I was drowning in hospital bills when a stranger in a suit offered me a deal: pretend to be his fiancée, and he’d save my father’s life. I had no choice but to say yes. Then I met his brother…
The day started like any other, but by noon, my entire world had collapsed.
My phone buzzed just as I was locking my apartment door. I almost didn’t answer: spam calls had been relentless lately, but something made me pick up.
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“Miss Carter?” The voice was calm and professional. “This is Dr. Reynolds. I’m calling about your father.”
“Is he okay?” My voice cracked on the last word.
There was a pause, a measured breath. “His condition has worsened. He needs surgery immediately. Without it… his chances are low.”
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I pressed my back against the doorframe, gripping the phone so hard my fingers ached.
“How much?”
The number crashed over me like a tidal wave. Too high. Impossible. I barely heard anything after that.
I just murmured a weak “I’ll figure it out” before ending the call.
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But I had nothing. No savings. No family to ask for help. Just a café job that barely covered rent.
By the time I arrived at work, my chest felt hollow. I barely noticed the smell of coffee beans or the familiar chime of the bell as I pushed through the door. I made a beeline for my manager.
“Lisa, I… I need an advance. Please. Anything you can spare.”
Lisa’s face softened, but her hands twisted nervously.
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“Sophie, I wish I could do more. Two months’ salary is the best I can offer.”
It wasn’t enough. But I forced a nod, blinking hard.
“Thank you. I… I appreciate it.”
The weight in my chest only grew heavier. Two months’ salary wasn’t nearly enough. It wouldn’t even cover half of what I needed.
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I blinked hard, willing the sting behind my eyes to disappear. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. Exhaling shakily, I turned back toward the café floor. And that’s when I felt it.
Someone was watching me.
The sensation crawled up my spine, a quiet, lingering gaze that felt too deliberate to ignore. I glanced up. A man sat near the window, his eyes locked onto me.
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He wasn’t pretending to skim a menu or glance around absentmindedly. He was watching. Listening.
The café wasn’t loud. My conversation with Lisa hadn’t been a whisper. He must have caught every desperate word. Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Who is he?
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For months, another man always sat in that spot. We had never spoken beyond polite exchanges, but I noticed him. He never rushed, never buried himself in his phone, never seemed in a hurry to leave.
He always ordered the same thing. Black coffee. No sugar. No cream.
I even started adding an extra cookie to his plate. He never said anything, never questioned it, but he always smiled before leaving.
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And I had foolishly imagined, just once, that maybe one day he’d do more than smile.
But that day, he wasn’t there. Instead, a different man sat in his place.
Older. Sharper. Dressed in a suit that radiated quiet authority. He stirred his coffee with slow, deliberate movements, his gaze flicking toward me before shifting away.
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I forced myself to move, to pretend I hadn’t noticed. But my stomach twisted.
I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know what he wanted.
And I had no idea that by the end of the night, he would change everything.
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***
Later that evening, I walked home, my body aching from the long shift, my mind tangled in numbers, hospital bills, and the crushing weight of impossibility. I barely noticed the cold creeping through my thin jacket or the flickering streetlights overhead.
I just kept walking. The streets were quiet, the usual city hum softened by the late hour.
Then, a car slowed beside me.
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I stiffened, gripping my bag a little tighter. The tinted window rolled down, and a deep, controlled voice called my name.
“Sophie.”
I froze mid-step.
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It was him. The man from the café. The one who had taken the seat of my regular customer that day—the one I always brought an extra cookie to.
Every instinct screamed at me, “Keep walking! Ignore him. This is how true crime documentaries start.”
But something about his tone made me pause. It wasn’t commanding. It wasn’t threatening. It was… certain.
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“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “I just want to talk.”
I turned, keeping a cautious distance. “Who are you?”
“Steven.”
He leaned slightly toward the open window, his dark eyes sharp, assessing.
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“Get in. I’ll explain everything.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
His lips twitched.
“Fair enough.”
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He exhaled, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Then I’ll talk here.”
“I’m listening.”
His gaze met mine.
“My father is handing over control of our family business soon. But there’s a condition—he wants to see me as a settled man. Stable. Engaged.”
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“And that affects me how?”
Steven studied me for a moment. Then, with a quiet certainty, he said, “Because I need a fiancée.”
I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
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He let the silence stretch just long enough before adding, “And you need money. I heard you talking to your manager.”
My fingers curled into fists. “You were listening?”
“I see an opportunity, I take it. You need money. I need a fiancée. It’s simple.”
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Simple. Right. Except nothing about this feels simple at all.
“You… want me to pretend to be your fiancée?”
“A few weeks. Public appearances. My father believes I’ve finally settled down, and in return… I’ll pay for your father’s surgery.”
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I could refuse. Walk away. Pretend this conversation never happened. But then what? My father would suffer. His condition would worsen.
I didn’t remember saying yes. But an hour later, I was in a dressing room, surrounded by silk dresses and designer heels, staring at a reflection I didn’t recognize.
The girl in the mirror looked polished. Elegant. Someone who belonged in Steven’s world.
I wasn’t that girl. But for the following few weeks… I would have to be.
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***
Steven’s father’s birthday came. It was our grand debut as a couple.
The mansion was breathtaking. It wasn’t just big, the kind of place you saw in magazines, the kind of house that didn’t feel real.
A live band played soft jazz in the background, and waiters in crisp black uniforms weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne.
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I kept my shoulders back, my posture perfect, just as Steven had instructed. Every movement mattered. Every glance, every smile. We were on display.
Steven played his part flawlessly. He smiled at all the right moments and whispered small reassurances whenever I hesitated.
“Relax,” he murmured in my ear as we walked further into the room. “You look perfect.”
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His father, a tall, commanding man approached us. His sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe.
“Father,” Steven said smoothly. “This is Sophie.”
“Ah, so this is the young woman you’ve been hiding from us,” his father said, his voice rich with skepticism. “Lovely.”
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And then I saw him. My regular. The man whose absence I had felt that very morning. The one I had secretly admired for months without knowing his name.
But finally, I did. Steven’s father introduced him with a proud smile.
Oliver. Steven’s brother.
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His gaze locked onto mine, and I knew instantly—he recognized me too. He didn’t approach right away. He waited. He watched. And then, when the moment was just right, he made his move.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said casually, stepping closer.
“Oliver…”
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“You know, I’ve spent months trying to work up the nerve to ask you out. But it turns out I didn’t need to. My brother beat me to it.”
“I…”
“I came to that café every morning just to see you,” he continued, ignoring my attempt to speak. “I thought maybe one day, I’d stop being a coward and say something. But I never did.”
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He let out a quiet laugh. “Instead, I followed you home a few times. Not in a creepy way…”
“Oliver.”
“…just because I couldn’t find the right words.”
I could tell him the truth. I could explain everything and end the lie before it spiraled any further.
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But then my father’s face flashed in my mind. The hospital. The money.
I turned away, slipped my hand into Steven’s, and leaned up to kiss him.
The first time a lie had ever tasted so bitter.
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***
The next morning, Steven placed a check in front of me.
“Here.”
I stared at the paper. The amount was more than enough to cover my father’s surgery and keep him comfortable for months. My hands trembled as I picked it up. But instead of relief, all I felt was emptiness.
“You are playing your part well. Maybe we should continue this… see if there’s something real between us.”
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I set the check back on the table.
“I can’t. I thought I could pretend, but even one more day would be unbearable. The truth is… from the very beginning, I’ve been in love with your brother.”
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For a moment, Steven said nothing. His jaw tightened, his fingers tapping against the table. I braced for anger, accusations, something. But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm.
“I can’t keep you here. Thank you for the evening.”
His eyes flicked to the check on the table before he pocketed it without a word. Then, without another glance, he walked out, leaving me alone.
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***
The following night, just as I was locking up the café, the door opened.
Oliver! He stepped forward, holding something out.
“Take it,” he said, pressing the paycheck into my hands. “Even if we never see each other again. I want to help your father.”
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He knew. Steven must have told him everything.
“Oliver, I…”
“You didn’t have to lie,” he interrupted gently. “You could’ve just asked. I would have helped. No deals. No charades.”
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I looked down at the check, then back at him.
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“I was always happy when you came to the café. I used to put an extra cookie on your plate, hoping you’d notice.”
“I noticed.”
“I made a desperate choice. I just wanted to help my father…”
“You don’t have to explain. Steven realized his mistake because of how honest you were. And because of that, I get to be here with you now.”
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The burden of guilt, of fear, of uncertainty, it wasn’t all gone, but it was lighter. Oliver glanced at the check in my hands, then back at me.
“Come on. Let’s go to the hospital and talk to the doctor about your dad’s treatment.”
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of everything settle into something new. Something right. I nodded, letting him take my hand. That time, I wasn’t walking my road alone.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: The elderly man at my café ordered dinner for two, but no one ever came. When I learned why, I couldn’t walk away. His love had vanished a year ago—without a trace. What I uncovered changed everything.
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My Wife Excluded Me from Her Birthday Party – I Was Shocked to Find Out Why
I thought my wife, Jenna, and I shared everything, including our deepest secrets. But when she excluded me from her birthday party, I realized I’d been left out of more than just one celebration. What hurt the most was discovering why.
It wasn’t just the party that stung. It was what it revealed about my wife and our marriage.
I’d spent a year saving for her dream gift, only to find out that I wasn’t enough for her. Looking back, the signs had always been there. I guess I just never wanted to see them.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
Jenna and I were introduced by our families eight years ago. They thought we’d be a great match, and they were right. At least in the beginning.
