The Spoilers Call Me Toxic

I have always been a crier. And, Ill admit it, Im relentlessly clingy.

My husbanda man I acquired through a corporate marriage of conveniencewas currently meticulously peeling the skin off a bowl of green grapes for me. It was the thousandth time hed performed some tedious task just to appease me.

Suddenly, strings of floating text began scrolling across my vision, glowing in the air like a live comment thread on a streaming site.

[Can the side-character wife get a grip? The male lead works himself to the bone all day, and he has to come home to serve this brainless brat?]

[All she does is cry. Shes crying away whatever good luck she has left!]

[When is he finally going to divorce her? I cant stand the way she bosses him around. So what if her family bailed him out when he was down? Big deal.]

[Just wait. It won't be long now. This spoiled princess is going to be utterly destroyed by the female lead, who is actually competent and brilliant.]

[Spoiler alert: Her company goes bankrupt, her family falls apart, and she dies in the streets. Just watch!]

My breath hitched. My hand shot out, snatching the bowl of peeled grapes right out of his hands, and I dumped the entire thing into the trash can.

Thomass hands froze in mid-air. He looked up, his brow furrowing slightly.

"How have I offended you this time?"

I met his dark, ink-black eyes. To me, they looked entirely filled with impatience.

A pulse hammered at my temple. I opened my mouth, the words stumbling out clumsily. "I... I can't stand the green ones anymore."

The moment the words left my lips, I wanted to slap myself. Idiot. I couldn't even come up with a decent lie.

Thomas let out a soft click of his tongue, his thin lips parting slightly.

My heart did a frantic leap against my ribs. I thought for sure he was finally furious.

When we first got married, I had weaponized my status as the wealthy heiress who saved him. I ordered him around, criticized everything, and the second he didn't give me exactly what I wanted, I cried. And when I cried, it was an endless, exhausting downpour.

Perhaps out of some lingering sense of gratitude, he had endured it all.

And because he endured it, I pushed further. I convinced myself that making him jump through hoops, making him cater to my every whim, was simply what he owed me. Honestly, every time I saw him swallowing his irritation to do something for me, I felt a twisted sense of absolute triumph.

But now? Now, the glowing comments predicting my miserable, destitute death flashed in my mind, sending a violent shiver down my spine.

I didn't dare push him anymore.

"If you don't want them, you don't have to eat them."

Thomas pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser and began slowly, methodically cleaning the sticky grape juice from his long fingers. He tossed the wipe into the trash, stood up, and headed toward the kitchen.

"We don't have any of the red globes left," he said, his back to me. "Do you want something else?"

"No, no, it's fine! I'm just going to go to sleep. I've lost my appetite anyway." I waved my hands frantically and practically bolted toward the master bathroom.

Thomass footsteps stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, then turned and closed the distance between us with long, purposeful strides.

Realizing what he was about to do, I lunged forward, grabbing my toothbrush and aggressively squeezing paste onto it before he could reach it.

I gave him a stiff, overly-eager smile. "I've got it! I can do it myself!"

Thomas stopped a foot away. Those pitch-black eyes roamed my face, searching for something.

Then, his voice softened.

"It's my fault today. Things were chaotic at the firm, and by the time I got to the artisanal market, the red grapes were completely picked over. The few they had left looked bruised, so I bought the green ones instead." He paused. "I'll make sure to leave the office earlier tomorrow."

The truth was, we had a full-time housekeeper whose literal job was to buy groceries. But a year ago, purely to mess with him, I had fired her from grocery duty and demanded Thomas do it. Every evening after work, he had to go buy my specific fruits, wash them, and sometimes literally feed them to me. He peeled the skins, pitted the cherries, and held out his hand for me to spit the seeds into.

"You don't need to do that," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "You don't need to do any of it anymore. I can do it myself from now on."

I didn't dare look at him. I just stared at the sink, brushing my teeth with aggressive concentration.

In my periphery, I saw Thomass expression darken. He stared at my back for a long, heavy moment.

"Suit yourself," he finally said, his tone perfectly flat.

It wasn't until he had completely left the room that the rigid tension bled out of my shoulders, and I slumped against the marble counter.

