The perfect Bride

Ariel, Anita's assistant, walked in with two glasses of cold beer and placed them on the table.

"Anything else, ma'am?" she asked politely.

"That will be all for now," Anita replied, waving her off.

Ariel nodded and left the office.

The two friends drank in silence for a few moments, letting the cold liquid soothe their nerves. Eventually, Agatha set down her glass and sighed.

"I need to go meet my aunt. It's time to put an end to these blind dates once and for all," she said determinedly.

Anita smirked, raising her bottle slightly. "About time."

They shared a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before Agatha grabbed her purse and left.

As Agatha drove to her aunt's house, memories of her childhood played in her mind like an old movie reel. She remembered her tenth birthday—her mother had thrown a tiny party, just for the two of them. A modest cake with a single candle, a few of Agatha's favorite drinks, and the warm, unwavering love in her mother's tired eyes.

"Make a wish, baby," her mother had said, her voice a soft melody amidst the chaos of their lives.

Agatha had looked at her—really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes, the bruises on her cheek barely concealed by makeup. Marks from her father's fists.

Tears had blurred Agatha's vision as she blew out the candle. She had wished for happiness. But happiness had always felt like a distant dream.

Three days after that birthday, her mother was diagnosed with lupus. A year later, she was gone. Her last words echoed in Agatha's mind: Be happy, my love.

But happiness had never been in the cards.

Meeting Anita had been a lifeline. They were two broken girls, trying to survive in a world that had shown them nothing but pain. Though their situations differed, they found strength in each other.

When Agatha arrived at her aunt's house, she parked in the driveway and took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. She wasn't just here to visit—she was here to draw a line.

As she made her way to the entrance, she spotted a familiar face—David.

Her father's personal assistant.

Her first crush.

Her best friend since her teenage years.

Agatha had spent years convincing herself that her feelings for David had faded. That adulthood had erased the butterflies. But every time she saw him, she knew she had been lying to herself.

"Hi, David," she greeted, tucking a strand of her long, curly black hair behind her ear.

David turned, his smile as charming as ever. "Hey, Agatha. It's been a while."

Her heart did a little flip. "Yeah… Is my dad here?"

"Yeah, he's inside. He's here to discuss business with your aunt," David replied.

Agatha nodded but wasn't ready to leave just yet.

"How have you been?" she asked, her gaze locked on his warm brown eyes.

David shrugged. "I've been okay. Just… work has been a little rough lately."

Agatha scoffed. "My dad is a selfish man. Don't let him stress you out."

David chuckled. "Come on, Agatha. Your dad isn't that bad. Give him time—you'll see he's not the villain you think he is."

"Time?" Agatha's expression darkened. "I've known him my whole life, David. He hasn't changed, and he never will."

David sighed, clearly not wanting to argue.

Sensing the shift in mood, Agatha changed the subject. "How about grabbing a drink this weekend? Our regular spot?"

David hesitated. "I'd love to, but… I have a date this weekend."

Agatha felt her chest tighten. She forced a smile. "A date? I thought you just broke up."

"Yeah, well… I reconnected with an old college friend this week. You might know her—Carmen.

Agatha's nails dug into her palm. Carmen. That desperate, clingy woman who had never kept her hands—or her eyes—off David back in the day.

She masked her irritation with a sweet smile. "Oh, Carmen Freeman? How is she?"

"She's good," David said. "She also sends her regards."

Agatha nodded stiffly, barely managing to hide her disappointment. She gave him a small wave before heading inside.

---

Inside the house, Agatha could hear voices—low, urgent whispers drifting through the hallway. She moved closer, careful to remain unseen.

"I can't do that to her, Desmond. It'll break her," her aunt's voice trembled.

Agatha's heart pounded. Who were they talking about? What would break her?

She leaned in, straining to catch more—

"Who's there?" her father's sharp voice cut through the air.

Agatha squared her shoulders and stepped inside with confidence, refusing to let him intimidate her.

Her gaze immediately landed on her aunt, who looked… guilty.

Agatha walked straight to her and wrapped her in a warm hug. "Good day, Aunt. How have you been?" she asked, her eyes searching her aunt's face for answers.

Racheal nodded but said nothing.

Something was wrong. Agatha could feel it—a tension in the room, a heaviness in the air.

Her father stood by the window, his expression a mask of cold indifference. "It seems I'm invisible," he muttered. "I didn't even get a greeting."

Agatha met his eyes, unbothered. "Oh, you're here? Didn't notice."

His jaw tightened. "You do realize you're being disrespectful, right?"

She tilted her head, a hint of defiance in her posture. "I don't care, Dad. My mother was always respectful, loyal, and obedient to you. And what did she get in return? Lies. Manipulation. Abuse."

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Time was supposed to heal wounds. But hers still felt fresh.

Every time she saw her father, it was like ripping the stitches open all over again.

He exhaled heavily. "Agatha, it's been fourteen years. I regret my mistakes. I've apologized countless times. What do you want me to do? Kill myself?"

Agatha held his gaze. "That would be a good start."

A flicker of pain crossed his face before he masked it with a look of disgust.

Agatha turned to her aunt, who sat with her head bowed, unwilling to meet her niece's eyes. Racheal had witnessed countless arguments between father and daughter—sometimes stepping in, often remaining silent.

"Racheal," Desmond said, his tone sharp and commanding. "I'm giving you twenty minutes. You know what I'm capable of. Don't test me."

Then he turned to leave.

Agatha's voice rang out, firm and clear. "Father, everyone already knows what you're capable of—bullying and manipulation. You don't need to announce it."

He paused, his back to her.

"And one more thing," she added, crossing her arms. "This should be the last time you set me up on a date. No matter how much my aunt pleads, I won't entertain any more of your little matchmaking games."

Desmond remained still, his silence a weapon.

He exchanged a look with Racheal before walking out, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence.

Agatha turned to her aunt, the sharpness in her voice softening. "Aunt Racheal, what's going on? What is he forcing you to do?"

Racheal's shoulders slumped, and she finally looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, filled with a fear that made Agatha's stomach churn.

"Agatha… there's something you need to know."

A cold shiver ran down Agatha's spine as her aunt's words hung in the air. Whatever secret lay beneath them, she knew it had the power to shatter her world.