Because I’m a Pushover, I’m Dating the City’s Top Heir Chapter 1

Clint Grogan, the scion of one of the city's most powerful families, was under the mistaken impression that I was in love with him. He arrogantly announced that he would accept my "pursuit."

And because I was a total doormat, I was forced into a relationship with him.

This scion was ill-tempered, unreasonable, and constantly weaponized his handsome face to get his way.

Three years into our relationship, I still couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with him.

But, being the spineless coward I was, I didn’t dare break up with him.

Just as I was agonizing over my predicament, I saw a message in his group chat:

[I've never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I'm even a little late coming home. It's so annoying! Next time she does it, I'm just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.]

I nearly jumped for joy.

I could get paid and break up with him.

My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot.

* * *

At six-thirty in the evening, Clint, who was usually home on the dot, was late.

A thrill went through me. I expertly fished out my phone to probe his whereabouts.

[Darling, I miss you so much! Are you on your way home?]

After sending it, I closed my eyes, piously praying that Clint had a work dinner or a business trip. Anywhere but here would be fine.

My luck was in.

Clint replied a moment later.

[Don't be so clingy. I have a dinner thing tonight.]

My eyes lit up, and I bounced on my feet with excitement.

In a flash, I had arranged for a delivery of spicy crayfish, barbecue skewers, and beer.

Clint despised such "garbage" food. Whenever he was home, I never got to eat it. I'd been craving it for over a month and had finally gotten my chance.

I chewed.

I chugged.

Life couldn't be more blissful.

So blissful, in fact, that I completely forgot what time Clint was supposed to be home.

By the time the doorman sent me a heads-up text, Clint was already at the door.

I frantically called for the housekeeper to help me clear my beloved feast from the table. Then, I bolted for the bathroom.

Clint had the nose of a bloodhound. The only way to hide the evidence was to take a shower.

Warm water cascaded down, filling the room with steam. I stood under the showerhead, having just lathered up with fragrant body wash.

Click. The bathroom door opened.

Footsteps approached from behind, and a searing gaze locked onto my naked body.

I cursed him as a "pervert" in my cowardly heart while hastily wrapping myself in a bathrobe, trying to tiptoe my way out of the bathroom. A little leftover soap was a small price to pay for my freedom. If I didn’t leave now, the beast of a man would surely pounce.

I tried to slip past him with a strained smile and some small talk.

"Honey, are you going to take a shower? Perfect, I just finished. You go right ahead..."

Just as I was about to pass him, his hand shot out and clamped around my waist. With a tug, he pulled me into his arms.

I gasped. His breathing grew heavy, and he lifted me with one arm, carrying me back into the shower stall.

He turned the shower on full blast.

The warm water soaked my bathrobe and his tailored suit.

Clint loosened his tie, his eyes fixed on me.

"You're all wet. Help me wash up."

I shook my head frantically, but his quick hands had already untied my robe. A warm, calloused hand slipped inside, traveling upwards. Before I knew it, my protests had melted into soft moans as I went limp in his arms.

I made one last, feeble attempt. "You must be so tired from your dinner... I feel for you. Maybe next time!"

Clint’s hand, which had been deftly unbuttoning his shirt, paused. His eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat and put on an air of great reluctance.

"Fine. Then you can do all the work."

I was speechless. "!"

Was that what I meant?

My dumbfounded expression seemed to amuse him. He let out a low chuckle and captured my lips with his, his kiss trailing downwards.

"Sophie, you didn't rinse off all your body wash. It's a little bitter..."

I gasped, mustering a tiny spark of defiance.

"Then don't kiss it!"

"Not an option."

...

My cowardly resistance was no match for Clint's beastly advances. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on.

At one point, I was so exhausted I was about to drift off to sleep, only to open my eyes and find him still going.

This went on until the middle of the night.

When I woke up again, he was gone. I could hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. A dull ache spread through my entire body. I looked down and saw that my chest was a mess of love bites.

That damn dog. I swear, one day I'll break up with him.

I cursed under my breath, punching his pillow to vent my frustration. My hand accidentally hit his phone.

Just then, the screen lit up with a new notification.

I picked it up.

It was from his group chat. Someone had tagged him:

[For real? Don't tell me you're just flexing on us again.]

That narcissistic bastard, flexing? About what?

I listened for the sounds from the bathroom; the shower was still running. Curiosity piqued, I opened the group chat.

[@ClintGrogan, haven't heard you complain about Sophie being clingy lately. Getting used to it?]

[No. I've never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I'm even a little late coming home. It's so annoying! Next time she does it, I'm just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.]

He had even attached a screenshot of our chat, of me asking when he'd be home.

There was a deal this good?

I nearly jumped for joy.

I could get paid and break up with him.

My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot.