Oliver married Charlotte 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 loved her madly, would’ve moved heaven and earth for her, shaped his whole life around her dreams. He thought they were headed for marriage. But her constant dodging whenever he brought it up 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. Honestly, I can’t stand the thought of sharing a kitchen with your sister. If you hadn’t sold that house, we’d be fine.”* That was Emily’s usual refrain.
It stung, but Oliver couldn’t deny the truth in her words. He and his sister Olivia lived in their parents’ old flat, the business was just finding its feet, and he was still finishing his degree. He’d had to step up before graduation. The house? Sold with Olivia’s agreement—it was that or lose their parents’ shop.
Six months in, debts piled high while they both still studied. The sale cleared them, restocked the shop, and left a bit aside.
Emily, though? She believed in living for today, not waiting for some imaginary tomorrow. Easy to say when your parents covered everything. But Oliver had grown up fast—responsibilities to Olivia, the business, household bills. He truly thought it’d all work out: house, car, garden.
Then came the disaster.
They’d agreed to meet at the cinema. Emily insisted he not pick her up—she’d get there herself. Oliver waited at the stop, then watched a sleek luxury car pull up. Emily stepped out, handed him a book, and said, *”Sorry, we’re done. I’m getting married.”* Then she turned back to the car.
Oliver stood frozen. What could’ve changed in the few days he’d been away? Back home, Olivia 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 refused. She’s a cheat! She was seeing him behind your back.”*
Oliver pulled Olivia close, ruffling her hair. *”It’s fine. Let her be happy. We’ll be happier.”*
Then he locked himself in his room for a full day. Olivia tried coaxing him out. *”At least eat. I made pancakes…”*
By dusk, he emerged with fire in his eyes. *”We need to get ready.”*
*”For what? What’s your plan?”*
*”I’m marrying the first woman who says yes,”* Oliver said coldly.
*”You can’t! This isn’t just your life!”* Olivia pleaded, but it was useless.
*”Come or don’t, I’m going.”*
The park was crowded. One woman tapped her temple at him, another fled. But the third—she met his gaze and said yes.
*”What’s your name, gorgeous?”*
*”Charlotte.”*
*”Celebration drinks!”* He dragged Charlotte and Olivia to a café.
An awkward silence hung over the table. Olivia fidgeted. Oliver’s mind raced with revenge plots. Their wedding would be on the 25th too—just like Emily’s.
*”I’m guessing there’s a reason you proposed to a stranger,”* Charlotte finally said. *”If it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, I won’t be offended if you back out.”*
*”No. You gave your word. Tomorrow we file the paperwork and meet your parents.”*
Oliver winked. *”Let’s drop the formalities.”*
The month before the wedding, they met daily—talking, learning each other.
*”Will you tell me why it happened like this?”* Charlotte asked once.
*”Everyone’s got skeletons,”* Oliver deflected.
*”As long as they don’t haunt us.”*
*”Why did you say yes?”*
*”Felt like a princess handed off to the first suitor. Fairy tales always end well—*’and they lived happily ever after.’ *Wanted to test it myself.”*
Truth was, it wasn’t that simple. A past heartbreak had left her wary. She could spot fakes at a glance. She didn’t want perfection—just someone sharp, independent, decisive. Oliver fit the bill.
*”So who are you, Princess?”* Oliver mused. *”The wise one, the beauty, or the frog?”*
*”One kiss and you’ll find out,”* she grinned.
But there were no kisses. Not then.
Oliver handled all the wedding prep himself. Charlotte only had to choose between his suggestions—even her dress and veil, he picked.
*”You’ll be the most beautiful,”* he kept saying.
At the registry office, they ran into Emily and her fiancé. Oliver forced a smile. *”Congratulations,”* he said, kissing Emily’s cheek. *”Hope you and your walking wallet are happy.”*
*”Don’t make a scene,”* Emily hissed.
She sized up Charlotte—tall, striking, regal. Emily paled in comparison. Jealousy clawed at her.
Oliver turned to Charlotte. *”You alright?”* he asked tightly.
*”We can still stop this,”* she whispered.
*”No. We play it through.”*
Only during the ceremony, seeing Charlotte’s sad eyes, did Oliver realise what he’d done.
*”I’ll make you happy,”* he vowed—and meant it.
Married life began. Olivia and Charlotte got on brilliantly—balancing each other out. Charlotte, sharp with numbers, soon streamlined their finances. Within months, they opened a second shop, then launched a renovation team. Profits soared.
She was his hidden strategist—presenting ideas so well Oliver believed they were his own. By all accounts, life was good. But Oliver missed the dizzy highs of his time with Emily. Everything now was steady, predictable. *”Routine,”* he thought. *”Like quicksand.”*
When they built their dream home, Oliver’s pride swelled. Yet, the better things got, the more he dwelt on Emily. *”If she’d just waited… Look at my car now! My house—a palace!”*
Charlotte saw his torment but held onto hope. *”Not all tales end well,”* she thought, but her name meant faith for a reason.
Olivia watched her brother too. *”You’re about to lose everything,”* she snapped, catching him on Emily’s social media.
*”Stay out of it!”*
*”You’re a fool. Charlotte loves you, and you’re playing games.”*
Oliver fumed. Yet, Emily’s pull grew stronger. He messaged her.
Emily complained—her marriage had crashed. Kicked out with nothing. No degree, no stable job, living in a rented flat far from home.
Oliver agonised. *”Go or stay?”* When Charlotte left to visit her sick gran, he made his choice.
He sped toward Manchester, ignoring traffic rules, heart pounding.
Reality hit hard.
*”Look at you!”* Emily flung herself at him. The stench of unwashed skin made him recoil.
*”People are staring.”*
*”Who cares?”* She giggled, sloshing cheap beer.
Short skirt, tacky makeup, knock-off perfume. This wasn’t the Emily he remembered. *”Was she always like this?”*
*”Lend me some cash?”* Emily licked her lips.
Oliver stood abruptly. *”I’ve got to go.”*
*”Will I see you again?”*
*”Doubt it.”* He tossed a fifty to the waiter. *”She stays within that.”*
On the drive home, clarity struck.
*”I’m an idiot. Olivia was right.”*
Then it hit him—not once had he called Charlotte his wife aloud. Yet no one was closer, dearer.
He pulled over, replaying their years together—her bright blue eyes, the way she’d smile, her fingers gently tousling his hair.
*”I promised to make her happy.”*
Turning the car around, he took a rural detour to her gran’s.
*”A week was too long. I couldn’t last two days without you,”* he said as Charlotte ran to meet him.
*”You’re mad,”* she laughed through tears.
*”Charlotte, my love,”* Oliver whispered, dizzy with happiness, holding her close.
