Aura

Agatha's Pov

He won’t be joining me?

Has he eaten somewhere else? I wondered, but I said nothing.

I simply nodded and began eating in silence.

The meal was divine.

Later that night, I curled up in bed, gripping the bed sheet tight as I tried to relax. Even though everything about this place felt foreign, sleep tugged at me hard.

Surely, even my enemies were fast asleep by now.

I didn’t know when I drifted off.

The sun was bright just as I woke up in this big, wild mansion. The place felt boring. I didn’t have any close friends I could visit, and my phone kept blinking with notifications—more fake news about my wedding.

Apparently, some random man had appeared in public, pretending to be my secret lover, and now the media was eating it up. Meanwhile, my name? Completely dragged through the dirt. Smeared like I was some shameless cheat.

But whatever. That didn’t bother me.

I’d just messed up my eyeliner, thrown on something half-decent, and stepped out of my room—completely forgetting I hadn’t buckled my heel properly. As soon as I moved, my ankle twisted, and I went flying toward the ground.

But the fall didn’t happen like I expected.

Instead of crashing onto the cold, unforgiving floor, I slammed into something hard—and my lips landed on something... soft?

My eyes widened in horror.

Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet, my whole body on high alert. “I’m so sorry!” I blurted out, reaching down to offer a hand.

The light made it hard to see his face clearly, but there was no mistaking it.

Desmond Lucas.

Desmond grinds.

The man I had a flash marriage with.

And of course, he looked completely unbothered.

“It’s okay,” he said casually. Then, with that smirk of his:

“How many times have you thrown yourself into my arms today? Am I that irresistible, dear wife?”

God, he was annoying.

I blinked. Twice. My brain glitched like a buffering video.

I’d already learned this about him. He flirts during the most awkward situations like it’s a hobby—or maybe a personality trait. Probably genetic.

“It honestly wasn’t my intention,” I muttered, flustered. “I’m really sorry.” I apologized again, hoping he’d just drop it.

“I understand,” he said, brushing his hand through his hair like a smug K-drama lead.

The words sounded nice, but something about the way he said them made me doubt he understood anything.

I gave him a side-eye. “I’m going out to the store. Need to get some snacks.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Why was I even telling him where I was going? I should’ve just walked out silently like a ghost.

“Hm. Alright,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and strolling toward the far corner of the house.

He moved quickly, almost like he was running from something.

Weird.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. I had cravings—bad ones. Fruits, sweets, crunchy stuff. I had to go get them.

Trouble might be coming for me, but before I face that storm...

Let me enjoy something first.

Let me eat.

...

I paid the cab man and thanked him before walking toward the store. I was just at the front yard—hadn’t even touched the door—when it suddenly swung open.

And there they were.

Maleficent and Mark.

I clenched my teeth.

Mark stared at me with cold, sharp eyes. “Agatha, what are you doing here?”

I forced myself to stay calm. My eyes drifted down to their hands—locked together like some perfect couple.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since our wedding got canceled, and here he was, holding Maleficent’s hand like she was his long-lost soulmate.

My chest tightened, but I shoved the emotion down. I refused to let them see any weakness.

Without a word, I tried to walk past them into the store. I just wanted to get what I came for and leave. But Mark reached out and grabbed my hand.

“What do you want from me, Mark?” I snapped, yanking my hand away.

Maleficent tilted her head, fake concern dripping from her tone. “Agatha, you’re really such a—”

“A what, Maleficent?” I cut her off, glaring.

Mark stepped forward, face dark. “Such a whore,” he spat.

My jaw clenched. He had the nerve?

“You have no right to call me that,” I hissed. “If anyone fits that label, it’s you. Our engagement ended yesterday, and you're already playing husband with my sister.”

I couldn’t believe them. I didn’t even want to talk to either of them.

But of course, Maleficent had to push it further—putting on her little innocent act.

“Dear sister, Father misses you. You should come home. Even if you’re not marrying Mark, you’re still my lovely sister.”

I laughed—cold and sarcastic. “Family, huh? Maleficent, don’t pretend with me. Weren’t you there when I said I cut all ties with that family? I meant it.”

Maleficent's face twitched—like my words had slapped her. For a second, she actually looked scared.

Mark immediately pulled her close, wrapping his arm around hers protectively.

“Don’t talk to my fiancée like that, Agatha. A whore like you doesn’t deserve to speak to her.”

I scoffed, looking at them like they were nothing but a joke. “I just want to get my stuff and leave. I don’t have time for either of you.”

After that, I turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to escape them.

What was the point of this little drama? Were they trying to bait the press? Stir up a scene? My name had already been dragged through the mud all over the internet. On my wedding day, a random man showed up, claiming to be my secret boyfriend. Accusing me of cheating on my fiancé—the “perfect man” from the wealthiest family. Mark.

I felt danger closing in around me. I just wanted to get away.

But before I could, Mark suddenly grabbed my arm and shoved me—hard.

I gasped as pain shot through me. I hit the

ground, stunned, barely believing what just happened.

I looked up at Mark with a bitter glare. “How dare you, Mark? How dare you? I was always loyal to you. You gave me nothing—not even a shred of trust. And now you choose my sister over me?”

I forced the words through clenched teeth. “You don’t have the right to put your hands on me.”

Mark just scoffed and looked down at me like I was filth. “That’s exactly where you belong—on the ground.”

Maleficent smirked beside him, clearly enjoying the show.

From where I lay, I clenched my fists quietly, rage brewing in my chest.

But then—before I could even rise—his voice crashed through the air like thunder:

“Who dares lay a hand on my wife?”