The moment my father told me I had to marry a woman I’d never met to save our family business, I felt like my whole life was being ripped away from me.
“Son, I wouldn’t ask this of you if there was any other way,” my father said, his usual commanding voice softened with guilt.
I clenched my fists. “You’re telling me the only way to save our business is for me to marry some woman I don’t even know?”
He sighed. “Adriana is Victor’s daughter. The merger with his company is our only chance. But he’s old-fashioned—he wants to unite the families.”
“So, I’m just a bargaining chip?” I spat. The words tasted bitter in my mouth.
“James, please try to understand—”
“No, Dad, I understand perfectly. You built this company, made all the decisions that got us here, and now I have to clean up your mess by selling myself off like some medieval prince.”
His face fell. “Just meet Adriana before you decide.”
I wanted to refuse, but the desperation in his eyes held me back. I had never seen him so defeated.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll meet her. But I’m not promising anything.”
A few days later, I met Adriana at an upscale restaurant. She was breathtakingly beautiful—long, dark hair, sharp eyes that seemed to see right through me. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, confident, like she always knew she was in control.
“I appreciate you agreeing to meet me,” she said, setting her wine glass down with careful precision. “This situation is… unconventional, but I think we can make it work.”
She smiled faintly, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “So, James, what would you like to know about me?”
The conversation flowed surprisingly well. She was witty, intelligent, and had an undeniable charm. By the time we finished dinner, I found myself rethinking my opposition.
“She’s incredible,” I admitted to my father the next morning.
His shoulders relaxed in relief. “So, you’ll do it?”
Something still felt off, but seeing the hope in his eyes made it impossible to say no.
“Yes,” I finally said. “I’ll marry Adriana.”
Our wedding was a business transaction dressed up as a celebration. Corporate partners filled the pews, the vows felt like contract terms, and even the kiss was brief, calculated—just for show.
The reception dragged on, and when it finally ended, we were alone in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel.
Adriana kicked off her heels and sat on the massive bed, watching me with an unreadable expression. I loosened my tie, unsure of what to expect.
Then she spoke.
“From now on, you must do everything I tell you.”
I laughed, thinking it was a joke. “Right. And what’s your first royal command, Your Highness?”
She didn’t laugh. “I’m hungry. Go get me a burger from the McDonald’s on Grant Street. Walk there.”
I frowned. “Adriana, it’s almost midnight. Grant Street is two miles away.”
“I’m aware.” Her smile was cold. “Better get going.”
I stared at her, waiting for her to break character. She didn’t.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious, James. My father only agreed to this marriage because your father promised you’d do whatever I wanted. That was the deal. So, you can either be my servant… or watch your family lose everything.”
I was stunned. Just hours ago, she had been warm, charming. Now, she was issuing orders like a queen addressing a subject.
“Fine. One burger coming up.”
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and called a taxi. I might be trapped in this marriage, but I wasn’t going to be completely powerless.
The next morning, she woke me at six sharp.
“Press my blue suit,” she instructed. “Then make coffee. Black, one sugar.”
I groaned. “I’m not your butler.”
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “No, you’re my husband. Which means you’re whatever I need you to be.”
Each day brought new humiliations. Wash her car by hand. Pick up her dry cleaning. Massage her feet after work. Each demand was worse than the last.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked one evening as I polished her designer shoes.
She smirked. “Because I can.”
But she was teaching me something. Every demand revealed her routines, her weaknesses.
I went to my father. “She’s treating me like a servant.”
His face fell. “I had no idea, son. But the contract with Victor—”
“Can’t be broken without bankrupting us,” I finished for him. “I know.”
He sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said, a plan forming in my mind. “I’ll handle Adriana.”
Tiny cameras were easy to install. I placed them everywhere—our living room, kitchen, bedroom. For two weeks, I recorded every cruel order, every threat, every smug laugh she shared with her friends about how she “had me completely under control.”
Meanwhile, her Instagram showed a different story. “Power couple,” she called us. If only her followers knew the truth.
Then, on a rainy Tuesday, she pushed too far.
“I want sushi,” she announced. “From Akira. You’ll walk there.”
“That’s three miles away.”
“So? Take an umbrella.”
“No.”
The word hung in the air. She slowly raised her head. “What did you just say?”
“I said no, Adriana. I’m not going.”
She stood, her face burning with anger. “You don’t say no to me. Ever. Or have you forgotten what happens if you disobey?”
“Go ahead,” I challenged. “Call your father. Tell him how disappointed you are.”
She did. On speaker.
“Daddy, we have a problem. James is being difficult. I think we need to reconsider—”
“Adriana.” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “What the hell have you been doing?”
She paled. “What do you mean?”
“James sent me videos. Dozens of them. You’ve been treating him like a servant? Is this how I raised you?”
She turned to me, finally understanding. “You recorded me?”
I nodded. “Every moment.”
Her father continued, “You’ve handed James enough blackmail to ruin us. You’re getting divorced. Immediately.”
She looked at me, pleading. “Please. This will ruin my image.”
I smiled. “I’ll consider staying. But only if you obey my demands.”
For two weeks, she got a taste of her own medicine. Fetching my coffee. Running errands. Serving me for once.
Then, I left divorce papers on the kitchen counter.
“You lied!” she shrieked. “You said you’d stay!”
“I learned from the best,” I said coolly. “Now pack your things and leave.”
She hesitated. “And if I refuse?”
I held up my phone. “Then I press send.”
An hour later, her Instagram post read: “James and I have decided to part ways amicably. We remain committed to our families’ shared business interests.”
As the door closed behind her, I took a deep breath.
This arranged marriage had cost me months of dignity, but it had taught me one thing: No contract, no business deal, no family obligation was worth surrendering my freedom.
