The perfect Bride

Agatha drove straight to her father's house after leaving Blue Night. The towering mansion still held the same suffocating presence, the same walls that had witnessed her mother's suffering—where she had been abused, molested, and tormented. Agatha despised this house with every fiber of her being.

The last time she stepped foot here was three years ago when she needed to retrieve her original credentials. Even then, she had been forced to beg before her father reluctantly handed them over. And now, here she was again, ready to beg him for something far greater—her freedom.

As she stepped out of her car and approached the entrance, she collided with David.

David.

The saying "The people you love most are the ones who hurt you the most" was no longer just a phrase to her—it was a painful reality. Seeing him again, standing there as if nothing had happened, reignited the sting of betrayal. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Determined to ignore him, she moved past him without a word, but his hand caught her wrist.

She turned around swiftly and slapped him. Once. Twice.

David didn't flinch. He just stood there, absorbing the sting, as though he had expected it. Guilt was written all over his face, but Agatha had no sympathy to spare.

"Stay the f**k away from me, David!" she yelled, yanking her wrist free and stepping around him. But he blocked her path.

"Agatha, I'm sorry. I know no amount of apology can undo what's been done, but—"

"But what, David?" she cut in, voice laced with anger. "I trusted you. I believed in you. You were supposed to have my back no matter what. You told me that even if the world turned against me, you'd stand by my side. But the world never turned against me, David. You did."

Her words landed like heavy blows. She saw the pain flicker in his eyes, and it pleased her. She wanted him to hurt just as much as she did.

"I thought we were friends," she continued bitterly. "But I guess that was all in my head. From this moment on, everything we shared—our bond, our memories, our friendship—is gone. You are just another person I used to know."

David clenched his jaw, his shoulders stiffening. "Ray—"

"Don't you dare call me that," she snapped. "You lost that right the moment you betrayed me. It's Agatha to you now. Nothing else."

'Ray'—a name her mother had given her, calling her the ray of light in her darkest days. It had always given her comfort. But hearing it from David's lips now? It was a cruel reminder of his deceit.

"Agatha, please," he said, his voice strained. "I didn't know about your marriage until after I had already signed an NDA. I was trapped. But I swear, if there's anything I can do to fix this, I will. Even if it means resigning as your father's PA. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again."

Agatha scoffed. "Save your strength, David. It's too late."

She turned and walked past him. He was no longer her concern.

---

Inside, she instructed the butler to inform her father of her arrival. She waited in the grand sitting room, the heavy silence pressing down on her. Thirty long minutes passed before he finally appeared.

Her father strode in with his usual air of authority, his expression unreadable. "Ah, Mrs. Christian," he drawled mockingly. "Forgive my manners. I was busy in my study. Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon with your husband?"

Agatha swallowed the irritation bubbling inside her. She needed him to listen. This wasn't the time for anger. She forced herself to soften, lowering her gaze in a way she knew would appeal to his ego.

"Daddy, how is work?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Her father raised a brow, clearly surprised by her sudden change in tone. "Work is going well. But why are you here?"

Agatha took a careful breath. "Daddy, I know we haven't always been on good terms. But no matter what, I am still your daughter—your only child. I know you want me to be happy. You wouldn't want me to suffer, right?"

Her father studied her for a moment, then sighed. "You are right, Agatha. You are my daughter, and the only family I have left. I want nothing but happiness for you."

She felt a spark of hope. "Really, Daddy?"

"Yes."

"Then cancel the marriage."

His expression hardened in an instant. "What?"

"Please, Daddy," she pleaded. "I know I signed the document, but you have power, connections. You can find a way to undo it. Please help me."

Her father's gaze darkened. "That's not possible, Agatha. You signed a contract—it's legally binding. Irreversible."

Desperation clawed at her chest. She dropped to her knees, tears spilling freely.

"Dad, I know I've been difficult, but you're my only hope. You can pull some strings, use your influence to get me out of this. Please, don't turn me away."

Her father sighed, rubbing his temple as though this conversation exhausted him. "If you had shown this level of respect two months ago, things might have been different. But no—you always found pleasure in insulting and disrespecting me. I gave you privileges, freedom that many children would envy. And what did I get in return? Ingratitude. Disrespect. Defiance."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll change. I promise to be a better daughter. Just please help me."

He shook his head. "I hope you remember those words in the future. But the truth remains—there is nothing I can do. The contract you signed was a unilateral agreement. It cannot be undone."

Agatha's stomach twisted. "But you're my father—"

"And as your father, I secured the best possible future for you," he interrupted coldly. "Do you even understand how many of my business associates fought for their daughters to be in your position? You got it on a silver platter, and you dare to be ungrateful?"

Her fingers curled into fists as anger and disappointment swirled inside her. She had come here with hope, with faith that her father would save her. But he had shattered that hope without a second thought.

She stood slowly, her eyes locking onto his with quiet fury. There were a million things she wanted to say—accusations, curses, words that could wound him the way he had wounded her.

But she said nothing.

Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind the last remnants of the trust she once had in her father.