I had spent my whole life living under my father’s control. He wasn’t openly cruel, but he viewed everything through the lens of strategy, profit, and calculation.
To him, I was another asset—a piece on the family chessboard. The man I married wasn’t supposed to be someone I loved, but a “strategic partner” who could strengthen our family’s position.
“You’ll thank me one day,” he would always say, his tone firm and unquestionable. “It’s not about love, dear. It’s about stability. Real love comes from stability, from strength.”
As the years passed, those words grew heavier. His version of “what’s best” felt less like protection and more like a prison where I had no voice. Every family dinner, every conversation eventually returned to the same subject: my obligation to the family.
“Anna, you’re our only child. You have a responsibility. Can’t you understand that?” he said one evening during yet another quiet dinner.
One crisp autumn afternoon, I finally reached my limit. I walked out of the house, leaving behind the cold silence that felt more like a mausoleum than a home, and wandered through the city without any destination. I just needed to breathe.
That was when I noticed him.
A young man with a slight limp was sweeping fallen leaves outside a row of small shops.
He worked slowly and carefully, each movement almost peaceful, as though he belonged to the rhythm of the street.
Before I could second-guess myself, I walked over.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling. He looked up with quiet surprise but waited patiently.
“Hi… I—” I drew a steadying breath. “I need a husband. How would you feel about getting married today?”
One eyebrow lifted.
“You serious?” he asked calmly.
“Yes,” I answered, though the desperation in my voice was impossible to hide. “It’s not… it’s not what you think. This isn’t about love or anything like that. It’s just… I need to get out of a situation.”
He studied me for a moment.
“So, you’re saying… you need a fake husband?”
“Exactly. A business deal.” I swallowed. “Just something to get my father off my back.”
I pulled out my phone, found my father’s picture, and showed it to him.
“Here.”
He examined the photo carefully, his expression changing as though he recognized the face.
“Name’s Ethan,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re really serious about this?”
I nodded.
“As serious as I’ll ever be.”
He still looked uncertain, waiting for me to admit it was all a joke.
“Look, you don’t know me. This could be trouble,” he said, watching me with calm, steady eyes.
“It’s just a contract,” I assured him. “I won’t bother you after. You’ll be free to go on with your life.”
He remained silent for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.
