They Taught Me to Be Bad

My family personally taught me every bad habit I have. First they accused me of stealing money, and so I learned to steal money and to frame people.

Then they accused me of sneaking hot dogs until there were only five left. So I ate the extras until there really were only five.

They said a little progress was no progress, so I let my grades stall out completely.

When they beat me, they yelled, "Don't you run!" and that was the first time it hit me— I could run.

I ran to the neighbors' house, then the corner store, and finally all the way to the front of the police station. After that, they never dared chase me down to hit me again.

Mom asked me how I turned out like this. I'd like to know too. I didn't know how to do any of these bad things to begin with.

They taught me every one of them—by accusing me of them first. Chapter 1 The year I turned twentytwo, my parents started arranging my marriage.

They said it was to settle my future, but really it was to plug the hole in their company's finances by setting me up to marry into the Whitaker family.

My mom said, "A lazy, greedy, useless thing like you—marrying into the Whitakers, you should thank your lucky stars.

Once you're there, you'd better be grateful." I nodded to show I'd taken the lesson to heart. At the engagement dinner, the Whitaker mansion glittered with gold.

Brent Whitaker sat in a customtailored suit, watching coldly.

My mom was all smiles, sucking up to the Whitakers for all she was worth, never once forgetting to run me down. "Our Daisy, you know, she's loved eating and hated working since she was little.

Can't do a single chore." "And she spends money like water. No sense of how to behave at all." "Once she's married in, Mrs.

Whitaker, you'll have to train her properly." My dad nodded along beside her. Mrs.

Whitaker held her coffee and swept a contemptuous glance over me. "Anyone who walks through the Whitaker door follows Whitaker rules, naturally." I sat in my chair and nodded obediently.

So I loved eating, hated working, and liked to waste money. Got it. The first day of my marriage. Brent hadn't even set foot in our bedroom the night before.

Who knew which woman's soft bed he'd spent it in. I slept until the sun was high, then took my sweet time getting up. The moment I came downstairs, I saw Mrs.

Whitaker sitting upright on the main sofa in the living room.

On the antique mahogany coffee table in front of her lay a thick binder. "This is the Whitaker family rulebook." "Now that you've married in, you'd better put away the smalltime manners you brought from your parents' house." "No slacking.

No embarrassing the Whitakers." "Go. Copy this rulebook out ten times, then go to the kitchen and make today's lunch." I walked over, picked up the rulebook, and flipped through it.

Page after page was crammed with harsh demands on a daughterinlaw, right up there with that 1950s "Good Wife's Guide." I thought about how my mom had described me at that dinner.

I loved eating and hated working. How could I possibly do chores? "Mom, I can't cook. I only know how to eat." I blinked, my tone sincere. Mrs.

Whitaker slammed her hand on the table so hard the teacups clattered. "If you can't cook, what did you get married for?

You really think you came here to be some pampered rich wife?" Chapter 2 Once again, she'd reminded me of something. So I'd married in to be a pampered rich wife.

And so I turned, walked to the front hall, changed my shoes, and went out. She thought I was going grocery shopping.

Actually, I had the driver take me straight to the biggest luxury mall downtown.

Standing at the Hermès counter, I pulled out the authorizeduser card on Brent's account that he'd tossed at me just yesterday. "This one, this one, and this one." I pointed at several limitededition bags in the glass case. "Shall I wrap them all up, Mrs.

Whitaker?" The salesclerk was so excited her voice trembled. "Everything except those three. Wrap up the rest." I smiled and handed over the black card. Beep— Approved.

Next I swept through the jewelry department and bagged the most expensive diamond sets they had. Then readytowear. Then watches.

In a single afternoon, I ran up five million dollars on that card. When I got back to the Whitaker mansion, more than a dozen delivery vans rolled in behind me in a long parade.

Mrs. Whitaker was sitting in the living room having afternoon tea.

At the sight of the mountain of luxury boxes, her teacup went crashing onto the rug. "You… what have you done?!" She pointed at the pile, her fingertip shaking. "I went to enjoy the pampered life," I said, without a trace of shame. "You said I married in to be a pampered rich wife." "So of course I had to do something I like." "My mom already told you I like to waste money, so I went and spent some." Brent burst in from outside, his tie yanked crooked.

