A Marriage Without Love
Oliver married Emma to spite the woman he truly loved. He wanted to prove that her betrayal hadn’t shattered him. He and Charlotte had been together nearly three years. His love for her had driven him mad—he’d have given her the world just to see her smile. Oliver dreamed of marrying her, but Charlotte cooled his passion. “Why rush? I haven’t even finished university, and your business is barely surviving. No proper car, no home of your own. Living with your sister in a cramped London flat? No thank you—I won’t share a kitchen with Sophie, even if she is my friend.”
Her words stung, but Oliver knew they held truth. He and Sophie struggled in their parents’ old flat, and the family business, inherited after their parents’ death, was barely staying afloat. He’d dropped out of university to save it. Selling the countryside cottage had been their joint decision—business came first. Within half a year, debts piled up. Both were still students: him in his final year, Sophie in her second. The sale cleared their debts, restocked the shop, and left a modest reserve. But Charlotte lived for the moment, unwilling to wait. Her parents sheltered her from hardship, while Oliver, suddenly the family’s sole provider, saw the future differently. He believed success would come—house, car, everything.
Then disaster struck. Oliver waited for Charlotte outside the cinema, as they’d agreed over the phone. She’d insisted he not fetch her, odd given she despised buses. He scanned the crowd, only to see her arrive in a sleek, expensive SUV. “Sorry, we’re done. I’m marrying someone else,” she said, shoving a book into his hands before vanishing into the car. Oliver stood frozen. How had everything changed in just two days?
Sophie took one look at him and understood. “Heard the news?” He nodded. “Found herself a rich bloke. Wedding’s on the twenty-eighth. Asked me to be a bridesmaid—I refused. Vile! She was two-timing you behind your back.” Sophie sobbed in fury for him. “Easy now,” Oliver hugged her. “Let her have her life. Ours will be better.”
He locked himself in his room for a day. Sophie knocked, “At least eat—I made pancakes.” By evening, he emerged, eyes burning. “Get ready.” “What’s your plan?” “I’m marrying the first woman who says yes.” Sophie tried to reason with him. “You can’t—you’ll ruin more than just your life!” But he was adamant. “Come with me or I’ll go alone.”
The city park bustled with people. One woman laughed at his proposal, another recoiled, but the third, after meeting his gaze, said, “Yes.” “What’s your name, love?” “Emma,” she answered. Oliver dragged her and Sophie to a café to “celebrate” their engagement. Silence hung over the table—Sophie seethed, Oliver schemed revenge. He decided their wedding would be the same day as Charlotte’s.
“Is there a reason you proposed to a stranger?” Emma asked quietly. “If it’s just a whim, I’ll leave—no hard feelings.” “No, you gave your word. Tomorrow we file the papers, then visit your parents,” he declared, winking. “And call me by my first name!”
The month before the wedding, they met daily, learning about each other. “Explain—why me?” Emma asked once. “Some secrets stay secrets,” he deflected. “And why did *you* say yes?” “Felt like a princess handed to the first stranger. In fairy tales, that ends happily. Wanted to test the theory.”
Truthfully, it was more complicated. Emma had loved and lost, her heart and modest savings broken. It taught her to read people. Flattery earned instant rejection. She wasn’t hunting for “the one,” but she wanted someone sharp and decisive. In Oliver, she saw strength. Had he been with mates instead of his sister, she’d have walked past.
“What kind of princess are you? Sleeping Beauty or Guinevere?” Oliver mused. “Kiss me and find out,” Emma teased. But they didn’t kiss. Oliver arranged everything—Emma just picked from his options. He even bought her dress himself, insisting, “You’ll be the most beautiful.”
At the registry office, they bumped into Charlotte and her fiancé. Oliver forced a smile. “Congratulations,” he kissed Charlotte’s cheek. “Be happy with your tycoon.” “Don’t make a scene,” she snapped. She sized up Emma—tall, striking, regal. Charlotte felt outmatched. Jealousy gnawed at her; happiness slipped away like a bad bet.
“It’s fine,” Oliver lied to Emma. “You can still back out,” she whispered. “No, we finish this,” he said. But standing there, seeing the sorrow in his new wife’s eyes, guilt hit him. “I’ll make you happy,” he promised, believing it.
Marriage settled into routine. Sophie and Emma became inseparable—hotheaded Sophie learned restraint, while Emma, with a knack for numbers, streamlined the business. Within a year, they opened a second shop, then branched into renovations. Profits tripled. Emma had a way of framing ideas so Oliver claimed them as his own. By all accounts, life was good—yet Oliver felt empty. Nothing burned inside him like it had with Charlotte. Everything was steady, predictable. “Just boredom,” he told himself. “I don’t love her. That’s all.”
Emma took the business further—custom homes, then their own mansion. The more successful they became, the more Oliver dwelled on Charlotte. “She couldn’t wait. If only she saw my car, my house!” The thought nagged him. Emma noticed his distance. She tried to win his love, but hearts can’t be forced. “Not all fairy tales come true,” she thought bitterly—but Emma never quit.
Sophie saw the change. “You’ll lose more than you’ll gain,” she snapped, catching him on Charlotte’s social media. “Shut it!” he barked. “You’re a fool! Emma *loves* you, and you’re throwing it away!” Sophie yelled. His longing for Charlotte grew. He messaged her.
She complained: her husband kicked her out, she’d dropped out of uni, had no job, lived in a rented room in Manchester. Oliver wavered—go or stay? Emma was away visiting her aunt in the countryside. Temptation won. He arranged to meet.
Flying to Manchester, he imagined the reunion. Reality struck hard. “Look at you!” Charlotte flung herself at him. The stink of unwashed skin and cheap perfume made him recoil. A tacky skirt, garish makeup—she was a shadow of the Charlotte he knew. “People are staring,” he said, pulling away. “Who cares!” She laughed, chugging beer. “Lend me some cash, I’ll make it worth your while,” she winked. Oliver searched for an exit. “Work calls,” he lied, standing. “Will I see you again?” she whined. “Doubt it.” He paid, leaving money for “fun.”
Driving home, he cursed himself. “Idiot. Sophie was right!” Yet clarity came. “I never called my wife ‘Em.’ She’s the closest person to me.” Braking hard, he replayed their marriage—Emma’s green eyes, warm smile, fingers threading through his hair. “I promised her happiness,” he whispered.
Turning the car around, he raced to her aunt’s house. “A week without you was too long. Couldn’t last two days,” he said when Emma ran outside. “Crazy man,” she smiled through tears. “Em, my love,” Oliver murmured—and their hearts beat in perfect, happy sync.
In the end, he learned revenge was hollow, but love, even unplanned, could grow into something real. Sometimes the greatest happiness comes when you least expect it.
