Hidden-Married and Utterly Spoiled

In the midst of a rain-soaked night, Amy Wilson stumbled upon the revelation of her husband Mark Meyer's clandestine affair. The air hung heavy with the echoes of their intense s*x, where Mark's stamina shone as a notable strength. Yet, beneath the surface, the absence of finesse and an apparent indifference to his partner's emotions marked evident shortcomings.  Amy had endeavored to guide him toward a more nuanced approach to lovemaking, but her efforts had met with little success. Following their liaison, Mark retreated to the shower, the sound of cascading water resonating through the opulent bedroom. Alone amidst the lavish surroundings, Amy reclined lazily, idly scrolling through her phone. The evening seemed ordinary until a piece of news captivated her attention: The Meyer family's heir, Mark Meyer, was recently spotted entering a luxurious hotel in the company of the renowned actress Susan Leslie. An anonymous hotel staff member disclosed that the two shared an intimate connection. Mark and Susan were entwined in a romantic liaison? Amy's eyes widened, her finger freezing mid-scroll. She had admired Susan's talent in numerous popular dramas, but the revelation was genuinely startling. Despite the blurry and cleverly angled photos, the undeniable intimacy between Susan and Mark was evident. Susan clung to Mark's waist, her face nestled in his chest, while Mark, with a subtle tilt of his head, seemed to whisper sweet words. Familiar with Mark's nature, Amy doubted the authenticity of sweet words. Mark was more inclined to say, "Your new movie needs funding? Alright. I'll transfer ten million tomorrow." After all, it was a gesture he frequently extended to her. Could he be more generous with Susan than he had ever been with her? The unsettling prospect lingered in Amy's mind, casting a shadow over her emotions. At its core, their marriage unfolded as an unconventional transaction, a straightforward exchange of needs. Amy, grappling with the financial burdens of her comatose father's ICU expenses, sought a lifeline. Mark, the heir of the Meyer family, sought a wife with no restraints and did not vie for his wealth. With his striking looks, towering stature, and stellar education, Mark stood as a sought-after figure. The queue of women vying for his hand in marriage, with no strings attached and prenuptial agreements signed, could stretch for miles. Thus, Amy harbored reservations about why he would choose her in the end. However, in the face of her ordinary existence as a college student, she dismissed them. After all, she appeared inconsequential in the calculations of a wealthy magnate, and the dire needs of her father compelled her to accept the arrangement. In their agreement, the very first rule was: "No Constraints." Hence, Amy found herself questioning why she should even be bothered by Mark's romantic involvement with a celebrity. At this moment, a sudden interruption shattered Amy's contemplation. A deep, magnetic voice echoed behind her, demanding attention. "What are you reading?" Startled, she hastily flipped her phone face down on the bed. "Nothing," she replied to Mark's inquiry. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, met hers. The thin lines of his lips stirred a proverb in Amy's mind. Men with thin lips were inherently heartless. Mark's eyes lingered on her for a moment, then, with casual nonchalance, he uttered, "May I?" before unceremoniously seizing her phone. "What's the point of politely asking 'May I' if you're going to snatch away my phone anyway? Jerk!" She muttered curses under her breath, all the while discreetly scrutinizing his expression. Mark was calm, unnervingly calm, with no trace of any disturbance. It appeared the news report held the truth! A heavy silence enveloped the room, amplifying Amy's discomfort in Mark's presence. Struggling to break the awkwardness, she fumbled for a topic, her mind drawing blanks. Attempting to redirect the conversation, she impulsively suggested, "Um, how about... we consider a divorce?" Mark turned to her, his gaze sharp and piercing. His eyes, commanding and set within a perfectly structured face adorned with distinctive features, bore into her.  "What did you say?" he inquired, his tone carrying an air of authority. Feeling the weight of the moment, Amy reflexively tried to backtrack, regret washing over her. She swallowed hard, blinked her round blue eyes, and shook her head. "No, nothing. I didn't say anything." Mark's gaze remained fixed on her, and Amy sensed he intended to offer some form of response, perhaps an explanation or a denial—however, the arrival of a sudden phone call introduced uncertainty into the impending dialogue. Mark's phone, positioned on the bedside table, emitted a buzz. Amy's keen eyes caught the Caller ID in the fleeting moment he answered. Susan? The very name of the female celebrity caught in the scandal with Mark! Amy's journalistic instincts quickened. She feigned indifference but discreetly tuned in to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, the voice on the other end sounded faint, and she only grasped a vague snippet of the woman's words before witnessing Mark's immediately darkening face. "Stay at home. I'll be right there." After concluding the call, Mark directed his attention back to Amy. "Go to sleep. I have some matter to take care of." Amy nonchalantly nodded. "Sure, go ahead. She must need you." Mark shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes carrying depth and a trace of scrutiny as if contemplating. Amy felt a twinge of unease under his gaze, but fortunately, he refrained from commenting and exited the room. As Amy sighed in relief, a sudden realization struck her, prompting a hurried dash to the bathroom. She had almost forgotten her contraceptive pills. In the aftermath of their recent s*x, where no protection was employed, and with Amy still pursuing her education, the prospect of motherhood wasn't on her agenda. Also, her marriage to Mark remained shrouded in secrecy. ***** An hour later, within the confines of another opulent mansion, several dozen miles away from the Meyer estate, security personnel meticulously inspected every window and door lock, ensuring the sanctity of the surroundings. Once satisfied, Mark directed them to wait outside. Adorned only in a bathrobe, Susan threw herself into Mark's arms, resembling a pitiful kitten, shivering with vulnerability. "Thank you for rushing over. I was terrified. I never anticipated fans to be so fervent, breaking into my house!" Eyes lowered and expressionless, Mark absorbed Susan's account of fear and unease. As she reiterated her vulnerability and professed her reliance on him, Mark finally broke his silence. He seized Susan's chin, compelling her to withdraw from the shelter of his chest. "The photos on the news... You told the paparazzi to capture them." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Susan froze. With a low and magnetic voice, Mark pressed on. "Do you remember what you promised me five years ago?" Trapped within Mark's unwavering gaze due to his firm grip on her chin, Susan faltered, reiterating her past commitment, "You'll provide everything I desire... but I can't breach your boundaries." Mark upheld every pledge he made, yet he remained resolute against manipulation or scheming. It was his unyielding principle. Susan's wealth, status, and fame all were bestowed by Mark. She couldn't bite the hand that fed her, trying to manipulate him. Under the mounting pressure, Susan hastened to disavow. "No! I didn't tell the paparazzi to spy on us. Perhaps someone leaked my whereabouts... Yes, that must be it. That's why the paparazzi found my hotel." Mark subtly furrowed his brow, his tone icy. "It's late. Rest soon and go to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow. I'm leaving." Susan clung to Mark's waist, her tone carrying a suggestive plea. "Stay here, will you?"