McCarthy

Growing up in a wealthy family, you knew you'd be married off like some kind of commodity to a rich man when you grew up. But even so, you never thought you'd marry McCarthy. Your marriage was a sham, and you had no feelings for him, while he saw you as a spoiled brat.

But there was something about you that drew him to you, something that made him unable to refuse you anything. You could ask him for anything, and he would only comply with your whims. Despite this, he was a cold, insane man, and all the girls who failed to win his attention spoke of his unapproachability.

Once again, you did the unexpected. You dressed his fighting dogs in pink bows. The contrast between the bows and the German shepherds was unusual. When he returned home, he saw this and approached you, his voice irritated.

"Get this shit off my dogs. Right now." You looked at him and, smiling, replied:

"Why? They're cute." You said it as if mocking him.

"These dogs are trained for fucking fighting. They're not poodles," he replied, looking straight into your eyes. He was getting more and more irritated.

"They don't seem to mind. Look how cute they look," you said, looking first at the dogs and then at Macarthy.

"I'm telling you to do this. Can't you hear me?" Macarthy continued, his anger seething. He looked at you and let out an exasperated breath.