The CEO's Irresistible Obsession.

Camille. Two weeks. Two f*****g weeks of being married to the most infuriating XY chromosome organism. A man who is clearly a weapon fashioned against my peace of mind. Against my personal peace. The thought of being married some day never really crossed my mind. Ever. I'm a big man hater and being married to a man is not helping with the hatred. If anything I hate men even more. Commiting my life to a man was never in my yearly planning or monthly to do list. Not after my ex who proved that all men are just men. An annoying human being. Quinn Taji is a man I can barely stand. He's picky, mouthy And infuriating in ways that make me want to pull my hair. We've been married for only two f*****g weeks and I'm already considering a divorce. Or annulment. Anything just to get his arrogant ass out of my hair. On my twenty-sixth birthday is when my parents dropped a bombshell. A big fat f*****g bombshell. “Sweetheart, you still haven't found yourself a man to marry since you broke up with your ex,” mom has started. "You promised to get married or get engaged before your twenty-sixth birthday.” "So now we got you a future husband,” dad said. "Since you refused to get you a soulmate like your sister, we searched one for you. He's thirty-six years old. No business deal, no nothing. Nothing is tying you together. If it doesn't work, you can always divorce him." “He comes from a good family, raised well and is actually rich.” Mom laughed when she finished the last part. " We know you don't want a broke husband." Everyone had erupted into laughter. It was not funny. It still isn't funny. It wasn't funny. Not at all. I should've looked for a husband all on my own. Because a few days after, there was an engagement party and then we went to the court house and got married. I actually had to change my name from Camille Amira Maina, to Camille Amira Taji. Just because I got married. I was so ready to throw hands. So much for an independent woman. Now I even had to take his name too? Somebody wake me up from this ridiculous dream. Milly, my sister, was laughing so hard that dad had to pick her up to prevent her from falling. My mother, on the other side, had a smirk on her face. A smirk that just couldn't go away. And my dad could not even look at me without laughing. Now I'm currently sitting across from my so called husband, because our parents actually bought a villa together for a ‘marital home', I'm sitting across from him just watching him being a man. Infuriating and a waste of space. He's being all grumpy over nothing, thinking he's so important. I have been cooking. News flash, I do not cook. Not at all. I was living at my parents house and their chef did all the cooking. But I've been a good wife like mom suggested. I can still hear her voice in my head. “Cammie baby, be nice at first. But if he pushes too much and you feel like it's time, push back. But not immediately. Observe him.” So I have been patient, barely. But the patient has been running thin. He has been making the patience run thin in many ways. Commenting on my clothes. My cooking. The way I eat. I have been smiling through it all. Sometimes I just avoid being around him much. I have tried to make this stupid marriage work but that's not the case. At work, he's a sweetheart. Placing kisses on my cheeks, touching my waist like I mean something. But at home he's a d**k. “This food is bland," he says. Looking very pissed. “Where did you learn how to cook? From kindergarten?" The food is amazing. I made the food with the help of our house manager, Aunt Ritah. She said the food was amazing. She's an honest old woman who doesn't sugar coat anything. And she said the food was amazing. “What? Are you feeling hurt by the fact that you can't cook?" He says, looking awfully smug. And that's it. I am done playing nice. It's time to be a b***h. I am done being the only one who wants to hold this f*****g marriage afloat. I calmly stand from my seat opposite him and start walking towards him. He doesn't look up. He probably thinks that I'm just going to my room. I unhurriedly pick up the bowl of rice near him, walk to him and stop right in front of him. I rio the bowl over his head and watch the rice fall all over him. It's quite satisfying. " What the f**k, Camille?” He asks. Looking like he's seeing me for the first time. He stands, pushing his chair back, making it tip and fall back. He grabs my hand and I let him. He drags me and pushes me out of the front door and locks it. I can hear his footsteps retreating. This man is clearly looking for me. I stand outside for a few minutes. Clearly thinking that this has got to be a sick joke. I stand at the door thinking that he's going to get his f*****g sense and open the goddamn door. But he doesn't show up. The house stays silent. So, like any other noble woman, I go around the house. At the back door. But it's locked too. But it's made of glass. I get a boulder and throw it at the door. The glass door comes crushing to the floor in a satisfying sound. This man has just not seen the last of me. I really wish that the glass was his head. But I'm sure hitting someone with a stone is not really legal. I could end up in jail. That's not so lady-like. I walk into the house furious, glass crunching under my house shoes. Rage is building deep inside me. Hot and untouched from all the times I held back from the times I held back from actually pushing him off the building or throwing a knife at him. I match to his room. My steps calculated but focused. I'm ready to out the fear of God in him. Teach him that I'm not to be played with because I have actually had enough. I have tried and tried being patient for him. Being a loveable woman like mom said. But that ends today. He can kiss my ass.