He was holding up his phone, his eyes practically popping out of his head. "Daisy Whitaker! Have you lost your mind?

Five million dollars of my money in one afternoon?!" I looked at him innocently. "Isn't a card made for swiping?" "Do you have any idea what restraint means?

You spendthrift bitch!" He roared and raised his hand to slap me. I took a step back and pointed toward the door. "If you hit me, I will run, you know. Where to, though?

The neighbors'? The police station? Or out into the street?" Brent's hand froze in midair, his face flushing purple.

I stepped past the pile of luxury goods in my heels and headed straight upstairs. "I'm not making lunch.

I'm here to be pampered, after all, not to be the help." I shut my bedroom door and flopped happily onto the big soft bed. Being a pampered rich wife was so easy.

The next morning, I woke up hungry. When I strolled downstairs, the air in the dining room was unusually heavy.

Brent sat at the head of the table, a fragilelooking girl in a white dress snuggled up beside him. Mrs. Whitaker sat off to one side with a cold face.

When she saw me come down, she let out a loud, pointed hmph. "Daisy Whitaker, if you don't want to be a proper Mrs.

Whitaker, there are plenty of people who do." Brent had his arm around the girl, his eyes daring me. "This is Evie. She's not crude and greedy like you.

Pull one more stunt, and I'll make Evie Mrs. Whitaker and kick you right out of the Whitaker family!" I stopped where I was and chewed carefully on what he'd said. Make Evie Mrs.

Whitaker? Kick me out of the Whitaker family? So the position of Mrs. Whitaker could be filled by someone else. My eyes lit up.

In a few steps I was in front of Evie, warmly taking her hands. Evie shrank back into Brent's arms in fright. "Sis, I didn't come here to break you two up.

I just love Brent so much…" "Don't call me sis. That makes this whole setup incestuous." I corrected her, then pointed at the thick rulebook on the living room coffee table.

Chapter 3 "If you want to be made Mrs. Whitaker, you'll have to follow the rules for Whitaker wives, won't you?" Evie froze for a second. Then she glanced timidly at Mrs.

Whitaker and nodded. "Of course I'll follow the Whitaker family rules faithfully." "Oh, that's wonderful." I felt like a weight had been lifted off me. "First, go copy this rulebook out ten times." "When you're done, remember to go to the kitchen and make lunch.

Mom says a Whitaker wife can't be some princess who's never lifted a finger." "Oh, and while you're at it, mop the floors and change my sheets and duvet cover too." Evie was stunned by my string of orders.

Tears hung in her eyes, and she couldn't decide whether to let them fall or blink them away. Mrs. Whitaker pounded the table in fury. "Daisy Whitaker!

Why are you dumping the work I gave you on Evie?!" I looked completely innocent. "Brent just said he's ready to make her Mrs. Whitaker any time. If she's the backup Mrs.

Whitaker, shouldn't she get some training first, like an internship before she starts the job?

Otherwise how will she prove she's better than me?" I turned to Brent. "Right, honey?" Brent rubbed Evie's belly and gave a cold laugh. "Cut the clever act.

Evie's pregnant with my child. I'm going to do right by her." This time it was my turn to freeze. So even after you're married, you can still go "do right by" somebody else?

Why didn't anyone tell me sooner? Think of everything I've missed out on. When I didn't say anything, Mrs. Whitaker assumed I couldn't handle it.

She cleared her throat, put on a stern face, and settled into her motherinlaw act. "Daisy, dear, I know seeing Evie here hurts." "But men, well—playing around on the side now and then is unavoidable." "That's what marriage is.

You bear with each other. You learn to be tolerant." "You're the real wife, so you need to be gracious like a real wife.

As long as she has the baby and hands it over for you to raise, you'll still be the Whitaker wife." "Mom, you're so right." I looked at her gratefully.

So in the Whitaker family, not only could you cheat after marriage, your family would tolerate it too. Now that was an important thing to learn. I let Evie move into the house.

Not only that, I had the maid make up the sunniest guest room on the second floor just for her.

Brent thought I'd finally accepted my fate and smugly took Evie out shopping, his arm around her. Mrs.

