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.
“All right,” he said quietly. “If it gets you out of this mess. Just know, I’m not one to back out once I’m in something.”
Relief rushed through me.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you, Ethan.”
He smiled knowingly.
“Guess I’ve always been a little crazy. But this—this might just take the cake.”
That afternoon, we went directly to city hall.
No wedding dress.
No flowers.
Just paperwork and two strangers signing their names.
When we stepped outside, Ethan grinned.
“Well, looks like we’re in this together now.”
Only then did the reality sink in.
I had just married someone I had met that same day.
The days that followed passed in a blur. Ethan and I settled into an unusual routine that somehow became comforting.
His life was simple and unhurried. He taught me things I had never bothered learning—how to cook breakfast without relying on anyone else, how to shop carefully, how to stretch a grocery budget.
When my father discovered I had married, he exploded.
He called every hour, leaving short messages filled with icy anger. After several days of ignoring him, I finally answered.
“What is going on, Anna?” he demanded. “You married someone—a stranger! A janitor! Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s my life, Dad,” I replied, unable to keep my voice from shaking.
“You have responsibilities, Anna. Do you think the world is going to respect this… this nonsense? I’ll come by tomorrow. I want to meet this husband of yours.”
“Fine, Dad,” I answered, a chill running through me. I knew avoiding him forever was impossible.
The following evening, my father arrived at our modest apartment wearing another expensive designer suit. His eyes swept over the mismatched furniture and simple décor with obvious disgust.
“Anna, are you really staying here?” he asked.
“This is our home,” I answered, folding my arms while sensing Ethan standing quietly behind me.
Then my father faced Ethan.
“So, you’re the man who married my daughter,” he said with open contempt. “Do you know who she is? Do you have any idea what she’s worth?”
Ethan met his eyes without hesitation.
“Yes, sir, I do,” he replied calmly. “I know she’s more than her last name, or the money attached to it.”
My father let out a mocking laugh.
“Oh, I see. You’ve got all the right lines. It’s clear you’re not in this for love, but for what you can gain.”
“Actually, sir,” Ethan answered steadily, “I don’t care about your money. Or your status. I care about Anna.”
My father’s face flushed.
“You expect me to believe that?” he snapped. “You’re just a janitor—a nobody.”
Ethan remained perfectly composed.
