The perfect Bride

The journey to Christian's villa was long. Agatha stared blankly through the tinted glass of the car, her mind weighed down by uncertainty. How was she supposed to cope with this? Memories of everything she had endured flashed through her mind, and with them, the image of her mother—the silent suffering she had faced, the pain she had buried. It had left a scar on Agatha, one that would never fully heal.

A tear slipped down her cheek. This was never the life she wanted.

She had asked her mother countless times why she had never left her father, why she had endured all those years of misery. The answer was always the same.

"Ray, life does not give you what you want or deserve. It gives you what it feels like giving you. It's unpredictable—a selfish bitch that doesn't care about anyone but itself."

Agatha had never believed that. She thought life was something you shaped with your own hands, something you worked for. And that was exactly what she had done—built her life, followed her own path. Just when she thought she had control, it had all been ripped away.

Now, she was trapped in this mess.

Her aunt hadn't contacted her since the incident at the gala. Agatha had tried to push thoughts of her away, but the betrayal lingered, refusing to be ignored. What price had her aunt accepted in exchange for handing her over to her father? What had she gained? It hurt to even think about it. Her aunt had been her rock after her mother's passing, had taken her in like a daughter. So why? What had changed?

One day, she would get the answers.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Christian. We have arrived."

John's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She inhaled deeply before nodding. John stepped out, walking around to open the door for her. A strange rush of nerves coursed through her as she hesitated. What would life be like from now on?

Stepping out, she took in her surroundings. The villa was massive, enclosed by high walls, and surrounded by a vast, lush compound. Towering trees and carefully arranged plants stretched around her, bathed in the golden glow of strategically placed lights. It looked almost like a paradise, a miniature version of heaven. For a brief moment, an odd sense of solace settled within her.

Then she reminded herself—she wasn't here to stay.

"This way, ma'am." John's voice pulled her back to reality.

As she stepped inside, she was startled to find the staff gathered in the grand hallway, standing like an assembly line. She hadn't expected such a reception.

"Good evening, ma'am. I am Coy, the house manager." A well-dressed man stepped forward, his voice polite but precise, almost robotic. "These are the staff members serving the main house. We have others assigned to different areas of the estate, but I would like you to get familiar with the main house staff, as they will be attending to your daily needs."

His words were smooth, rehearsed—like he had done this a hundred times before. Were all the staff this well-trained, or was she just not used to this kind of formality?

"Thank you, Coy. Can I go to my room now?" she asked, her tone polite but weary.

"Yes, ma'am."

He directed her to her room, and as soon as she stepped inside, disappointment settled in.

The room was spacious, well-furnished with sleek, modern décor. The bed was neatly made, and everything was pristine, but it lacked warmth. It felt like a hotel suite—expensive, luxurious, but impersonal. It wasn't home.

Maybe she had expected too much.

Sighing, she moved around the room, unpacking her box. She forced herself not to think too much, to give her mind space to breathe. If she focused too hard on the situation, she might break. She needed to think clearly, to figure out a solution—after all, neither she nor Christian wanted this marriage.

Christian.

She hadn't seen him since she arrived. Where was he?

Curiosity nudged at her. Stepping out of her room, she walked down the dimly lit hallway, but there were no staff members in sight. The house was eerily quiet. As she continued walking, she stopped in front of a brown door.

A small gallery, maybe?

A peek wouldn't hurt.

Carefully, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The space did resemble a gallery—paintings adorned the walls, accompanied by a few potted plants that added a touch of warmth to the dimly lit room. It was beautiful, effortlessly aesthetic.

Then she noticed another door.

Without much thought, she opened it and stepped through.

This room was different. A large queen-sized bed sat in the center, the lighting low and intimate. The space was filled with artwork, some pieces strikingly familiar. Being around Anita for so long had given Agatha some insight into art, and as she ran her fingers over the frames, she couldn't help but wonder—who did this room belong to?

Why did it feel like someone was trying to hide a part of themselves in here?

Then it hit her.

Christian.

Her breath caught, and she immediately covered her mouth with her hands.

She had just walked into his bedroom.

Panic surged through her as she turned to leave. But before she could take a step, a strong hand grasped her arm, yanking her back and pinning her against the wall.

For a moment, her mind went blank.

The grip was firm, unyielding. She had trained in Taekwondo, had fought before, but nothing had prepared her for such raw strength.

She looked up—and met Christian's piercing gaze.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't know this was your room. I would have avoided it," she blurted out, struggling against his grip.

But he didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and mocking.

"Hey, Pony. You acted all tough and firm, and for a second, I thought you might be an interesting game. But here you are, sneaking into my room on your first day… trying to seduce me?"

Agatha's eyes widened.

"What? Seduce you?" she exclaimed, indignant. "I just missed my steps, so please, let me go."

Christian didn't budge. He moved closer, his breath warm against her neck. His intense gaze held hers, and for the first time in her life, Agatha felt something foreign—something she hated.

Submission.

Her body reacted against her will, betraying her. She had always been an alpha, never bowing to anyone, never feeling intimidated by a man.

But here she was, trapped beneath Christian's presence, caught between his arms, and feeling like…

A pony.

"Wait… did he just call me Pony?"