Only one dim, amber-glowing lamp illuminated the bedroom.

Thomas was propped up against the headboard, reading off his tablet. The cool blue light washed over his face, highlighting his sharp, aristocratic jawline and the perpetual cool indifference in his eyes.

Hearing me enter, he looked up.

I immediately averted my gaze. I scurried to the far side of the massive California King bed, lifted the duvet, and slid in, pressing myself so close to the edge I was practically hovering over the floor. You could have fit two more of me in the space between us.

Normally, I slept plastered to his side. I would wrap my arms and legs around him like a suffocating vine. When he got too hot and tried to gently push me away, I would immediately start crying. Id cry until he gave up, sighed, and let me use him as a human body pillow.

Tonight, I didn't dare.

Thomas had already prepped for my usual assault. The duvet on his side was pulled back invitingly, and he had even switched off his financial reports, pulling up an audiobook app on his tablet, just waiting for me to latch onto him.

In the past, I would force him to read me bedtime stories. If he refused, I cried. If he read them but I felt he wasn't putting enough "emotion" into it, I cried. I would force him to do voices and act out the dialogue until I fell asleep.

I saw him waiting. But I pretended I didn't.

It's true, I had overactive tear ducts, and I was raised in an old-money bubble that completely insulated me from the word "no."

My marriage to Thomas started with pure, unadulterated infatuation. We went to the same elite prep school, and even back then, he was the untouchable golden boy. A brilliant, brooding prince of a dynasty.

I've always had a fatal flaw: the more unattainable something was, the more obsessively I wanted it. I thought about him day and night, but by the time graduation rolled around, he hadn't looked at me twice.

We went to different Ivy League colleges, and I thought my window was closed forever.

Then, during our junior year, the scandal hit. His father was indicted by the SEC. Stocks plummeted, assets were frozen, and overnight, the untouchable golden boy was dragged through the mud.

The moment I heard, I took a massive chunk of my trust fund and marched to his door, offering the bailout his family desperately needed.

The condition? He had to marry me.

He agreed.

I figured, once I had him, love would naturally follow. I clung to him, threw tantrums, demanded the world. Partly, it was just to force him to look at me. Partly, it was the naive belief that since he married me, he was obligated to spoil me, adore me, and have eyes only for mejust like my parents' perfect marriage.

But he was always so aloof. It was like nothing I did could spark a real fire in him.

The less he gave, the more bitter I became. I demanded he be on call twenty-four hours a day, catering to my most unreasonable demands.

The glowing text from earlier flashed through my mind again. Bankrupt. Dead in the streets.

I shuddered beneath the silk sheets. I absolutely could not accept that ending.

The comments said he found me repulsive. Fine. From now on, I would stay completely out of his way. I would be independent. I wouldn't bother him.

That should... that should fix the plot, right?

The mattress shifted behind me. He had laid down.

I scooted another inch toward the edge.

Suddenly, a pair of strong, warm hands clamped around my waist and hauled me backward.

I crashed against a solid, heat-radiating chest. Even through the thin fabric of our pajamas, I could feel the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat.

His warm breath brushed against the shell of my ear.

"You were about to fall off," he murmured, his voice laced with a strange, low resignation.

Right on cue, the glowing text materialized in the dark room:

[Oh, look at her playing hard to get. I actually thought shed changed, but she was just waiting for the male lead to pull her in.]

[The male lead has it so bad. Shackled to this toxic woman. He can't even tell her off because shell just throw a crying fit. He must be so sick of her.]

My entire body went rigid. Operating on pure panic, I shoved him away and scrambled back to the icy edge of the mattress.

I kept my back to him, my voice tight. "I'm just a little hot."

"Go to sleep. I'm tired."

Behind me, in the heavy silence, I heard the distinct sound of him grinding his back teeth. Then, a low, almost bitter scoff.

"Fine."

A sour ache bloomed in my chest. Was he really that happy that I wasn't touching him?

The glowing comments continued to scroll past, mocking me. I squeezed my eyes shut and chose to play blind.

I woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom. As consciousness returned, I realized I was wrapped around Thomas like a desperate octopus.

I knew I was an active sleeper, but I didn't realize it was this bad.

