Married to The Problematic: The Jerk is Crazy Over Me

"They say the first impression should be stunning, the rest, whatever. I don't believe that because my first impression with you was a nightmare, and it will be forever." -Angelica Reviera (Angie/Jiji)-

***

A young, well-dressed man was in a room surrounded by men dressed all in black standing around him. Before him sat someone who looked almost the same as him, elegant and expensive, and the bodyguards standing nearby. Not long after, five scantily-clad women entered, stood in the room, and posed to show off their curves. They hoped that tonight would be a profitable night.

Being a slave to a young, handsome man was far better for these women than having to sail thousands of miles in the middle of the ocean to survive. Resigned to being passed from hand to hand, or resisting—but prepared to remain nameless.

"What's this?" asked the suave man as five women swarmed like bees to a flower.

"Compensation, Mike. Aren't they tempting to you?" replied the man with a scar over his right eye—grinning, revealing a row of teeth that looked yellowing from the effects of alcohol. It was obvious from his appearance that he was an addict. To be precise, an addict and a person in the field of human trafficking.

"I don't need a woman," Mike answered with a flat face.

"Oh, come on, Mike Genosie. I know what you're like. You can never escape that kind of life. I'm just making it easier so you don't have to go in and out of clubs just for the sake of it. They are good stuff. One of them is even a virgin."

BRAKK!

"Money or your head?" Mike pointed the muzzle of the object in his hand at the man while the others behind them started pointing guns at each other.

The heavyset man in front of Mike laughed, stood up, and clapped his hands. This was the first time that their trade had been so tough.

"You're still the same as before. Ambitious, angry, and careless." He took a cigar, smoked it reliably, and blew it into Mike's face. "Those women, or nothing at all."

Mike grinned, tucked the gun into his coat, and sat back down. He gave no response. However, when the man in front of him let his guard down, he took out his favorite object and fired one by one at the man's men, leaving only him alone.

Mike's gun was now right on the forehead of the big man, who looked up at him with a pleading look.

"Mike, we can talk it out. It's okay if you don't want those women–"

"Give me the check, or you'll lose your life right now."

The man nodded shakily, grabbed something under his coat, wrote and signed it, and then handed it to Mike, who quickly put it in his pocket.

"Thank you for today's transaction," Mike said, then pulled the trigger. And instantly, a splash of blood hit his face, and he calmly wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Take care of those women. You know how to do it."

Mike turned around after giving his orders and left the room to the sound of terrified shrieks along with the gunshots.

The transaction has been completed.

***

The sound of thumping music deafened a girl who was there. Seemingly unaccustomed to the noise of the nightclub and all the frenzy, she just sat stiffly while continuing to look around. She didn't come alone but with another girl who seemed to be circling every corner of the room filled with twinkling lights.

The girl in the skimpy skirt seemed no stranger to the nightlife. She even casually ordered a few drinks and offered them to her friend, who was seen repeatedly tapping her heels.

"Why do you look so tense, Angie? Relax. He's coming," said the girl with the light yellow skin tone, trying to calm her uncomfortable friend who was repeatedly adjusting her skirt to expose her smooth thighs.

She had picked out the best outfit, but her friend had given her the less-than-material dress on the pretext of attracting more attention to the man she had promised to meet.

"But why is he taking so long? I can't come home late. My mom and brother will be worried. You know how they react whenever I come home late," the girl named Angie replied, looking scowling.

They had been there for almost an hour, but there was no sign of the man they were waiting for. Angie was getting restless. Not used to drinking alcoholic beverages, she obliged when her friend handed her a glass filled with a strong liquid.

"This is Bourbon. It won't get you drunk, I promise. Just makes you feel calmer," she said. Angie hesitated but accepted the glass and sipped the contents slowly.

She grimaced. Tartness, bitterness, and various strange flavors began to mix on the tongue, making her shudder briefly and think, "Jeez! This tastes weird. Why do they like this kind of drink? Mom's apple cider is even better."

"Enjoy the drink, Angie. Enjoy the night and shake your booty. Woo-hoo!" The girl stood up, raised her arms, and shook her body to the thumping music. She invited Angie to dance with her but refused, so she looked for other ways to make her friend enjoy their time. Of course, by forcing her to down her drink.

