The Wishful Bride

Episode 1: The Perfect Lie

"Some brides walk down the aisle with hope. Others walk into a prison disguised as forever."

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The digital clock beside the bed glowed at 6:14 A.M.

Elaris reached for it before the alarm could ring. Damien hated alarms. And after seven years of marriage, she had learned that even a small sound could become a reason for punishment.

Her movements were careful.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the pale morning light slipping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, the city slowly came to life. Cars filled the streets below, people hurried to work, cafés opened their doors, and somewhere out there, strangers were beginning ordinary mornings.

She wondered what an ordinary morning felt like.

Beside her, Damien Sterling slept peacefully. His breathing was slow and steady, his handsome face untouched by the darkness he carried when he was awake.

To the world, Damien Sterling was the perfect man—charming, successful, and devoted.

But behind closed doors, he was the nightmare only Elaris knew

As her bare feet touched the cold marble floor, a sharp ache shot through her ribs.She inhaled quietly. The pain from yesterday’s kick still hadn’t healed yet. Reaching for the oversized cardigan hanging on the chair, she slipped it over her thin satin nightdress. The long sleeves hid the fading fingerprints wrapped around her wrists.

The first time Damien Sterling laid his hands on her, he cried. He had held her trembling body against his chest, kissed the bruise blooming beneath her eye, and swore it would never happen again. Elaris believed him. Love had a way of making lies sound like promises.

After seven years of marriage, pain had become as ordinary as breathing. She no longer remembered how many apologies he had given. Nor how many bruises they had buried beneath expensive dresses, flawless makeup, and practiced smiles. Another day. Another performance.

She walked downstairs and entered the kitchen. The mansion was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Crystal chandeliers. polished marble.

Everything looked perfect.

Everything was carefully staged.

Except her.

Elaris quietly prepared the breakfast. Coffee, toast, eggs, and fresh fruit. She measured the coffee beans with absolute precision. Too bitter, he’d complain. Too hot. Too cold. Too much. Too little. Always wrong. She wondered if perfection had ever existed or if Damien simply enjoyed watching her chase something impossible.

The coffee machine let out a soft hiss. She flinched instinctively, not because of the sound, but because footsteps echoed behind her.

“You woke up late.” His voice was calm.

Elaris glanced at the kitchen clock. Six forty-five.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered automatically. Those two words had become a habit. A survival instinct.

Damien loosened the cuffs of his white dress shirt before taking a seat at the dining table. “You know I have a board meeting.”

“I know.”

“And yet breakfast isn’t ready.”

“It will only take another minute.”

She hurried to place the dishes onto the table. Everything looked exactly the way he preferred. The eggs were soft, the toast was lightly browned, and the coffee steamed inside his favorite porcelain cup. She stood beside his chair. Waiting. Always waiting.

Damien lifted the cup and took one sip. Silence swallowed the room. Elaris held her breath.

Then the cup slammed against the dining table. Warm coffee splattered across the polished marble floor, dripping from the edge of the wood.

“This is cold,” Damien said, his eyes freezing over as he stared at her.

Her fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of her cardigan. “I… I brewed it just now.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“N-No.”

“Then explain.”

She lowered her head. There was nothing to explain—there never was.

“I’m sorry.”

Damien stared at her, his expression unreadable. For one foolish second, Elaris hoped he would let it go, but she should have known better. The slap came before she could even process his movement. The sharp impact echoed across the dining room, so sudden and forceful that her vision blurred.

Her body staggered sideways, and her hand caught the edge of the table to stop herself from collapsing completely. A burning sting spread across her cheek, and the familiar metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Neither of them spoke. The silence after a blow always felt louder than the slap itself.

Damien calmly wiped his fingers with a linen napkin and crouched in front of her. He gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, treating her with a terrifying tenderness, as though he were the perfect husband.

“You always apologize,” he murmured, his smile never reaching his eyes. “But you never learn. You embarrass me.”

Elaris forced herself not to flinch. That was the cruelest part about Damien. He never looked angry. He smiled, he spoke softly, and he treated violence like affection. Anyone who saw them together would have called them the perfect couple.

No one would ever believe what happened once the front door closed because bruises could be hidden, but broken hearts could not.

His fingers gently lifted her chin. His thumb brushed the corner of her lips, wiping away the thin line of blood. “You know what I hate the most?”

She whispered the answer she knew he wanted to hear. “Disappointing you…”

“No,” he smiled softly. “I hate excuses.”

Violence became even more terrifying when delivered with perfect composure. Damien leaned closer, his breath warm against her burning cheek.

“You’ll wear the white dress tonight.”

She blinked, confused. “The investors’ dinner? I thought the black one—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Elaris lowered her gaze.

“Yes.”

“And when they arrive… smile. I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Her fingers unconsciously brushed against the bruise hidden beneath her sleeve.

“They won’t.”

“They’d better not.”

He stood up and stepped away as though nothing had happened. He adjusted his tie in the reflection of the glass cabinet before checking the expensive watch on his wrist, the same watch she had saved for months to buy him on their fifth anniversary.

He had never thanked her. He only complained that she chose the wrong color.

Funny, she still remembered that day. Not because of the gift. No. Because it was also the first time, he pushed her down the stairs.

Damien picked up his car keys. “I’m leaving.”

Elaris automatically walked toward the entrance, following a habit she had never managed to break. She helped him into his coat, straightened his collar, and smoothed invisible wrinkles from the expensive fabric. They looked like an ordinary couple, a husband leaving for work, a wife seeing him off.

Appearances were generous liars.

Damien reached for the doorknob, then paused. Without warning, he turned around and his fingers brushed against her cheek.

“So pretty. Don’t forget your makeup.” Then he kissed her forehead.

A soft.

gentle kiss.

"I'll see you tonight."

The front door clicked shut. The engine of his black sedan faded into the distance. Silence settled over the mansion once again. Elaris remained standing in the foyer, motionless.

She counted.

One… two… three…

Until the sound of the car completely disappeared. Only then did her shoulders finally collapse. She slid slowly down the wall until she was kneeling on the floor. The polished marble felt freezing against her back.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she looked down at the diamond wedding ring resting on her finger.She had once believed this ring meant forever. She was twenty-one when Damien placed it on her finger and promised to protect her.from the world. She never imagined that the same hand that promised to protect her would become the one she feared most.

She pressed both palms over her face. No tears came. Only a broken laugh escaped her lips small, soundless, and far more terrifying than any scream.

If this was what love looked like...

Why did it feel so much like dying?

That night, Elaris whispered a desperate wish. She didn't know that some wishes were never meant to be granted.

They were meant to change everything.