She was warm, outgoing, and had this infectious energy that made everyone gravitate toward her. I was quieter and more practical, but I found her enthusiasm refreshing. We went on a few dates, and soon enough, I was hooked.
Of course, she wasn’t perfect. No one is.
I noticed early on that she had a bit of a materialistic streak.
A woman sitting in her house | Source: Midjourney
She loved fancy dinners, designer handbags, and the kind of vacations that made Instagram feeds look like travel brochures.
At the time, I chalked it up to her appreciating the finer things in life. Besides, I wasn’t exactly living extravagantly, but I wasn’t struggling either.
I thought we could balance each other out.
We got married five years ago, and for a while, everything seemed great. I loved how Jenna lit up a room and could talk to anyone and make them feel like the most important person in the world.
A close-up shot of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I worked a steady job as a financial consultant, and while I wasn’t raking in millions, I took pride in providing a stable life for us.
But there were moments, small, nagging moments, that hinted things weren’t as perfect as they seemed.
I remember one time I gave her a custom photo album for our anniversary, filled with pictures of our favorite memories. She smiled and thanked me, but later, I overheard her on the phone with a friend, saying, “Yeah, it’s sweet, but I was kind of hoping for a spa weekend or something.”
A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney
It hurt, but I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. Jenna had always been expressive, and I figured she was just venting.
Still, the little incidents piled up.
She’d casually mention how her friend’s husband surprised her with diamond earrings “just because” or how another friend’s partner whisked her away for a luxury retreat.
“Can you believe how lucky they are?” she’d say, with a wistful look I tried not to take personally.
But deep down, I started to feel like I was falling short.
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have the kind of job that allowed for extravagant gifts or surprise getaways, but I made up for it with thoughtfulness. At least, I thought I did.
I’d spend hours planning little surprises for her, like cooking her favorite meals after a long day or leaving sweet notes in her work bag.
I hoped those gestures meant more than a price tag.
Then came the conversations that left me questioning myself.
A man standing in the dark | Source: Midjourney
Once, when her friends came over, I overheard them talking.
“So, what did Lucas spoil you with this time?” one of her friends asked.
I heard Jenna laugh sheepishly.
“Oh, you know Lucas,” she began. “He’s more about sentiment than splurging.”
Her tone wasn’t outright dismissive, but it wasn’t exactly proud either.
A woman sitting in the dark | Source: Midjourney
Looking back, I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve realized that Jenna’s world was one where appearances mattered. A world where being “just enough” was never going to cut it.
But I loved her, and I believed that love was enough to bridge the gap between our differences.
I was wrong.
So wrong.
A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney
A few weeks ago, Jenna surprised me with an announcement that caught me off guard.
“I’m not celebrating my birthday this year,” she said over dinner. “I’m getting older, and honestly, what’s there to celebrate?”
I paused mid-bite and stared at her. Jenna loved birthdays. She’d always meticulously plan a theme, coordinate outfits, and ensure the guest list was perfect. The idea of her skipping the occasion altogether felt off.
“Are you sure?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “You’ve always loved celebrating.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
She shrugged. “I just don’t feel like it this year. Maybe next time.”
Her response didn’t sit well with me, but I didn’t push. Everyone has their moments, and I figured turning 35 left her feeling reflective or even self-conscious.
Still, I wanted to do something special for her.
Jenna loved jewelry but rarely bought any for herself, always saying it was too indulgent. So, for the past year, I’d been quietly saving up for a pair of diamond earrings I knew she’d adore.
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Honestly, saving up hadn’t been easy. I’d skipped lunches out, passed on new clothes, and even took on extra work during the holidays.
The earrings I’d bought were beautiful and I couldn’t wait to surprise her. I imagined giving them to her during a quiet dinner at home. I thought it would be perfect.
But everything changed a few days before her birthday.
I was at the grocery store picking up some last-minute essentials when I ran into Mark, one of Jenna’s coworkers.
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We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the usual stuff until he casually mentioned something that made my heart drop.
“Okay, see ya at Jenna’s birthday party on Friday!” he said with a grin.
“Party?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Yeah, her birthday party. You know about it, right?”
“Oh, yeah, the party!” I chuckled. “Same place as last time, right? I keep mixing things up.”
“No, it’s at that new restaurant,” Mark said. “Le Bijou, downtown. Friday at 7. All friends and family are coming!”
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I forced a laugh, playing it off. “Oh, right, of course. Just slipped my mind for a second. Been swamped with work lately.”
Mark nodded. “Well, it should be fun. Jenna always throws a great party.”
I managed a smile and a quick goodbye before turning the cart down the next aisle.
Le Bijou was a new upscale restaurant downtown. It required booking weeks in advance and a price tag to match.