A burning sensation filled Angie's throat. She almost vomited the liquid on the spot, but she quickly swallowed and promised not to open her mouth if her friend offered her another strange drink. She was afraid that someone had put poison or something in there.

What if she got high?

What if she got fucked afterward? Or raped?

What if she was then killed and mutilated?

Even though the country she lived in wasn't the most dangerous area in the universe, being careful was the number one thing in her dictionary. Unfortunately, now the entire nerve center said otherwise. The liquid she had just a few minutes ago made her feel like she was on a merry-go-round. Chest tightness and a heavy head immediately piled up on the table.

"Ta... he's really coming, isn't he? I'm so sleepy. It's hard to keep my eyes open," said Angie, who, in the next few minutes, was no longer conscious and remembered where she was and what had happened.

Meanwhile, her friend gave her a lopsided smile before turning around and approaching one of the tables where a man, wearing a shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was sitting and enjoying a drink alone.

The few people used to seeing the dapper-looking man at the Glory Club were familiar with his presence. Being alone was just a cover because, in reality, several men with strapping bodies and fierce faces were standing watch in every corner of the room, full of light and music.

All of them were on guard duty for the young master, the only son of the most crucial person in the world, and if he were to be scratched in the slightest, they would have to be prepared to lose a limb. That was one of the reasons there wasn't a single woman accompanying him. No one would ever dare to approach without being asked, and any comfort women who came, he would kick out.

"Need some company?" asked the girl who had been watching from the beginning. She quickly took her place next to the young master, sitting alone with a lit cigarette sandwiched between his fingers.

Every now and then, the man would take a sip from the glass, which would be refilled every time it was empty.

He wasn't just any man, the girl knew that. Everyone in the club dared not look into his eagle eyes. His looks were not fierce but charming—though his gaze seemed to pierce into the deepest recesses of the heart—only, the tattoo of an organization's emblem drawn on the side of the neck made no one want to deal with him.

Glancing briefly at the girl he had been ignoring, the man didn't react other than to remove the object he had clutched in his fingers. He extinguished it haphazardly before turning to the tightly dressed girl beside him.

The man raised one eyebrow, looking at the girl from toe to hair. Several women offered the same thing, but he wasn't interested.

Fix! He didn't lust after her. He waved a hand, shooed the girl away, then looked away. "I'm not interested in you."

"Oh, no, no. You're mistaken, sir. It's not me, it's her." The girl pointed at Angie, stoned on the bar table, still babbling the name of the man she'd been waiting for the past hour. "How was it?"

The man squinted at Angie who was not far from his table, without any interest. However, his mind was telling him something else. If it was just for fun, it was fine with him. So, he immediately turned to the girl who had been wearing a big smile on her bright red lipstick-polished lips.

"Who are you? Do I know you?"

"What's the point of asking who I am? For sure, no one doesn't know Mike Genosie, the son of the top brass of a famous black organization in Eastonville, perhaps even the entire universe. Ask yourself, are you sure you don't need a good thing like her, hm? Remember, your father has some pretty tough conditions. This girl might be the solution to convince him to give you the throne." The girl raised one eyebrow with her lips pulled up. She was confident that today's deal would go well.

"Why are you doing this? You seem to be friends."

"Do you think friends are more important than money?" the girl replied without hesitation.

"OK. How much do you need?" Mike, the man, hurriedly took out a few bills but was rejected by the girl.

"Are you so poor as to pay me with just bills? Come on, Young Master Genosie ...."

"Tell me how much."

"Twenty thousand dollars a night. Just one night. You'll have to pay me if you want to use her again. Remember, she's a virgin."

The man was silent again for a moment, looked back at Angie, then turned to stare at the girl before him. "Is she drunk?"

"Hmm... a little. But it won't detract from the performance, trust me." The girl added.

"Alright. Take her. I'll wait in the car, basement B13. Right away. If you're even a little late, the deal is off."

The man got up and hurried away. He couldn't wait to enjoy dessert on a gray New Year's Eve. In minutes, he would prove to his father that he was not what they thought and accused him of being.

He was a real man and would soon replace his father at the helm of their organization. SURE.