Wife for Rent

The giant screens of Bradley's Group illuminated Ashford daily, flashing the same stark advertisement: "Wife Rental."

Just yesterday, the wife of the Bradley family—the woman with the peculiar scale on her temple—had been auctioned off for a million dollars to serve as a drinking proxy. She earned one coin for every glass she finished.

For Bradley, this was the only way to torment Stella, the sole balm for the bitter resentment festering in his heart.

But he didn’t know. Stella was actually the reincarnation of a wealth-attracting golden koi. Every twisted form of torment he devised for her ultimately transformed into staggering fortune for the Bradley family.

Now, fifty glasses of strong liquor stood stacked like a small mountain. Her eyes red, she looked at Bradley and pleaded softly, "Bradley, I’ve... my period just started. Could I—"

A cold, mocking smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Drink."

Stella closed her eyes in despair. Fifty glasses of fire, one after another, burned down her throat and scorched her insides until they felt like raw, bleeding holes.

A hot rush surged between her legs, staining her white dress a vivid crimson.

Finally, her phone chimed with the robotic female voice: "Fifty dollars received."

Clutching her aching abdomen, she struggled to her feet. The spectacle of her stained dress drew a wave of mocking laughter.

"Bradley, how did you train such an obedient little lapdog?"

"Wasn't she the one you used to cherish? You almost gave your life to save her once. When did the tables turn so completely?"

A single, arrogant lift of Bradley's eyebrow sent a ripple of squeals through the crowd of watching girls.

He slowly exhaled a plume of smoke, his laugh cold. "From the moment she pocketed that ransom money and left my sister with the mind of a three-year-old."

"Yeah, I might have felt a shred of something real for her back then. But now? Hah."

"As for training a lapdog... first, she has to be madly, desperately in love with you."

Stella's hand, already on the door handle, froze. Her nails dug deep into her palm.

A *shred* of real feeling?

During their first year of marriage, he’d change the sheets seven times a night, leaving her too sore to walk the next day.

He bought a flawless pink diamond at auction just to have it set into her manicure.

Once, she’d offhandedly mentioned the air was dry. The next day, he had the whole of Ashford under artificial rain.

When an avalanche struck during a trip, he carried her, hypothermic and limp, running through the night—nearly dying himself in the process...

All of that... was just a *shred* of feeling to him?

So a person’s heart could change that easily.

She glanced back at him. In answer, hetauntingly wrapped an arm around a random woman beside him and kissed her, hard and possessive.

Amidst the roaring cheers and applause, Stella wrenched the door open and fled.

No tears. No lament.

A koi’s transformation was