the time, they might have seen the hot-blooded CEO liquefy his frosty mein shouting, “Oh, now you scream? You heap of crap, let me teach you a lesson,” as he banged his heel into his vehicle. His visage glowed in rage. He shook an angered finger at the car, swearing to find out what the hell was happening.

Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of the pranks.

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