Sofia's POV
Amari Mansion
"You've been engaged to him your whole life, and now you think you can reject him with fake crocodile tears?"
That was last week. And even now, my father's voice still rings in my head like hot slap — sharp, unexpected, and loud. I had only tried—just tried—to speak up for once in my life. But as usual, he didn't see me. He only saw a daughter stepping out of line.
Anyway, hi. I'm Sofia Amari. The perfect daughter. At least, that's the title everyone loves to give me.
From the outside, you'd think my life is a fairytale — mansion, expensive everything, neat little future mapped out in gold. But trust me, a palace can still be a prison if you're not free inside it.
I've never told my father "no." Never. Not when he made me skip primary five because I was "too brilliant." Not when he picked all my tutors, or when he chose which university I would attend. And definitely not when he decided I would marry his business partner's son, Zayn Voss.
I was five the first time he joked about it. We were at dinner, and he looked at me like I was property.
"She'll be Zayn's bride one day," he'd said, like it was something sweet.
My stepmother, Clarisse, just smiled that tight smile she always wears when my dad is talking — soft and quiet, like a shadow. "Zayn is such a polite young boy," she'd added while putting more salad on my plate. Because God forbid I eat actual food.
Now I'm eighteen. And in my final year of university. Yeah, I know — it sounds insane. But that's what happens when you grow up with lesson teachers, holiday classes, and study camps while everyone else is going to birthday parties.
My life has always been curated. Designed. Packaged to be flawless.
But most days, I feel like a glass doll on display. Pretty, polished… and hollow.
I'm the only child. My mother died giving birth to me, and my dad rarely talks about her. Just one photo of her on the grand piano, always smiling like she had no idea her daughter would grow up in a house full of pressure.
Clarisse, my stepmum, has always been there. She never treated me badly, not really. She takes care of me. Buys me nice things. Smiles politely. But everything with her feels rehearsed — like she's trying to act the role of the "perfect wife" more than anything.
She has a daughter from her first marriage. Sabrina.
Sabrina is 23, tall, loud, always glowing like someone with no problems. She parties like it's a job. Travels like it's free. And guess who pays for it? Yeah, my dad.
We're nothing alike. She's the spotlight. I'm the background.
She wears designer clothes with rips in them. If I tried that, I'd get a two-hour lecture about family image and reputation. I'm barely five feet tall with long black hair and a face people describe as "pretty in a soft way." Dad says I have my mum's eyes. That's probably the only compliment that's ever felt personal.
But I'm not jealous. I'm not.
Okay, maybe I am. A little.
Sometimes I just wish I knew what it felt like to be free — to sneak out, make mistakes, fall in love on my own terms. Just once.
Luckily, I have Hajara.
She's my best friend. My ride-or-die. The only person who sees me — really sees me.
Hajara's two years older, loud, bold, and very good at using her mouth. She's the only girl I know who could insult a lecturer and still get extra marks. She calls herself my bodyguard, even though she's the one with the martial arts training. Taekwondo, black belt. Cute, dangerous, and dramatic.
We met in my first year. I was the awkward fresher with color-coded folders. She was the fireball in ripped jeans and confidence. She said hi. I panicked. She laughed. And just like that, she adopted me.
She's the only one who doesn't care that I'm Sofia Amari, daughter of the great Mr. Amari.
Sometimes I think about what life would've looked like if I wasn't born into this family. If I could've just… existed, instead of being raised like a trophy on a shelf.
But here I am. Eighteen. My final exam is next week. Then the engagement. Then the wedding.
To Zayn Voss.
Zayn is… fine. Tall, smart, rich. That kind of guy every father wants for their daughter. Polished. Reserved. A perfect businessman. But cold? My God, he's ice.
Every time we talk, it's the same old "how are your studies?" or "the economy is bad these days." No spark. No laughs. No chemistry. Just two strangers pretending to be in love for the sake of a family merger.
Because that's what it really is — a business deal. Our wedding is the final signature on a contract.
I'm just the ribbon they'll use to tie it up.
I sat at my vanity today, staring at myself. My skin. My hair. My perfectly arranged life. I should feel lucky. Most girls would kill for this life.
But all I feel is trapped.
And tired.
I walked out onto the balcony. The breeze was gentle. The garden below was already being decorated for the engagement party. White roses. Golden drapes. A princess-themed affair I didn't even pick.
My phone buzzed.
Hajara: Don't wear anything boring tomorrow. If I'm suffering through this rich people drama, at least look hot.🔥
I smiled. My first real smile in days.
Then another message came in.
Hajara: And Sofi, if you're serious about escaping, I've got fake passports, wigs, and a getaway plan. Just say the word.
I laughed quietly.
God, I loved that crazy girl.
But I couldn't run. Not yet. Too many people were watching. Too many expectations. Too many "Amari standards" wrapped around my neck like a diamond chain.
I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly.
I am Sofia Amari.
The perfect daughter.
The obedient bride-to-be.
And perfect daughters don't run.
They show up.
Smile.
And walk into the cage like it's made of gold.