That damn guy was leaning back against the tub, brushing his teeth like life was a vacation. Our married life? Just the usual—work, eat, argue, fool around, sleep. Back when my job was easy, sure, life was chill. But now I'm working from maid-level chores all the way up to executive crap my head spins every day.
And then I come home to my handsome, good-smelling, stone-faced spouse, glowing like a damn LED billboard because he drenches himself in every expensive skincare product known to mankind. When he takes his shirt off, he lights up the whole room. A high-class spouse with a partner who lives like a broke villager that's us.
He sits there with one leg crossed over the other, sipping wine or beer, watching movies like he owns the universe. And the wild part? This fancy prince is actually a monster at housework. For someone who looks like he walked out of a damn fashion magazine, he doesn't hire a maid. Not one. His massive condo is spotless because he cleans every inch himself. And the food? He picks every ingredient with his own hands. Exercises morning and night, body routine stricter than the military. If he were some farm kid like me and lived like this, my mom would've kicked me so hard I'd split in half.
But there's one thing that trashes his health smoking and drinking. No idea what the hell he's dealing with, because the marriage agreement spelled it out clearly:
"Don't stick your nose in my business."
Man…
I shouldn't have married this psycho.
A few days later
"Can't you tell your wife to come see how things work at the company sometimes? Staying cooped up in that tiny condo all day he'll go crazy sooner or later."
As if dealing with my wife wasn't enough, now I have to sit here with messy hair fighting with my father-in-law, who insists I come help out in the chairman's office. I'm buried under eight piles of documents, while the owner of the company sits there watching cartoons and eating popcorn like nothing's happening.
Like father like son, seriously.
"You know very well I can't say that to him, sir."
"What kind of husband can't even talk sense into his own spouse? Useless."
… Yes sir, I'm useless. If telling him off actually worked, I would've fixed his attitude ages ago. (I said that in my head. I'm not suicidal.)
"Tell me something do you love my son that much? You never go against anything he wants."
"Of course I love him, sir."
Who said that? Love my ass. I'm just trying to survive each day so I don't get kicked out and can keep my job.
"And don't you love your son, sir?"
We've been married almost a year and this is the first time I've even dared ask him anything personal. Probably dying to talk about his own son but acting all prideful so nothing ever gets said. This whole family is exhausting.
"So, do you think your wife is cute?"
These two father and son they're both stubborn as hell. They act like they don't care, won't talk, but they secretly buy things for each other, secretly transfer money. What's wrong with these people?
Back home in Isaan, we're not this complicated.
"I think Fia is cute, sir. He's a great spouse cooks well, keeps the place clean, better than a housekeeper."
"He's the only son of a construction-supply company. How could he end up as a househusband?"
"But that's what he likes, sir. Uh… Sir, why does Fia insist on cooking and cleaning by himself?"
Pathetic, really. I have to call my father-in-law "sir," call my spouse "you," and he calls me "mherf*er."
What a life.
"His mother raised him that way. She used to scare him about germs this germ, that germ so it stuck. After she passed away, he just got even more obsessed with cleanliness. And he cooks good food because she loved praising him for it."
"Oh… that explains a lot."
"If he wanted that life, he should've married someone rich so he could help me run this company. But no he picked the laziest employee in my own company to marry. Now look—I'm the one stuck training you until my hair falls out. When will you ever get good at this?"
I swear, I can't stand the mouths on this father-and-son duo. No wonder my spouse wanted to die first.
"Um… Mr. Chairman, may I ask… who was your son's ex?"
"Little Oong-Ing."
"Is Oong-Ing male or female, sir?"
"My kid is gay. What do you think? You think he'd date a woman?"
"Ah… then…"
Knock knock knock
"Hello, Father~"
"Oong-Ing, you're back from abroad already?"
"Yes, Father. I bought a bunch of brand-name stuff for you. Had someone drop it all off at the house."
"You didn't have to trouble yourself, son."
"Uh… is this your secretary, sir?"
"No, he's a worker. This is Fia's husband."
"Ohh, so you're Fia's groom. You look pretty hardworking."
"Well, of course. A chairman's son-in-law can't just sit around and collect a paycheck doing nothing."
"Fia sure switched up his type fast, huh?"
"Exactly. He dated sweet, adorable little Oong-Ing for ages, and then suddenly decided to like someone this… average. I'll never get it."
Heh, so giggly so this is how rich people gossip in a flash! And now another troublemaker shows up, fitting perfectly with my father-in-law. Sharp eyes, mischievous vibe… little Ung-ing, the one my father-in-law calls that, small, fair-skinned, puppy-like—hard to believe this could be my wife's ex. Looks good, fits into high society, gets along with my father-in-law like a charm… so why did they even break up?