Whitaker was pleased with how "sensible" I was being for once, and at dinner, for the first time ever, she served me a pork rib with her own hands. "I'm glad you've come around.

Being a rich man's wife was never going to be easy. Jealousy is the worst thing you can do. Being gracious is the right way," Mrs. Whitaker said earnestly.

I nodded obediently. "Thank you for the lesson, Mom. I get it now." After dinner, I went back to my room, changed into a custom red dress, and did my makeup to perfection.

Just as I was heading out, I ran into Brent and Evie coming home. "Where are you going dressed like that this late at night?" Brent frowned at me. "Out to play around on the side," I said casually.

Brent froze. "What?" "Mom taught me this morning," I explained patiently. "That's what marriage is. You bear with each other. You learn to be tolerant.

You play around on the side, so I ought to have a little life of my own too.

If we all tolerate each other, the marriage will last." Brent's face went dark as a thundercloud. "Daisy Whitaker, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?!" I ignored him, walked straight to the garage, and drove out in the red Ferrari I'd bought just yesterday.

Destination: the Silverlight Media building. Chapter 4 Lately I'd gotten hooked on a young star who'd debuted on a singing competition show. His name was Jonah Zimmer.

He had a clean, fresh face and two little dimples when he smiled, and he sang beautifully too.

Before, I'd figured that since I was married, I should be a faithful, proper wife and just drool over him through the screen in silence.

Thanks to my motherinlaw's guidance today, a whole new world had opened up for me in an instant.

I drove straight to the building where Jonah's management company was and called his manager. "This is Daisy Whitaker, Mrs. Whitaker of the Whitaker Group.

I've got a black card with no limit, and I want to be Jonah Zimmer's sugar mama.

Name your price." Ten minutes later, Jonah was sitting obediently in my passenger seat. "Hi, Daisy," he said shyly, his cheeks a little pink.

I pinched his cheek, satisfied. "Come on.

I'm taking you to live the pampered life." I took Jonah to the most luxurious rooftop restaurant in the city, ordered a whole table of expensive dishes, and even opened a bottle of RomanéeConti for him.

After dinner, I took him to the luxury mall I'd raided the day before and bought him tens of thousands of dollars' worth of outfits in one go.

Jonah happily twirled in front of the fitting room mirror in his new clothes.

Watching him, I sighed from the bottom of my heart: so this is how good it feels to play around on the side!

If Brent hadn't led by example and my motherinlaw hadn't pointed the way, I still wouldn't know how! This marriage was really paying off.

Ever since the day I "got" the true meaning of tolerating each other in marriage, my life in the Whitaker house had been going swimmingly.

By day, I drove the Ferrari to see Jonah and took him out for drives, shopping, and fancy dinners, enjoying the good life of a rich woman.

By night, I came home to the mansion right on time, enjoyed all the perks of the lady of the house with a clear conscience, and while I was at it, inspected the housework done by our "Mrs.

Whitakerintraining," Evie. Evie, on the other hand, got visibly more agitated by the day.

She was the one who'd made a huge fuss, belly and all, until Brent brought her into the main house.

All she'd wanted was to disgust me by moving right into my home, so I'd find the humiliation unbearable and ask for a divorce myself, clearing the top spot for her.

She never in a million years expected that I wouldn't make a scene, and that I'd actually welcome her with open arms.

And by welcoming her, I'd quite naturally gotten my hands on even more of Brent's money. Watching Brent's money pour out onto Jonah like water, Evie looked physically pained.

After all, in her eyes, sooner or later all of it would belong to her and the baby in her belly. One afternoon, Brent had gone to the office and Mrs.

Whitaker had gone off to play cards. I'd just gotten back from the spa when Evie planted herself in front of my bedroom door.

She'd dropped her usual delicateflower act and was glaring at me through gritted teeth. "Daisy Whitaker, don't you have any selfrespect?

I'm the other woman and I've moved right into your house, and you haven't done a single thing about it!" I blinked, totally unbothered. "How am I lacking selfrespect?

Mom's the one who said we should tolerate each other. I'm tolerating you now, so later on Brent can tolerate… anyway, we all have a bright future