Chapter 1 Arranged to Mr Agabus

“You will go on a date with Mr. Agabus and make sure to keep him happy! That’s an order!”

Olivia’s father, Andrew Peterson, shouted across the dining room, his voice sharp enough to cut through her thoughts.

Olivia froze, the spoon in her hand trembling. “Why?” she asked in a low voice, her throat dry.

Mr. Agabus. The name alone made her shiver. Everyone in the city knew him as wealthy, powerful, but cruel-looking. His face was twisted from an old accident, and his left leg never healed properly. He used a walking stick and rarely smiled. People whispered he had a temper, that no woman ever lasted long beside him.

“He wishes to marry you,” her father said, grinning as if he’d just won a lottery. “And this will be a good opportunity for my business.”

Olivia’s heart skipped. Marry him?

She blinked, not sure she heard right. “Marry me?” she whispered.

Andrew’s grin widened. “Yes, you should be grateful, Olivia. This is your chance to do something useful for this family. Do you think your beauty is enough? Now you can finally bring in something valuable. Mr. Agabus will invest in my company once you’re married.”

Olivia finally understood. Her father wasn’t asking her to go on a date. He was selling her and selling her to a man in his fifties for money and status.

I, Olivia, marry that man? Over my dead body.

Her chest ached, and she felt tears threaten to fall, but she swallowed them. Crying never changed anything in this house. Her father’s word was law.

“Why me?” she asked quietly.

Andrew slammed his palm on the table. “Because I said so! Don’t you dare question me. You will obey, or you’ll regret it.”

Olivia bit her tongue. The sharp taste of blood filled her mouth, but she said nothing. She had learned the hard way that arguing only brought pain. Her father’s temper was worse than a thunderstorm.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said, his face softening. “Be ready by six. His driver will pick you up. And remember, smile. Don’t make him angry.”

Olivia nodded and stood up, her legs weak. She climbed the stairs to her room, her mind spinning.

When she entered, her breath caught.

On her bed lay a short, tight red dress and a pair of high heels. A necklace glittered beside them probably borrowed or fake, it didn’t matter. The outfit screamed seduction.

Her stomach turned. “So this is what he wants me to wear,” she whispered to herself. “Like a doll on display.”

She picked up the dress between her fingers, staring at the silky fabric. It was beautiful, but it made her feel sick.

“No way,” she said under her breath. “No way will I wear this.”

Olivia dropped the dress back onto the bed and went to her small closet. She pushed past the few clothes hanging there until she found what she wanted a long, dull brown gown she used for cleaning. The fabric was worn, the sleeves too big, but that was perfect.

She slipped it on and tied her hair into a messy bun. Then she opened her makeup box and stared at it for a long moment.

A small smile tugged at her lips. If her father wanted her to impress Mr. Agabus, she would do the exact opposite.

She took a brown eyeliner pencil and drew fake pimples on her cheeks. Then she smudged dark eyeshadow under her eyes until she looked tired and sickly. She added a touch of pale powder to make her skin look dull.

When she was done, she stepped back and stared at the mirror.

The girl staring back was not the same Olivia her father wanted to sell. Her blue eyes looked smaller, her lips pale. She looked like a ghost of herself.

“Perfect,” she whispered, smiling.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A message from her stepmother popped up: Mr. Agabus’s driver is downstairs. Don’t keep him waiting.

Olivia took a deep breath. Her heart pounded, but she straightened her back and picked up her old brown purse.

As she walked downstairs, her father’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What the hell are you wearing?” he roared.

Olivia kept her head low. “You said to keep him happy, Father. I’m sure he will appreciate honesty more than makeup.”

Andrew’s face turned red. “You ungrateful brat!”

She winced but said nothing. He clenched his fists but didn’t hit her not with the driver waiting outside. “Fine,” he hissed. “You’d better not ruin this.”

Olivia nodded and walked past him, her heart racing. The cold air outside bit her skin as she stepped onto the porch.

A black car waited by the gate, engine humming. The driver, a tall man in a black suit, opened the door without a word. She climbed in and stared out the window as the house faded from view.

The drive was long and silent. Her mind replayed her father’s words again and again. He wishes to marry you. This will be a good opportunity for my business.

She clenched her fists. I will not let them use me.

Finally, the car stopped in front of a grand mansion. The gates opened slowly, revealing a garden filled with white roses. The house itself was massive, its windows glowing with warm yellow light.

The driver got out and opened her door. “Miss Peterson,” he said politely. “Mr. Agabus is expecting you.”

Olivia stepped out, her legs shaky. The marble steps felt cold under her shoes. She wanted to run away, but where would she go?

The front door opened, and a woman in a black dress greeted her. “This way, Miss.”

Olivia followed her through a long hallway filled with paintings and crystal lights. Everything smelled expensive.

When they entered the dining room, Olivia froze again.

At the end of the long table sat a man in a dark suit. His hair was streaked with silver, and his face was marked by scars that made him look both intimidating and sad. His left hand rested on a cane. His sharp eyes met hers the moment she entered.

So this was Mr. Agabus.

“Miss Peterson,” he said in a deep, slow voice. “Please, sit.”

Olivia nodded and took the chair across from him.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You look… different from what I expected.”

Olivia smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, sir.”

A small, amused smile touched his lips. “Not at all. Honesty is rare. I like that.”

The maid poured wine into their glasses and left the room quietly. The air felt thick with silence.

Olivia’s hands shook slightly as she lifted her fork. She didn’t know what to say, but she could feel his eyes on her every second.

Finally, he spoke again. “Did your father tell you why you’re here?”

Olivia forced a small laugh. “He mentioned business.”

Mr. Agabus nodded slowly. “Of course. Andrew Peterson always mixes business with family.” His tone held a hint of bitterness.

Olivia’s eyes lifted in surprise. “You know my father well?”

He chuckled quietly. “Well enough to know he would sell his soul for profit.”

Her heart skipped. So he knows.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her face. “Tell me, Miss Peterson. Do you want this marriage?”

Olivia’s chest tightened. No one had asked her that. Not her father, not her stepmother. She stared down at her plate. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

Silence filled the room. When she dared to look up, Mr. Agabus was still watching her. But instead of anger, there was something else in his eyes—something like pity.

“I thought so,” he said. “You’re brave to admit it.”

Olivia frowned. “You’re not angry?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had enough of liars. At least you’re honest.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t what she expected. He was stern, yes, but not cruel. There was a quiet sadness in his eyes, as if he carried more pain than his scars could show.

He glanced at her again. “Tell your father I’ll think about the proposal. That will keep him busy for a while.”

Olivia blinked. “You’re not serious about the marriage?”

Mr. Agabus smiled faintly. “I’m serious about my investments. Not about forcing a young woman into misery.”

Relief flooded her chest so fast she almost cried. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He raised a brow. “Don’t thank me yet. Your father will not be pleased when he hears this.”

Olivia nodded. “I’m used to it.”

He looked at her for a long moment before standing up slowly with the help of his cane. “You’re stronger than you look, Miss Peterson. Go home now. I’ll handle your father.”

She stood up and bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

When she turned to leave, she caught her reflection in one of the glass windows. The fake pimples, the tired face—it almost made her laugh.

As she stepped into the cold night, her heart felt lighter. She didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time, she felt a spark of hope.

She whispered to herself with a small, defiant smile,

“Now let’s see if you’ll still wish to marry me, Mr. Agabus.”