What bothered me the most was that my wife hadn’t mentioned a word about that party.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
For the next two days, I tried to rationalize what Mark had said. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was a surprise party, and Jenna didn’t want me to find out.
But deep down, I knew the truth. She’d excluded me on purpose.
Why wouldn’t she want me there? I thought. Was she embarrassed? Angry? Or had I done something to make her feel like I didn’t belong by her side?
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
The questions ate away at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Jenna outright.
Instead, I decided to find out. I told myself I wasn’t going to cause a scene and that I just needed answers. I decided to go to the party to see why she didn’t want me there.
On the day of her birthday, she seemed quite calm.
“I’m just going out with some friends for dinner tonight,” she said over breakfast, sipping her coffee. “Nothing fancy, just a small gathering.”
A woman smiling at the breakfast table | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, really? I thought we’d have dinner at home together,” I said. “I was planning to bake your favorite cookies.”
“That’s so sweet of you, Lucas,” she smiled. “It’s just that Alex suggested we should go out for dinner, and I didn’t want to say no. We’ll have dinner together tomorrow, okay? I promise.”
“Alright,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment.
She didn’t mention Le Bijou or anything remotely like the extravagant affair Mark had described. A quiet dinner with friends was nothing to raise suspicion over. At least not until I arrived at the restaurant.
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When I walked into Le Bijou, it was as if I’d stepped into a different world. The room glittered with wealth. Sparkling gowns, tailored suits, and the unmistakable hum of privilege.
In the center of it all was Jenna. Her smile was as dazzling as the chandelier above her, but it faded the moment she saw me.
I could see panic written all over her face as she excused herself and walked toward me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a low, hurried whisper.
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“I came to celebrate your birthday,” I replied. “But it looks like you’re having a ball with your friends. You said you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday this year, but…”
Her face flushed as she looked around. “Lucas, it’s not like that. This is just a casual dinner. I—”
“Mark called it a birthday party when I met him a few days ago,” I said. “This doesn’t look like a casual dinner.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she glanced back at the table where her friends were watching us with open curiosity.
A woman looking away while talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“Look,” she said, lowering her voice even further. “I excluded you from the party because… well, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“It’s just that all my friends’ husbands always get them these extravagant gifts, and you… well, you don’t. I didn’t want them to compare. I didn’t want them to know that I never get any expensive gifts.”
I stared at her with wide eyes.
“So, you’re embarrassed of me?” I asked. “You’re embarrassed your husband doesn’t earn enough to spoil you with presents?”
Her silence was answer enough.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the small box from my pocket and handed it to her.
“Open it,” I said.
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Her eyes widened slightly as she unwrapped it, revealing the diamond earrings inside. For a moment, I saw the Jenna I fell in love with. The one who lit up over little surprises and thoughtful gestures.
“Oh my God, Lucas,” she gasped, holding the earrings up for her friends to admire. “These are beautiful!”
She called her friends over, basking in their admiration as if the entire evening had suddenly transformed into a celebration of us.
“Lucas, you have to stay,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Come on, have a drink, let me get you some food.”
A woman looking back | Source: Midjourney
But I couldn’t. Something inside me had cracked, and no amount of praise or attention from her friends could fix it.
“I can’t stay,” I said. “The second part of your gift is waiting for you at home.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “What is it? Tell me!”
“You’ll see,” I said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before walking away. I didn’t look back.
When Jenna returned home later that night, she found the house dark and eerily quiet.
A woman in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
The only light came from the kitchen, where a single envelope sat on the table. I’d left a letter for her.
Dear Jenna,
I spent a year saving for those earrings because I wanted you to feel loved, cherished, and appreciated. You always said you loved jewelry but never treated yourself, so I wanted to give you something special. Something to show you how much you mean to me.
A woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
But tonight, I realized that no matter how much I give, it will never be enough. Hearing you say you were embarrassed of me, of us, broke something inside me. I’ve always believed love was about more than material things, but you’ve made it clear that appearances and comparisons matter more.
So, here’s the second part of your gift: FREEDOM. For both of us.
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I’m filing for divorce. I deserve someone who values me for who I am, not for what I can buy. And you deserve someone who can give you the lifestyle you clearly want.
Please don’t contact me. This is goodbye.
—Lucas
Over the next few days, Jenna called me repeatedly, leaving tearful messages begging for forgiveness. She said she’d made a mistake, that she didn’t mean what she said, and that she wanted to fix things.
But I was done. I sent her one final text.
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Don’t contact me again. It’s over.
Then I blocked her number and moved forward with the divorce.
Now, months later, I feel lighter, as if a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted. Losing Jenna was painful, but knowing I’ll never have to endure her constant comparisons or unspoken disappointment again?
That’s a relief I can’t put into words.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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