My father was a powerful businessman. Or at least, he used to be. His empire started to crumble, and in a desperate attempt to save it, he arranged my marriage to Adriana — the daughter of his wealthy friend.
I wasn’t excited about the idea. But then I met her.
Adriana was breathtaking. She had a graceful voice, a composed demeanor, and an intelligence that was impossible to ignore. She was well-read, courteous, and captivating. I thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
I WAS WRONG.
After the extravagant wedding that my father had orchestrated like a business transaction, Adriana and I entered our luxurious bedroom. I expected some awkward small talk or maybe a slow start to our life together.
Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, locked eyes with me, and said, “FROM NOW ON, YOU MUST DO EVERYTHING I TELL YOU.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
I laughed, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t. Her next demand rendered me speechless.
“Pack a bag. We’re leaving. Now.”
I blinked. “Leaving? Where?”
She stood, still in her wedding gown, heels clicking against the marble. “Anywhere but here. I’m not going to be your father’s pawn. And you shouldn’t be either.”
My heart thudded. “Wait. What are you talking about?”
She turned to me, her expression softer now. “This marriage was never about love. It was a deal. A bad one. My father wanted me to marry someone with access to your family’s connections, and your father wanted money. I agreed… but only on my terms.”
I stared at her, trying to process everything. “So you don’t want to be here?”
She shook her head. “Not like this. But I’ve been watching you, reading about you, listening when you thought no one noticed. You’re not like them. You’re… decent.”
I raised a brow. “That’s the first time anyone called me that during a wedding night.”
She smiled faintly. “Decent is rare in our world.”
There was a long silence.
“So what are you saying?” I asked carefully.
“I’m saying we fake this marriage for a while, stay out of our parents’ grip, and figure out what we want. But you have to trust me. That’s why I said you have to do what I tell you.”
It was so far from what I expected, I didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed.
And yet… deep down, I wanted out too.
So I nodded.
And that night, instead of consummating a transaction, we packed bags, slipped out the back door of the estate, and caught a late train under fake names to a quiet coastal town.
The first few weeks were weird.
We lived in a small rented cottage by the sea. No bodyguards, no drivers, no luxury.
Adriana traded her designer dresses for sundresses and messy buns. I washed dishes for the first time in years. We had awkward dinners, even more awkward silences, and a lot of adjusting to do.
But slowly, we began to talk. Really talk.
She told me how she’d always wanted to run her own art gallery. How she hated the world of fake smiles and forced handshakes. How she’d taken business courses in secret while her parents prepped her for fashion galas.
I told her about my love for woodworking—something my father had called a “childish distraction.”
We were two people shoved into a marriage neither of us wanted, but strangely, outside of the spotlight, we were starting to feel more real.
One night, under a sky full of stars, she looked at me and said, “Do you ever wonder if this might actually work?”
I looked at her — no makeup, barefoot, hugging a mug of tea — and nodded. “Yeah. Lately… I do.”
But just when we started to feel safe, the past came knocking.
Literally.
One rainy evening, I opened the door to find my father standing there, drenched and furious.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he hissed, pushing inside.
Adriana appeared behind me, her jaw clenched.
“Dad, I—”
He cut me off. “You’re supposed to be handling negotiations with the Hong Kong investors! That was the point of this marriage. And you—” he turned to Adriana, “—were supposed to keep him in line.”
I stepped between them. “No. I’m not your pawn anymore. And she’s not yours either.”
My father’s eyes flared. “You think you can run from this? The debt I’m in? The promises I made?”
Adriana stepped forward calmly. “Actually, we have a plan. And it doesn’t involve bailing you out.”
I looked at her, confused. She turned to me and smiled slightly.
“I sold the vintage car collection your father gave us. We’ve got enough capital to start something. A real business.”
“What kind of business?” I asked, stunned.
“An art and design studio. You do custom furniture. I’ll showcase regional artists. It’s what we both want, right?”
It was. But the fact that she’d already moved on it — that she’d believed in us that much — shook me.
My father sneered. “You think you can survive without me?”
“For the first time in my life,” I said, turning to him, “yeah. I think I can.”
He left without another word.
A year later, we opened our studio.
It wasn’t huge, but it was ours. Adriana curated exhibitions, and I handcrafted tables and decor. We lived modestly but freely.
People loved the studio. They said it felt like a place where art came alive. We even got featured in a local magazine.
And our marriage? It stopped being fake a long time ago.
One evening, as we closed up the shop, Adriana took my hand.
“You still doing everything I tell you?” she teased.
I grinned. “Only when you’re right.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So… most of the time?”
We laughed, and I pulled her into a hug.
Sometimes, the most unexpected partnerships turn into the most beautiful ones.
Our story didn’t start with love. It started with obligation, pressure, and a whole lot of mess.
But when we chose each other — not because we had to, but because we wanted to — everything changed.
If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s this:
Love isn’t about grand gestures or perfect beginnings. Sometimes, it’s about staying when you could walk away. Believing when it would be easier not to. And building something real in a world that’s full of fake.
If this story made you feel something, hit that like button and share it with someone who needs to believe that even imperfect beginnings can lead to beautiful endings. ❤️
4o
