Don't Touch The Bride

Miles

My father is unbelievable.

No-ridiculous. That's the better word to describe him. What sane person finds a nineteen-year-old bride for their thirty-nine-year-old son?

I clench my jaw, the memory of our last conversation playing on repeat in my head.

"This is insane," I mutter to myself. "What does he take me for? A predator? A pervert? A...phidophile?" I stumble over the word, the disgust in my voice palpable. "God, it's sick."

Yes, she's technically an adult, but the twenty-year age gap makes my skin crawl. How does he expect me to wake up next to someone barely out of high school and call her my wife?

I scoff, shrugging my jacket off.

"No way. There's no way I'm agreeing to this."

Still, the question gnaws at me: Who are her parents? What kind of people marry off their daughter to a man almost twice her age?

I glance down at the woman kneeling before me, sucking my dick, her doe eyes looking up like I'm her savior. Fuck off.

I pull away from her without a word, my disgust now spilling over into every aspect of my life. Lately, no one gets me hard. No one.

"Put your clothes on and leave," I snap, brushing past her toward the bathroom. I wash my hands, trying to rinse away the frustration clawing at my chest.

The intercom buzzes as I step back into my office. "What now?"

"Mr. Han?" Lizzie's voice comes through the speaker, hesitant.

"Out with it," I bark, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"It's your father."

I exhale sharply, my patience fraying at the edges. "Tell him to fuck off."

There's a pause. Then his voice booms through the line. "Miles, did you order your security to keep me out? I gave you this company. Don't make me take it back."

Of course, I think, biting back the urge to smash the intercom.

"Lizzie, let him in," I say through gritted teeth.

Moments later, my father strides into the office. Tall, broad-shouldered, and brimming with self-importance, he looks more like my brother than my dad. It's the curse of the Han genes-forever youthful but forever tied to this man's shadow.

He doesn't waste time. "Your wedding to Cheryl is in three weeks. Drop this fantasy of living single and build a family, or I'll send you back to Korea to ride bicycles with your grandmother."

The jab at my mom's family isn't new, but it still stings. He always speaks about them like they're beneath him, like divorcing my mom gave him a license to erase her existence.

"You want me to marry a child," I say, my voice low and steady, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"She's nineteen. A grown woman."

"She's a kid," I snap, standing abruptly.

He shrugs, adjusting his cufflinks like this is just another business deal. "This company didn't build itself, Miles. You want to keep it? Do what's required."

I stare at him, the weight of his words settling like lead in my chest.

"Fine," I spit out, each letter dripping with venom.

"Good," he says, his tone clipped, as he turns and walks out.

The moment the door closes, I lash out, swiping everything off my desk in one swift motion. Papers scatter, a glass shatters, but the rage inside me doesn't ease.

This isn't just unfair-it's cruel. To me, to her, to everyone involved.

I grab my phone and dial Chris.

"Mr. Han," he answers.

"Find out everything about her," I say, my voice cold and detached.

"Every. Single. Thing."

I hang up before he can respond, my mind racing.

If my father thinks he can control me forever, he's got another thing coming.

I leaned on my desk, staring at the folder Chris had prepared for me. My fingers tightened around the glass of water in my other hand, and I drained it in one gulp before opening the file.

Chris always put everything into a document when he knew the details would be lengthy. He's one of the few people I can tolerate for more than a few minutes, but even he knows I prefer to read than listen.

"She's still in college," I muttered, groaning internally as I skimmed the first page.

Shy. 5'7". Dark brown hair. Half Korean, half American. Lives with her dad and stepfamily.

Of course. Stepfamily. That explains everything. They're selling her off like property.

I snapped the folder shut, tossing it onto my desk with more force than necessary. "None of this is relevant," I growled, my eyes narrowing at Chris.

He shifted uncomfortably, his lips twitching as if he had more to say.

"Spill it, Chris," I said, running a frustrated hand through my hair.

He hesitated. "I visited her high school. Dug into her records..."

"What did you find?" I barked, my patience thinning.

Chris winced, his discomfort clear as he finally spoke. "She was bullied in high school. Mostly by her stepsister. And..." He paused, glancing away before continuing.

"She took a break her senior year after her step-uncle was arrested for molesting her."

The air left my lungs.

I stared at him, the words echoing in my head. Bullied. Molested.

My heart twisted painfully in my chest.

Why me?

This wasn't just a girl. This wasn't just a nineteen-year-old I was being forced to marry.

She was broken.

"She..." My voice faltered, and I cleared my throat. "She went back to school after all that?"

Chris nodded. "She graduated with good grades. It looks like she's kept her head down since. Her step sister moved out, but the rest of her stepfamily is still in the picture."

I slammed my hand against the desk. "Unbelievable."

Chris hesitated again before speaking. "Sir... you could marry her without any expectations. Keep her here, away from them, until she's ready to stand on her own feet"

I shot him a sharp look. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

He ducked his head, mumbling an apology, but his words lingered in my mind. As much as I hated to admit it, he wasn't wrong.

"What about her mother?" I asked, my voice quieter this time.

"She left years ago. Dumped her with her father and never came back."

I clenched my fists, a storm of emotions brewing inside me.

Why do people like this have children? Who gives birth to someone, only to abandon them to a life of pain and neglect?

And now, after everything she's been through, her family's grand solution is to marry her off to a man old enough to be her father?

God, this world is sick.

Whether I liked it or not, the decision had already been made. This marriage was happening. But one thing was certain-I wouldn't touch her. I wouldn't even look at her twice.

I refused to become another predator in her life.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. The anger, the frustration, the sheer unfairness of it all clawed at me.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath. "I'll do it."

Chris glanced at me, waiting for further instructions.

"Make sure everything's ready," I said, my tone final.

As he left the room, I stared at the closed folder on my desk. A life reduced to a few sheets of paper,

She deserved better.

We both did.