A MISTRESS

“No new clauses will be added to this agreement, Olívia,” I stated firmly, eager to see the disappointment on her face. 

“I’ll file for divorce,” she shot back, staring me down fearlessly, as if I were just any ordinary guy. 

“Do that, and I’ll destroy your family. I’ll take the house, the furniture, and make sure no one in North Noriah gives you a roof to sleep under.” 

“We’ll leave the country.” 

“I’ll follow you to hell.” 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than try to screw over my family?” 

“Oh, I do! But screwing with Ernest Abertton is my favorite hobby.” I couldn’t hold back a smug grin, noticing no trace of emotion in her eyes. 

“When does the contract end?” she asked the lawyer. 

He opened his mouth, but I cut him off before he could speak. 

“It’s a lifetime contract, Stick-Figure! It ends when one of us dies!” I savored the words like they were a gourmet dish from a world-class chef. 

“That’s not very fair, since you’ll get 20 years of freedom while I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life, *husband*!” 

“Why ‘20 years’?” I asked, curious. 

“Because I have 20 years less life expectancy than a normal person.” 

“Where… did you get that from?” 

“My doctors told me.” 

“You have some other condition I wasn’t informed about?” 

“My diabetes is type 1, *husband*!” 

I leaned back in my chair, rocking it slightly, a genuine smile spreading across my face. 

“Twenty years! That’s a good chunk of time without you, finally free… though I doubt you’ll last that long by my side, Stick-Figure! I’m not exactly easy to deal with.” I smirked. 

“I’ll have to manage, since I can’t file for divorce! Your contract is ridiculous. It only benefits you. I’ll have my lawyers take a look, if you don’t mind.” 

*Lawyers*? She had lawyers? No one with a law degree in North Noriah would dare go up against me. 

“Be my guest, Stick-Figure!” 

Despite everything she said, I couldn’t see anger in her eyes. It was like this was just a casual chat for Olívia, like choosing between white or red wine for dinner. 

“The part I think is most unfair is you getting 20 years without me…” 

“I couldn’t care less about your lifespan!” I made that crystal clear. 

“I care… about you. I know it’ll be hard for you without me. I don’t want you to suffer.” 

I raised an eyebrow, thrown off. I understood her words, but I refused to believe they were coming out of her mouth. The lawyer cleared his throat, his eyes wide, practically begging to be dismissed from this madness. 

“I won’t suffer when you die, Olívia. Don’t worry. I’ll throw a party to celebrate.” I leaned forward, smirking, making my stance unmistakable. 

“You say that because you don’t know me, *husband*. I…” She sighed, her eyes welling up with tears she stopped with a finger. “I can already see you weeping at my grave, with our kids, regretting making me sign this contract. But I’ll forgive you in advance, because we’ll have lived years of intense love and partnership before then!” She smiled with such conviction that my body slumped back in the chair, unable to withstand that piercing gaze trying to burrow into my soul. 

“Mr. Clifford… can I… leave?” the lawyer stammered. 

“Sign the contract, Olívia.” 

She grabbed the pen and signed everything without protest. I smirked, satisfied. She’d forgotten about the allowance for the Aberttons. Olívia understood she had no choice, no room to add clauses. This woman belonged to me… until her father died of grief over what his precious daughter endured by my side. I just needed time. After waiting ten years for this moment, I was in no rush. Now, I could savor the sweet taste of revenge. 

As she handed the signed papers to the lawyer, I made a point to say, “I don’t like you, Olívia Stick-Figure. And I never will. You’re the last person I’d ever care about. I won’t touch you. We won’t have kids. We’ll never be a family.” 

She paused, thinking. 

“I forgot to mention, but maybe it’s good to clarify in front of the lawyer: I don’t want biological kids. We’ll adopt.” 

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, a giant question mark practically etched on his forehead, as baffled as I was. He must’ve realized my wife had some kind of mental issue. For the first time, I wondered if I’d made the right move. I’d be in deep trouble if Olívia lost it and needed to be institutionalized—she carried my name now, and any mess would be tied to me. Yes, I’d married a mentally unhinged woman. 

“Mrs. Clifford… do you have fertility issues? Or can’t you have children?” the damn lawyer asked, as if he cared about whatever nonsense spilled from her head. 

“Because of my condition, pregnancy’s risky. And childbirth is a gamble. But the main reason I don’t want to bear a child is the 3% chance they’d inherit diabetes. If it’s tough for an adult to deal with, imagine for a kid! I want to give my kids candy without worrying about their health! We’ll adopt!” She looked at me, smiling, as if we’d already discussed and settled it. 

“No heirs, Mr. Clifford,” the lawyer said, eyeing me like he was warning me of a problem. 

“Get out, Mr. Johann,” I ordered. 

I didn’t want heirs. I didn’t care. My inheritance already had a destination, and nothing would change my path. 

The lawyer left, papers tucked under his arm, looking dazed. 

“I hope you’re not upset that I don’t want to have your kids,” Olívia said. 

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Was it worth repeating? *I don’t like you! I won’t touch you! We’ll never be a couple! We won’t have kids! I care more about my shoes than you!* 

Olívia had comprehension issues. And I didn’t waste my voice on people like her—idiots. 

“Well, since we’ve settled the kid thing,” she smiled, “we need to talk about my college.” 

I ignored the first part and focused on the second. Had Stick-Figure flunked out? Probably—she didn’t have the brains to be a doctor. Was she begging for my help to stay in the program despite being kicked out for incompetence? 

“What can I do for you, *wife*?” I grinned, dripping with sarcasm. 

“I need money. I’m six months behind on tuition—the whole semester. They blocked my access today, and I missed class.” 

“Tough luck! That’s not my problem.” 

“It is. We’re married, and I don’t have money.” 

“Like I said: tough luck! I’ve got nothing to do with it.” 

“There’s no food in that house. The cupboards are empty. No cook. Just one maid. Why’s there no gym? You do everything wrong, *husband*!” 

“I do everything exactly how it’s supposed to be, Stick-Figure! And I’m so lucky it sometimes turns out even better than planned!” I couldn’t hide my smug grin. 

She sighed, got up from the chair, and turned toward the door. And… what a nice ass: small, round, and firm under those pants. Stick-Figure was skinny, but she didn’t lack in the ass, chest, or waist department. 

She turned, catching me checking her out. A sly smile crept across her face as she purred, “If you won’t give me money for food or tuition, fine. I’ll figure it out.” She winked. “Just don’t judge me later—you didn’t give me options. And… I want you home tonight. If you don’t show, I’ll go back to my house and file for an annulment, since you haven’t even touched me. I’ll stay a proper, family-oriented… virgin, even after marrying Mr. Gabe Clifford, brother of North Noriah’s biggest womanizer. Don’t underestimate me, *husband*. I’m good, but not naive.” 

I opened my mouth to call her ridiculous, to tell her to do whatever she wanted because I’d screw her over either way. But Olívia just left my office, slipping out like she’d slipped in: like a ghost… a ghost that turned everything upside down, especially my peace. 

Maybe it’d be better if she filed for an annulment! I couldn’t stand even the tiniest bit of coexistence with a woman like her. She talked too much, gestured too much, dressed in too many colors.