He Fell for the Wrong Bride

Every girl dreamed of becoming a princess when they were young—wearing dazzling gowns, living a carefree life, marrying a king or a handsome prince, and eventually ruling a kingdom together as a queen. At twenty, I, Daisy McKee, really did become a princess. The difference between reality and those fairy tales? My "dream" came true with a gun pressed to my head. "Sign this agreement, and you will no longer be Daisy McKee. From now on, you will be a princess of Kastillia," said a towering woman dressed in black. A ring bearing the royal crest adorned her pinky finger, and her face was as cold and expressionless as a marionette. The icy barrel of a gun pressed against my forehead, sending a shiver down my spine. My gaze shifted to the outdated TV in the room. On the screen, my father dangled limply from the ceiling, looking lifeless, like poultry gutted and hung on hooks at a slaughterhouse. Three days ago, I saw the news in class about my father orchestrating a Ponzi scheme. I rushed to return home, only to be rear-ended on the way. When I stepped out to check the damage, someone knocked me out cold. When I woke up, I was locked in this room. My phone and keys were gone, and no matter how desperately I screamed for help, no one came. The TV was connected to a surveillance feed in my living room. For three days, I watched helplessly as thugs trashed my home, beat my father, and tied up my mother and brother, forcing them to watch in horror. "This is insane! Let me go, let my family go, you criminals!" I shouted. "The criminal here is your father. The ones beating him are the investors he swindled. Right now, only you can save him." My father would never do that. He was an honest banker who cared more about helping ordinary people than catering to aristocrats and capitalists. Our family was already wealthy enough—why would he need to run a Ponzi scheme? "No one has the right to torture him privately!" I argued. "You should be thanking me for protecting you, not wasting my time with this nonsense," she replied coldly. Protecting me? Locking me up to watch my family be tortured counted as protection? If that was her idea of safety, she should be "protected" for the rest of her life. But deep down, I knew she had a point. I hadn't been physically harmed. If I truly was the key to solving this problem, they wouldn't dare kill me. Summoning every ounce of courage, I steadied my gaze on the gun. Gripping the woman's hand, I pushed her fingers closer to the trigger. "Either kill me now, or let my family go." "Well, aren't you a tough one," she said with a smirk, pulling out a walkie-talkie. "Let them in." The surveillance footage shifted. A SWAT team burst into the living room, quickly subduing the assailants. Moments later, medics arrived, loading my parents and brother onto stretchers. Relief and exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I collapsed to the floor. The woman crouched, shoving a legal document back in my face. "Now, will you sign the agreement, or do you need more time to think?" On the screen, I watched as medics injected my family with syringes. Their smiles were unnervingly sinister. I screamed and lunged at the TV, clawing desperately at the screen as if I could reach them. "Relax. It's just a sedative. But the next injection... well, who knows? Your father might 'commit suicide' in prison. Your mother could die of heartbreak. Your brother might snap his neck in gym class." This was textbook gaslighting, but I couldn't risk calling her bluff—not with my family's lives on the line. My hands trembling, I grabbed the pen she offered and scribbled my name on the agreement. My signature came out shaky, barely legible. Satisfied, the woman tapped my cheek with the folder. "Good choice. After all, what girl doesn't want to be a princess? You'll undergo a week of royal etiquette training and then head to Luthshir to marry their king. Just like in the fairy tales." "Marry that... that Bluebeard?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Luthshir was one of the few modern nations still ruled by an absolute monarchy. Their king was infamous—a brutal, hedonistic tyrant rumored to have a penchant for killing his wives. Mothers even used his name to scare unruly children into silence. "That's rude," the woman chided. "Luthshir is Kastillia's neighbor and most important ally. This marriage will bring enormous benefits to both nations." "Then let a real princess do it! The royal family is funded by taxpayers—they should be the ones making sacrifices for the country!" I shot back, my voice trembling with anger. "Your father stole from those taxpayers. Should we send him to the electric chair instead?" she countered, her icy gaze cutting through me like a blade. "If you marry, the royal family will cover the losses, spin the narrative, and restore your father's reputation. He'll remain the respected banker everyone admires. What's there to hesitate about? Or are you still clinging to Hardy Hill?" Hardy—my beloved. My heart sank. Had something happened to him too? "What did you do to him?" I demanded. "Prince Hardy is Kastillia's second prince. I wouldn't dare lay a finger on him." "Hardy... is a prince?" I stammered, disbelief washing over me. The woman let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "He never told you? Figures. A commoner with a tarnished family like you doesn't deserve to be his wife. But you're perfect as a bargaining chip to secure his sister's freedom." That was impossible. Hardy couldn't be a prince, and he would never betray me. We had met in high school and had been inseparable for five years. He even gave up his dream of studying astronomy to follow me into law school. He had told me countless times that I was the most important person in his life. I could see the sincerity, the passion in his eyes. Just before I left school three days ago, he had held me tightly, his hands warm and strong as he stroked my hair. "No matter what happens, we'll face it together," he had promised. I could still feel the safety of his embrace. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. 'She's trying to break me. It's a lie. It has to be.' "Prince Hardy gave us your phone's location," the woman said flatly, pulling out a remote. She clicked a button, and the TV switched to a news broadcast. There, on the palace balcony, Hardy stood locked in a passionate embrace with a blonde girl. "Today marks the engagement of Prince Hardy and the princess of a neighboring nation." The woman smirked, clearly savoring my anguish. "It seems you didn't make the guest list."