I love it when you call my name," he murmured, planting another kiss on her neck."Call my name again," he ordered, his tone firm.
"Christian," she whispered unconsciously.
Just then, her stomach growled loudly.
"Hmm. Looks like somebody's hungry," he said, finally letting go of her. Yet, he remained right there, arms folded, eyes fixed on her. Even without his hands on her, she felt caged.
"It's already late. Don't you want to sleep? Or maybe find something better to do with your time?"
"Yes, I have a lot to do, Pony. But I can't relax knowing a stranger is roaming around my house."
"That's why you have security, I guess. Why should you be the one doing it?"
He didn't respond—just stared at her. She couldn't read his expression.
Ignoring him, she headed to the kitchen, clearly labeled and easy to identify. The place was massive—so large she felt someone could get lost in it. It was bigger than her entire apartment. Regret began to settle in. Maybe she should've just eaten what was served instead of being so stubborn.
Then the pain struck.
The familiar burn of her ulcer wrapped around her midsection. She clutched her stomach tightly, trying to reduce the pain, but it was unbearable. She sank to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks—not because she wanted to cry, but because the pain demanded it.
Somehow, she managed to get up and stagger to her room, desperate for her medication. It had been years since her last ulcer attack. Thankfully, she'd taken the pills with her, just in case. She silently thanked the heavens she had. But the pain... the pain ignited her hatred again—for her father, for her aunt. They were going to pay.
Just as she reached her room, a pair of strong arms scooped her up. Christian carried her princess-style to the living room and laid her gently on the couch. She hadn't stepped foot in the living room since arriving, but she could tell the couch was incredibly soft and luxurious.
"Why did you bring me here? I need to get my meds," she said through clenched teeth.
"Where are they?" he asked.
"In my room... but I'll go get them myself."
"Don't be stubborn. It's that same attitude that got you here in the first place," he said, gently laying her back down.
Moments later, he returned with her medication and tried to help her take it. She refused, grabbing it from his hand and administering it herself. Once done, she laid back and shut her eyes, letting the medicine do its work.
He left—but she didn't care.
A few minutes passed, and he returned with a tray.
"This is the food you ordered. I microwaved it. Next time, you won't get this opportunity."Without waiting for thanks, he walked away.
Agatha didn't bother thanking him. After all, he was the reason for her attack.
She ate every bit of the food, returned the tray to the kitchen, and went back to her room.
In his own room, Christian couldn't sleep. He tossed on his bed, unsettled.
For years, no one had dared invade his space. When his mother told him she'd found the perfect bride, he'd expected someone submissive, someone who adored his presence. That's what he was used to—women of high status who would kill for the title Mrs. Christian. But not Agatha.
She detested him.
She challenged him—within less than 24 hours of stepping foot into his home. Who did she think she was? Acting like she had more to lose if the marriage failed. Her tiny business couldn't hold a candle to his empire. He could buy her entire asset list, and it wouldn't make a dent.
Yet here she was—throwing tantrums.
Still, one thing was certain: he would subdue her. Eventually.
He drifted into sleep, thoughts of her rebellion trailing him into unconsciousness.
The next morning, Agatha woke up feeling stronger. Before she'd fallen asleep the night before, she'd reflected deeply—and finalized her approach to annul the marriage.
After her morning routine, she called her personal lawyer, Linda, and arranged to meet her at the office. Then she called Anita, asking her to pick her up since she didn't come with her car.
At 7:00 a.m., her room bell rang. It was the same maid from before.
"Good morning, ma'am. Breakfast is served."
Agatha smiled lightly."What's your name, dear?"
"Seline," the maid replied.
"That's a beautiful name. Seline, you don't have to bother bringing me food anymore. I'll eat once I'm out. Besides, I prefer just a cup of coffee in the morning."
A flash of disappointment crossed Seline's face, but she masked it quickly, bowed slightly, and left.
A few minutes later, Agatha received a text from Anita: "I'm outside."
She grabbed her bag and stepped into the hallway—only to find Christian, already dressed in a custom Italian suit that hugged his tall frame perfectly. If she were being honest, he looked ridiculously handsome.
Before she got lost in his aura, she greeted, "Hi, Christian—"
"You turned down your food again," he interrupted, clearly irritated.
"Yes. I didn't want to eat."
"What is wrong with you?" His voice was sharper this time, though it held a thread of concern.
"Stop scolding me, Christian. What am I—five?"
"No, you tell me. Because a full-grown adult should know what's good for her. You had a serious ulcer attack yesterday, and you're repeating the same mistake."
"Awwn, what a caring husband. But you know what? I don't need that. As a matter of fact, I've found a solution to this sham."
She turned and walked off.
"I'd love to see you try, Mrs. Christian," he called after her, amused.
So stubborn, he thought. But he was curious now—what solution had she found? Whatever it was, he'd enjoy crushing it.
On their way to work, Agatha told Anita everything—about the ulcer, the house, and her plan to annul the marriage.
Anita's phone kept ringing.
"Why aren't you answering?" Agatha asked.
"Don't worry. It's no one important."
"Babe," Agatha warned, giving her a sharp glare.
"Okay, fine. It's Josh. He's been calling a lot lately."
"Hmm. What does he want?"
"He says he wants more, but I guess he still hasn't had enough of me." She rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow.
"Girl, you're worth more than that. But just know I'll support whatever decision you make."
"We need no man—"
"Because we're rich, pretty, and feminine!" they finished together, laughing.
Their car filled with the upbeat rhythm of Titanium by David Guetta ft. Sia, the perfect background for their defiant joy.
At work, Agatha met with Linda and began the legal process of annulling her marriage. Linda assured her the plan would work. Agatha was overjoyed. She called Anita right away to share the good news.
All she needed now was patience.
Back at home, she and Christian avoided each other like the plague. Christian went on week-long trips, and Agatha was thrilled to have the house to herself—a mini break from the storm.
Then came Saturday.
Agatha was curled up in the living room, watching a documentary about abusers. As she listened, she wondered if someone should do one about her father—and Anita's. There was no difference between the monsters on screen and the ones who had raised them.
Suddenly, Christian barged in, throwing a brown envelope on the center table.
He was back—three days early.
Agatha instantly knew why.
She stood and opened the envelope.
"This isn't for you—it's for your mother," she said coldly.
"Have you lost your mind? You filed a lawsuit against my mother for fraudulent inducement?"
"Yes, I've lost my mind—staying in this godforsaken place with you. And it's not just your mother. I sued my father and my aunt, too. I left you out because you were tricked, just like me."
"So this was your plan?"
"I see you've already found out."
Christian laughed hysterically. "I hate to break it to you—but it's failed."
His words felt like a threat. This was her last hope. She couldn't let him ruin it.
"Is that what you think?" she said with a smirk, masking her fear.
"In as much as I hate this marriage, I will not let you walk away from it. You are my wife, Agatha. And nothing on this earth will save you from that.