The perfect Bride

The sun was setting, casting an amber glow over Q Country. It was the best hour of the day—when people were off work, bars and clubs were opening, and the city streets buzzed with life.

Agatha sat behind the wheel of her 2009 HVPN Sport Lexus, dressed in a maroon suit. It was the first and only car she had ever owned. She had bought it as a gift to herself after landing her first eight-figure deal. Anita had always nagged her to buy a new one, but Agatha had stubbornly refused.

The drive to Blue Night Restaurant took about 45 minutes. As she entered the estate where the restaurant was located, everything felt different—almost as if even the oxygen here was richer and more expensive. She had never been to Blue Night before, but with the help of GPS, she found it easily.

Pulling into the parking lot, she noticed that only a few cars were there—unsurprising, considering that not many could afford to dine in such a place. As she stepped into the reception area, she was about to ask the receptionist for directions when an usher approached her.

"Good evening, Mrs. Christian. Welcome to Blue Night. Your husband is waiting for you. Shall we?"

Agatha clenched her jaw. She was already sick of everyone calling her Mrs. Christian. She just wanted to get this over with and return to her normal life. Without a word, she followed the usher, who led her to a VVIP section that looked more like a luxury suite than a restaurant.

Christian sat on the plush couch, dressed in a black suit, his legs crossed. His head was buried in a file of documents, a glass of champagne resting on the stool beside him. He noticed Agatha's arrival but didn't acknowledge her. After all, she was late.

Rolling her eyes, Agatha walked up to the couch opposite him.

"Shall we begin, Mr. Christian?" she asked, her tone laced with impatience.

Christian adjusted his position and glanced at his wristwatch.

"You're 23 minutes late."

Agatha scoffed. "I suppose you don't drive or deal with traffic? The roads are always busy in the evening. I wouldn't be surprised if you used a jet to get here." She crossed her arms. "Now, can I sit?"

Christian raised a brow. People were usually intimidated by him. Most would have apologized immediately, shrinking into themselves. But she… she was a tough one.

"You may, Ms. Agatha. Though I expected you to wear a dress."

"Well, Mr. Christian, this was arranged as a formal meeting, not a dinner."

"What kind of meeting is held in a restaurant at night if not a dinner meeting?"

"What I wear shouldn't concern you. As long as I'm comfortable, that's all that matters."

Their eyes locked for a few seconds. Christian studied her, searching for a weakness, but there was a barrier—something preventing him from seeing through her. On the other hand, Agatha was trying her best to remain composed, though inwardly, she felt the full force of his intense gaze.

"Addressing your husband as Mister is too formal," Christian said, standing up with his glass of champagne. He walked toward the large window on the west side of the room.

"Well, that's why I'm here—to end this… tragedy as soon as possible," Agatha replied. "I signed the marriage certificate, but I can sign a divorce paper just as easily."

Christian smirked at her ignorance before turning to face her.

"A tragedy, huh? Then you might want to start documenting, because this tragedy will last ten years." His voice was calm but sharp. "If divorce were an option, I wouldn't have bothered calling this meeting."

Agatha frowned. "What do you mean ten years?"

"I assume you didn't read that part of the contract either," he said, shaking his head. "I hate that you were completely unaware of this. It was my mistake for letting my mother handle it. I was trapped in this just as much as you were." He gestured toward the file on the stool across from her. "That's my copy of the marriage contract. Take your time reading it. But try not to pass out again."

Agatha's hands trembled as she picked up the document. Meanwhile, Christian opened the blinds, his eyes lingering on the sunset. He was a lover of nature—just like his father. His mother often told him that his father had been the one to inspire her love for the outdoors.

But Christian couldn't think about that now. He hated remembering his father's death. It was a memory he wished he could erase, yet it always found a way to resurface.

A loud gasp pulled him from his thoughts.

"What?!" Agatha exclaimed, standing up. She marched toward him, holding the contract in disbelief. "Please tell me this isn't real."

Christian sighed. "I wish it weren't. But the deed is done. We have to make this work."

"No. No, we don't. There has to be a way around this." Her voice wavered as panic set in. She had promised herself she wouldn't appear weak in front of him, but her brain was already numb.

"Ten years is a long time, Christian. I can't do this. Please. I will find another way."

Christian chuckled dryly. "Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position? Yet here you are, shaking like a leaf." He took a sip from his glass before continuing. "Besides, I've already tried everything. Trust me, I'd be the first to request a divorce if it were possible. But if you think you can find a loophole, be my guest. Just do it in the next 24 hours."

He set his drink down and straightened his suit.

"And, Agatha? Start packing. You're moving in with me."

Agatha's eyes darkened. "In your dreams, Christian. I will never move in with you."

Christian smirked. "You will. That contract is a legally binding document. This isn't a joke. My entire empire—my years of hard work—is on the line. And thanks to you, we've already made headlines. If you're ready to lose everything, I'm not. So, in 24 hours, expect my assistant, Mr. John, to help you pack. Be prepared. And don't make this harder than it already is."

Without waiting for her response, he picked up the contract and walked out, leaving her standing there, shaken.

Agatha sat back down, tears streaming down her cheeks. How had her life come to this? How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

She clenched her fists. She had to talk to her father.

Because if there was one thing her father had always wanted, it was to see her vulnerable.

If that was the only way out of this nightmare…

Then she would do it.Even if it meant kneeling and begging—something she had sworn never to do—she would do it.