Filled with intense self-loathing, I slid out of bed, used the restroom, and quietly walked down the hall to the guest bedroom.

Imagine my utter shock when I woke up the next morning back in the master bedroom.

The first thing I saw was a very familiar expanse of bare chest. My favorite chest.

An arm was clamped over my waist like an iron band. I was completely immobilized.

Panic flared. Did I sleepwalk?

It wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes Thomass libido was too much, and Id get mad and banish him to the guest room. But the next morning, wed always wake up in the same bed. I used to accuse him of sneaking back in, but hed calmly pull up the security footage from the hallway to show me that I had sleepwalked straight into his bed.

Damn it, I thought. I'm buying a deadbolt today.

I carefully pinched the fabric of his sleeve, trying to lift his heavy arm and slide out.

I moved barely an inch before the arm tightened like a vice.

"Where are you going?"

Thomass morning voice was a gravelly, sleep-rough rumble that sent an involuntary shiver straight down my spine.

I froze in his arms, too scared to even breathe.

The floating comments were right on time:

[Look at her pretending to pull away. Shes probably thrilled inside.]

[The male lead sounds so annoyed. Shes still just lying there like an idiot. Zero self-awareness.]

Spurred by the words, I immediately started thrashing against his grip.

"II need to pee!"

Thomas didn't let go. Instead, he smoothly rolled me over so I was forced to look at him. There were faint, bruised shadows under his eyes. He clearly hadn't slept well.

"You ran off to the guest room last night, and then wandered back in at 3 AM just to burrow into my chest." He stared down at me, his face utterly unreadable. "What game are we playing?"

Guilt flared hot in my cheeks. I looked away. Could I exactly tell him I saw floating text predicting he would ruin my life?

"N-No game."

"I just realized... I've been really annoying lately. I've decided I'm not going to annoy you anymore."

The air in the room went deathly still.

Thomass eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. His fingers gently caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his.

"Who said something to you?"

"Nobody! Absolutely nobody!" I denied it frantically, but my stupid, traitorous eyes immediately welled up with tears.

The comments surged:

[Crying again. Is that literally her only skill?]

[The male lead hates it when she cries. Just wait, hes going to drop her so fast.]

Panicking, I shoved him off, practically vaulted out of bed, and sprinted into the master bathroom.

I could feel his gaze burning into my back the entire way, heavy and unyielding.

For the next few weeks, I made dodging Thomas my full-time job.

While he was downstairs making my artisanal breakfast, I would sneak out the side door, order an Uber, and text him from a caf that I was eating out.

I didn't have a corporate job, but my trust fund was massive. Recently, I had fallen down a rabbit hole of collecting rare, vintage vinyl records and indie band merch. Since I was suddenly trying to give Thomas space, I decided to open an upscale boutique record shop. It gave me something to do other than obsess over him.

My phone vibrated on the table. I tapped the screen.

It was a string of update texts from Thomas.

Early in our marriage, I had given him a strict, psychotic mandate: he had to report his location, his company, and the duration of every single meeting, down to the minute. I even made him write a daily log for me to review. Usually, Id text back something brief and send him a flirty Venmo with a heart emoji as a "reward."

But now...

I sniffled, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I shoved the phone into my designer coat pocket and looked up at the man sitting across from me, who was currently grinning like a shark.

Solomon. A top-tier partner at a cutthroat law firm, specializing in high-net-worth divorces. He also happened to be an upperclassman from my university days.

If Thomas was destined to divorce me and leave me destitute, I was going to strike first. I needed to control the narrative.

By the time we finished going over the preliminary paperwork, it was almost noon.

I walked Solomon out to the sidewalk. And thats when I saw him.

Thomas was standing perfectly still by the entrance. He wore a sharp, midnight-blue overcoat. In one hand, he gripped a sleek, insulated lunch tote. The air around him was so cold and oppressive it felt like a physical weight.

"What are you doing here?"

I didn't know why, but I felt incredibly guilty, like a wife caught in an affair. I stumbled backward a step, my shoulder bumping into Solomon.

Thomass eyes darkened to pitch. The knuckles of the hand gripping the lunch tote turned bone-white, the pale blue veins standing out sharply against his skin.