Oliver married Poppy on purpose—just to spite Emily. He wanted to prove he wasn’t broken after her betrayal.
He and Emily had been together nearly two years. He’d been head over heels, ready to move mountains, reshaping his whole life around her dreams. He thought they were headed for the aisle. But her constant dodging of the subject grated on him.
*”Why rush into marriage now? I haven’t even finished uni, and your business is barely scraping by. No decent car, no place of your own. And honestly, I’m not keen on sharing a kitchen with your sister. If you hadn’t sold that house, we’d be fine,”* Emily would say—a refrain that stung, though Oliver couldn’t deny the truth in it.
He and his sister, Lily, lived in their parents’ old flat. The family business was just getting off the ground, and Oliver himself was still wrapping up his final year at university. He’d taken charge sooner than planned. The house? Sold by mutual agreement with Lily—saving their parents’ shop was more important.
Six months in, the debts piled up, both still students. The sale covered every penny, restocked the shop’s inventory, and even left a little nest egg.
Emily, though? She lived for the moment, convinced tomorrow would sort itself out. Easy to say when your parents handled everything. But Oliver had grown up fast—Lily, the business, the daily grind. He believed it would all pay off: house, car, garden. Life was steady.
Then came movie night. Emily insisted he *not* pick her up—she’d meet him. He waited at the bus stop when a sleek, expensive car pulled up. She stepped out, handed him a book, and said, *”Sorry. It’s over. I’m getting married.”* Then she turned back to the car.
Oliver froze. What could’ve changed in the few days he’d been away? At home, Lily took one look at him and sighed. *”You know, then?”* He just nodded. *”She’s marrying some rich bloke. Asked me to be her bridesmaid—I said no. She’s a right traitor! Been seeing him behind your back…”*
Oliver pulled Lily into a hug. *”It’s fine. Let her be happy. We’ll be happier.”* Then he locked himself in his room for a full day. Lily knocked, pleading, *”At least eat something. I made pancakes…”*
By evening, he emerged, eyes blazing. *”We need to prepare.”*
*”For what? What’s this about?”*
*”I’m marrying the first woman who says yes,”* Oliver said flatly.
*”You can’t! This isn’t just your life!”* Lily protested.
*”If you won’t come, I’ll go alone.”*
The park was crowded. One woman tapped her temple, another bolted. But the third—meeting his gaze—said yes.
*”What’s your name, beautiful?”*
*”Poppy.”*
*”Let’s celebrate the engagement!”* He dragged Poppy and Lily to a café.
Awkward silence ruled the table. Lily fidgeted; Oliver’s mind raced with revenge. He’d make sure their wedding was *also* on the 25th.
*”I’m guessing there’s a reason you proposed to a stranger,”* Poppy finally said. *”If it was impulsive, no hard feelings. I’ll walk away.”*
*”No. You gave your word. We’ll file the paperwork tomorrow. Then meet your parents.”*
Oliver winked. *”First, let’s drop the formalities.”*
For the month before the wedding, they met daily, talking, learning each other.
*”Care to explain why you did this?”* Poppy once asked.
*”Everyone’s got skeletons,”* Oliver deflected.
*”As long as they don’t rattle too loud.”*
*”Why’d *you* say yes?”*
*”Felt like a princess handed off to the first passerby. In fairy tales, that always ends well—‘happily ever after.’ Wanted to test it.”*
But reality wasn’t so simple. A past heartbreak had taught her to spot phonies. Suitors flocked; Poppy scared them off with one look. She wasn’t hunting for Prince Charming—just someone sharp, independent, and decisive. Oliver fit the bill. If he’d been with mates instead of Lily, she’d have walked right past.
*”So who are you, then?”* Oliver mused. *”Cinderella? Rapunzel? The Frog Princess?”*
*”Kiss me and find out,”* she teased.
But there were no kisses—nothing beyond the occasional brush of hands.
Oliver orchestrated the wedding. Poppy’s only job? Choosing between his options. Even her dress and veil—he picked them.
*”You’ll be the most beautiful,”* he kept saying.
At the registry office, they bumped into Emily and her fiancé. Oliver forced a grin. *”Congratulations,”* he said, kissing Emily’s cheek. *”Hope you and your walking wallet are happy.”*
*”Don’t make a scene,”* Emily hissed.
She scrutinized Poppy—tall, striking, every inch a queen. Emily paled in comparison. Jealousy gnawed at her. No joy, just regret.
Oliver turned to Poppy. *”All good?”* he muttered.
*”Still time to back out,”* she whispered.
*”No. We see this through.”*
Only during the ceremony, seeing Poppy’s sad eyes, did Oliver grasp what he’d done.
*”I’ll make you happy,”* he vowed—and meant it.
Married life began. Lily and Poppy clicked, balancing each other—Lily’s impulsiveness tempered by Poppy’s steady hand. The flat became spotless, finances flourished. With her accounting savvy, Poppy streamlined the business. Soon, they opened a second shop, then a repair team. Profits soared.
She was his wise counsel, shaping ideas so subtly Oliver thought they were his own. By all rights, life was golden. But Oliver missed the dizzy highs of his time with Emily. Now? Predictable. *”Routine,”* he grumbled. *”Like wading through treacle. I hate it.”*
Poppy’s ambition pushed them into luxury home builds. Their first project? Their own house.
The better things got, the more Oliver dwelled on Emily. *”She couldn’t wait. Now look at my car! My house—no, my *mansion*!”* Pride curdled into curiosity. *”What if…?”*
Poppy noticed his turmoil. Love couldn’t be forced, but hope lingered—her name demanded it.
Lily watched him too. *”You’ll lose more than you gain,”* she said, catching him on Emily’s socials.
*”Stay out of it!”*
*”You’re being thick. Poppy loves you, and you’re mucking about.”*
*”Like I need a kid lecturing me,”* Oliver fumed.
Yet Emily’s pull grew. He messaged her.
Emily complained: Her marriage collapsed. Kicked out with nothing. Dropped out of uni. Drifting between temp jobs, crashing in a rented flat.
Oliver agonized. *”Go or stay?”* Then fate handed him an opening—Poppy left to visit her ailing gran.
He mustered his courage and arranged a meet. Speeding toward Manchester, ignoring road signs, heart pounding with fantasies of reconciliation.
Reality was… harsh.
*”Look at you!”* Emily lunged for a hug. The reek of unwashed skin hit him. He recoiled. *”People are staring.”*
*”Who cares?”* She giggled.
Short skirt, tacky makeup, bargain-bin perfume—this wasn’t the woman he remembered. *”Was she always like this?”* he thought, watching her down cheap lager.
*”Spot me some cash? I’ll make it worth your while,”* she purred.
He needed an exit. *”Sorry, got things to do.”* He stood.
*”We’ll meet again?”*
*”Doubt it.”* He flagged the waiter. *”Bill, please.”*
*”I’m staying,”* Emily whined.
*”She’s covered within this.”* He slid over a hefty tip.
The waiter nodded.
Oliver raced home. *”What an idiot,”* he berated himself. *”Lily was right. Why’d I bother?”* Then—a revelation. *”Maybe it wasn’t pointless.”*
*”I never once called Poppy by her name. She’s my closest, dearest person.”* The realisation slammed into him. He sat in silence, replaying their years together.
Poppy’s face filled his mind—those bright blue eyes, her smile when he walked in, how she’d tousle his hair with her delicate fingers.
*”I promised to make herAs he pulled into the driveway, Poppy stood on the porch with a knowing smile, her arms open wide, and Oliver knew—without a doubt—he was exactly where he belonged.
