The perfect Bride

Agatha left her father's villa disappointed and devastated. But what else was new? Disappointment was the only thing he had ever been good at.

Driving back to her house—her home—she stepped inside and stood frozen at the entrance. Her eyes roamed over every carefully placed frame, every aesthetic touch she had painstakingly chosen. Each one was a reminder of her hard work, her sacrifices, and now, a bitter symbol of what she stood to lose if she didn't adhere to that wretched contract.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought about the life she had envisioned for herself versus the one she was now being forced into. Her heart ached with a deep, seething hatred for her father. What crime had she committed in a past life to deserve such punishment in this one?

"Oh, you're back! I made you stir-fry."

Anita's voice broke through her thoughts. She had been staying with Agatha since the gala incident, refusing to leave her alone in her misery. Now, noticing the tear-streaked face and swollen eyes, Anita moved closer and pulled her into a warm embrace—the kind of hug Agatha desperately needed.

"It's okay, girlfriend," Anita whispered. "You and I have been through a lot together. See this as just another battle. And like always, we will come out of it. I promise you."

Agatha exhaled shakily. Yes, Anita. Her soulmate.

Her mother had always said that a soulmate wasn't necessarily the person one fell in love with or married. Sometimes, a soulmate was an angel in human form, someone willing to walk through fire with you, to endure the worst by your side. And for Agatha, that angel was Anita.

"This can't be my fate," she murmured, wiping her tears. "Thank you so much, girlfriend. How can I ever repay you?"

"By eating your stir-fry before it gets cold," Anita teased, her lips curving into a smile. "Oh, and please don't ban me from your new villa when you move in with hubby. I need to be there to make you more of my famous stir-fries, which I know you love."

That was Anita—always finding humor even in the darkest moments.

The two of them laughed, reminiscing about old times, sharing jokes that only they understood. That night, for the first time in a while, Agatha felt a sliver of peace. And yet, as she lay in bed, she found herself wishing the night would never end—because once the sun rose, she would have to face whatever new misery awaited her.

---

As morning broke, the golden rays of the sun filtered hesitantly through the curtains, as if the dawn itself was reluctant to witness her despair. Agatha leaped from the bed, rushing to the window.

The sky was bright, yet it felt oppressively dark. Or maybe that darkness was inside her.

The summer air was unusually cold, sending a shiver down her spine. Her heart burned with resentment, her mind screaming the same question over and over—"Why me?"

She turned to see Anita still sleeping peacefully. Her best friend's calmness was such a stark contrast to the raging storm inside her. Agatha hoped, more than anything, that Anita would one day find the happiness she herself had never known.

Slipping out of the room, she made her way to the kitchen. Coffee. That was what she needed—something strong enough to match the chaos inside her. But as she attempted to brew it, she discovered the machine was broken.

"Could anything be worse?" she muttered bitterly.

"Maybe you should try making it manually, girlfriend."

Anita's voice floated in from behind her. Agatha sighed. "Good morning, girlfriend. Hope you slept well?" she asked, deliberately ignoring the remark.

"I did. But I guess a certain someone with massive eye bags didn't," Anita replied, arms crossed.

"Care for a cup of coffee? I'll make you one," Agatha offered, desperate to change the subject.

But Anita wasn't letting it slide. "Stop avoiding the topic, Agatha. I know how hard this is for you. But the least you can do is allow yourself to be vulnerable before Christian."

Agatha tensed. "I'm not vulnerable."

"I know. But with those eye bags? You look vulnerable."

She turned away, clenching her jaw.

"Agatha, I've known you for too long. You are one of the strongest women I know. But right now, you need to be strong for yourself. We will figure this out, I promise you."

"And what if we don't?" Agatha whispered. "What happens to me then? I'll become just like my mother."

Anita reached out and held her hands firmly. "Listen to me. Your mother was a strong woman. And you? You are the stronger version of her."

That was the thing about Anita. She always knew exactly what to say. With just a few words, she could make the world seem a little less cruel. And right now, she had won again—because in that moment, Agatha felt her fears start to fade.

---

By 10 AM, the doorbell rang.

She didn't need to answer it to know who it was.

Opening the door, she found John standing there, his posture as professional as ever.

"Hi, John. Good morning."

"Good morning, ma. Your husband asked me to help you pack."

Agatha exhaled slowly. "Oh, that's good. But these trucks won't be necessary. I'll only be taking this box with me," she said, pointing to the single suitcase she had prepared.

John hesitated but eventually nodded, signaling for the trucks to leave. He reached out to take her box, but she shook her head.

Turning to Anita, Agatha pulled her into a tight, lingering hug. It was warm, comforting—one that promised this wasn't goodbye.

"Take care of this home for me. I'll be back."

"It'll be my pleasure, girlfriend," Anita replied, smiling despite the sadness in her eyes.

They exchanged one final glance before Agatha stepped into the car. As John drove her away, she felt an eerie sense of finality settle over her.

She wasn't just leaving her house.

She was leaving behind the last remnants of her freedom.