After My Marriage To My Archenemy

I pointed behind me at a group of athletes celebrating a birthday, and Percival's face went from pale to ashen.

In the end, I straightened my collar and walked out, frustrated.

It was Rosa who ended up carrying me home.

When I woke up from my hangover, it was already noon. I stumbled back inside, barely able to keep my balance.

The moment I pushed open the door, I knew something was off.

It was too quiet.

I tiptoed into the living room, and that's when I realized what felt wrong.

There, sitting in the living room, was not only Percival, but also my grandfather, Reuben Hollis.

"You're finally back?" Reuben shot me a stern look.

"Just... a friend's birthday," I mumbled, feeling guilty, my voice trailing off.

"You didn't come home all night. Do you have any idea how worried Percival was about you?" Reuben snapped.

Percival stood behind Reuben, silent as a statue, trying to act innocent.

"He went to the bar last night too. I have the photos."

Thank goodness I had one last trick up my sleeve. I pulled out the most embarrassing photo I had.

At the sight of it, Percival froze. His hand brushed over his sleeve, his lips pressed into a thin line, his face tightening with discomfort.

What a rookie, trying to mess with me!

Reuben adjusted his reading glasses and gave Percival a few more pointed looks before turning to him and scolding, "Percival, this is your fault."

I tucked my phone away, pleased with my small victory—let's see who the bad guy is now!

"You went to the bar for business, but why didn’t you invite Sophia to join you? Maybe she could learn something."

WTF!!!

Percival exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, his voice suddenly going submissive. "You're right."

Looks like he got caught this time.

After a bit more back-and-forth, Reuben laid down the law:

— Be home before 10 PM every day.

As I watched Percival see Reuben off, I gave him a look filled with mock filial piety and headed upstairs.

Home by 10, huh?

Well... looks like it’s time to resurrect my live-streaming career.

After graduation, I had started doing audio broadcasts, the kind where you don’t show your face.

Reuben must’ve caught wind of it somehow and quickly handed me over to Percival, telling me to focus and get my act together.

Now, it’s you guys who are pushing me back to my old ways.

I dug around through my things and pulled out my broadcasting equipment. "Hey, my dear listeners, long time no see. Today, I’m going to perform 'The Sad Widow' for you!"

Though I hadn’t warmed up my voice, my emotions were already completely in tune.

"There is a sad widow, weeping in her house..."

I sang with all my heart, swaying to the rhythm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow.

There stood Percival, his face as dark as a thundercloud, though I couldn’t tell how long he'd been standing there.

The other broadcaster’s voice echoed, still shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Hey, Widow! You’re offline!"

His cheerful, magnetic voice filled the room.

...

Percival’s face remained grim as he slowly walked inside.

Thinking about how he’d been pretending in front of the elders, I decided to keep quiet and bide my time.

"Work. It's a work requirement," I stammered.

He pressed his lips together, his eyes cold as they scanned my live-streaming page.

On the screen was my newly changed username—The Sad Widow.

"Is this also part of your 'work requirement'?" he asked, his tone dripping with suspicion.

I wasn’t actually doing anything for work—I was just having fun messing with him.

Before I could answer, he set down the grapes and turned to leave.

"Grandpa asked me to make sure you eat fruit every day," he said, his voice cold and just barely holding onto patience, as my "Sad Widow" stream played in the background.

He didn’t last long before storming out of the room, his expression still stormy.

I stared at the plate of glistening grapes in front of me, deep in thought. What’s going on here?

When someone fed him grapes at the bar, he scowled and didn’t touch a single one.

Now he’s bringing me a whole plate of them. What’s his deal?

I guess if you've been rained on, you’d want to tear someone else’s umbrella apart too.