The Widow

                                    

                                          
Jasmine

                          
"So what do you want to talk about, future sister-in-law?" I ask without preamble as soon as we reach the library. Carefully, I close the door so that we won't have any unwanted eavesdroppers.
                          
Nerissa's blue eyes shoot daggers at me, but I'm immune to her unfriendly nature.
                          
"Don't you know that this mansion has a dress code? Why do you dress like that, flaunting your belly button for everyone to see? What do you think people will say about you?"
                          
"The thing is," I state arrogantly. "I don't give a damn what people say about me. This is me, and therefore, they have to accept me for who I am."
                          
"Then think about your fiance's reputation!" she hisses, her blue eyes flashing with hatred. "He's a respectable man here in the Philippines. Think about what other will say about him, considering his fiancee's inappropriate attire."
                          
I show her a saccharine smile as I tuck my hands into the rear pockets of my denim shorts, displaying my shirt more prominently: On the front are the words Perfect Bitch.
                          
"I think he should be proud when people see my flat stomach. It proves that he has good taste in choosing a potential wife, instead of a has-been fling from his high school days."
                          
"You are despicable," she spits out angrily. "You are unfit to become Damon's wife. I wonder what he ever saw in you that reduced him into a pathetic lapdog."
                          
I give her a knowing smile that infuriates her even more. She's so easy to bait. "Damon saw everything he wanted in a woman in me. You should be surprised how capable I can be."
                          
"You are a witch," she snarls venomously.
                          
"Oh, believe me," I say, my tone cheerful. "I've been called far worse, sugar. If you plan on intimidating me by calling me names, I can assure you that your efforts are in vain."
                          
"I hate you!" Nerissa marches up to me and tries to slap me, but I catch her wrist midway.
                          
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I tell her sweetly, tightening my grip. "The last girl who tried to slap me got hospitalized for a whole week. I'm sure you don't want to suffer the same fate, right?"
                          
My smile widens when I see her face go pale under all that makeup. 

                          
"Are you threatening me?" she demands.
                          
"No." I shake my head remorsefully. She tries to snatch her hand back, but my grip is too strong. I don't care if I leave a bruise on her wrist, though I'm hoping to break it in the process. "I'm just telling you of my past, sugar."
                          
"Don't call me sugar!" she shouts, forcefully yanking her hand out of my grasp. "And just what kind of past do you have?"
                          
"Don't you like sugar? How about something else then--like bitter? And as for your question, what kind of past do I have? Here's the only answer I can give you: Die from curiosity."
                          
Nerissa rubs her injured wrist while glaring at me. "You're just a slut that will never be loved by a decent guy."
                          
"I beg to differ," I retort haughtily, eyeing her as if she is my servant. "I come from one of the most powerful families in the Philippines. Get your facts straight before throwing accusations at my beautiful face."
                          
"I don't care where you came from," she says obstinately. "You're still unfit to be Damon's wife."

                          
"You are correct," I agree with her happily. "I am unfit to be a wife because my parents raised me to become a queen. I wasn't born to please men. And while we're at it, if I'm unfit to be Damon's wife, who do you expect he'll marry?" A nasty smile creeps onto my full, pink lips. "A young widow who married a rebound, only to cling to her late husband's brother in hopes of him returning her desperate love for him?"
                          
I can see that Nerissa has reached her limit. "Y-you.."
                          
"Let me repay your feelings, sugar," I say, raising my hand to strike her face, but she catches my hand before it lands.
                          
"Did you really think you could hit me?" She smiles triumphantly.
                          
"You forget that I still have my left hand." Before she can react, I swing my hand across her face, the impact so hard, Nerissa's head cranes to one side, a red hand-mark blooming on her right cheek.
                          
"You.." She glares at me, stunned from the impact. "Son of a--"
                          
"Uh-uh." I wiggle my finger at her. "Careful there, sugar. Your mask is slipping off."
                          
Nerissa touches the mark I left on her face. I can tell from her dim blue eyes that she's debating whether to kill me then and there. "I will tell Damon about this! Let's see what he will do then."
                          
"Go ahead, tell him I hit you. If you want, I can add a scratch or two on your face so you'll look more pitiful in his eyes."
                          
"You are a monster," she says through gritted teeth.
                          
I show her a wounded look. "Again, I beg to differ. I'm not a monster. Just keep in mind that I will be the new queen of this kingdom."
                          
Nerissa laughs bitterly. "You are delusional."
                          
"Oh yes?" I smirk at her. "You want to bet?"
                          
When she doesn't reply immediately, I fake a smile. Our conversation is nearing its end. 

                          
"Who do you think you are?" she finally snaps, her shoulders deflating in defeat.

                          
"Jasmine Gray Ortiz. Worldwide famous supermodel and heiress to Ortiz Fashions. Honor student and Damon Sandoval's future wife."
                          
I don't wait for her response before leaving the library. At least I've made it clear that they can't push me around whenever they wanted.
                          
I flex my left hand, the one that landed on her cheek. I must admit, she must have a thick face to make my palm hurt as much as it did.