The moment he heard his parents were arriving for a visit, the wealthy man hurriedly approached a homeless girl, pleading with her to pretend to be his fiancée for just one evening. When she stepped into the restaurant, his mother gasped in disbelief.
“Have you gone completely mad?” she nearly shouted, recoiling as if caught in some scandal. “Me? Dressed like this? Playing your fiancée? Yesterday, I was picking through bins for food!”
He calmly locked the door behind him, leaned against the wall with a weary sigh, and said,
“Youve got no reason to refuse. Ill pay you more than youve ever dreamed of. One evening. Thats all. Play the part for my parents. Its just a game. Or have you forgotten how to pretend?”
She stayed silent. Her fingers, wrapped in threadbare gloves, trembled slightly. Her heart hammered as if desperate to break free. *Could this be the start of something new? Or just the end of an old misery?*
And so began a tale no one saw coming.
He was richer than some small nations. His name was Oliver Whitmoreyoung, stern, with piercing eyes and an unreadable expression. His face adorned the covers of financial magazines, his name topping lists of the most eligible bachelors in the world. Upbringing, wealth, influenceall by the book. But his parents, settled in the countryside, kept pressing him.
“When do we finally meet your girlfriend? Why keep her hidden?”
They decided to drop in unannounced. Tomorrow.
Oliver wasnt afraidjust baffled. Not because he feared their disapproval, but because no woman he knew fit the role. He loathed actresses. Detested rehearsed smiles. He needed someone genuine. Or at least nothing like what they expected.
That evening, as he drove through Londoncold, congested, neon-lithe spotted her. At the tube station, clutching a guitar, a cardboard sign propped beside her: *”Not begging for change. Asking for a chance.”*
Oliver pulled over. For the first time, he didnt drive past.
“Whats your name?”
She looked up. Her voice was rough but defiant.
“Why do you care?”
He smirked faintly.
“I need a woman who knows how to survive. Truly. No pretences. No polish. Someone like you.”
Her name was Lily Carter. Twenty-seven. An orphanage, runaways, years on the streets, shelters, cold pavements, and a guitarher only constant.
The next evening, she stood before the grand mirror in a suite at The Savoy. Her hands shook as she smoothed the deep blue silk of an elegant dress. Freshly styled hair, subtle makeupshe barely recognised herself.
“Theyre already at the restaurant,” Oliver said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Late for our own charade.”
“You really think this will work?”
He studied her for a long moment.
“I think youre the only one who might actually impress my mother.”
At the restaurant, everything seemed under control. Almost.
His father was reserved but polite. His mothersharp-eyed, poised, the sort who could unravel a person with a single glancefixed her gaze on the girl across the table.
“How did you meet my son?”
Lily felt Olivers eyes on her. He gave the slightest nod.
“In a bookshop,” she said. “I dropped a copy of Jane Austen. He picked it up we both laughed.”
“Jane Austen?” His mother raised an eyebrow. “You read classics?”
“Growing up. The orphanage librarian let us borrow anything, so long as we promised to bring them back.”
A pause. Olivers mother set her wineglass down slowly, never looking away. Too intently.
“An orphanage?” she repeated, something flickering in her voicerecognition, maybe, or an echo of old struggles.
Then came the moment no one anticipated.
Lily straightened, gathering every shred of courage, and spoke clearly.
“Im lying. Im not your future daughter-in-law. Im not from a bookshop. Im from the streets. Homeless. Just someone who finally felt human today.”
Instead of outrage, the woman in the tailored suit stood, walked over, and embraced her.
“My dear I started with nothing, too. Someone gave me a chance once. Im glad you took yours.”
Oliver said nothing. He just watched. For the first time, he understoodthe act was over. Reality had begun.
She told the truth, and instead of scorn, she was met with warmth. None of them knew it yet, but this was only the start. Olivers mother, unexpectedly, saw strength where others mightve seen deceit. His father remained cold.
“This is absurd, Oliver,” he muttered, cutting through the quiet. “Have you dragged us into some theatrical farce?”
“My choice,” Oliver replied evenly. “Not yours to judge.”
After dinner, Lily stepped outside. Kicked off her heels, leaned against the wall, and weptnot from shame, but relief. Shed been honest. No one turned away.
Oliver approached quietly, holding her coat.
“Youre not going back to the streets. Youll stay with me. As long as you need.” A beat. “You deserve better.”
“I dont want your pity.”
“Im not offering it. Im giving you a shot.”
So began their strange, jagged, but honest life together. He worked late, exacting in business as in all things. She studiedborrowed books, attended lectures, kept the flat tidy, cooked meals. Sometimes she played the guitar againnot for coins, but because something inside her had stirred to life.
She was changing.
“Youre different,” he remarked once.
“Not afraid of being tossed out for the first time,” she admitted.
A month later, his father left. No goodbyejust a note: *”Choose your heart over my fortune, and youll have neither.”*
Oliver didnt bother opening it. Tossed it into the fireplace and said flatly,
“Money comes and goes. Lose yourself, and youre worth nothing.”
Three months later, Lily stared at two lines on a test.
“This cant be,” she whispered, sitting on the bathroom tiles. “Its too soon Were not even”
When she told him, Oliver was silent a long while. Then he pulled her close.
“I dont know what to call this feeling. But I know its right.”
Legal battles followedhis fathers attempts to reclaim assets. Tabloid rumours swirled*”Tycoons Homeless Love Story: PR Stunt or Fairytale?”* A difficult birth, fear, pain.
And thennew life.
A life where Lily became an author. A woman who stood on stages not as a beggar, but as someone whod weathered hardship, neglect, betrayaland survived.
Every time she faced an audience, she said,
“I was a fiancée for an evening. Now Im a wife for life. Because one man saw me as a person.”
The final scenethe same restaurant. Lily holds the hand of a ten-year-old girl with wild curls.
“See, love? Right here, your dad smiled properly for the first time. Heres where we became a familynot a performance.”
Oliver stands beside them. Grinning. Their fingers entwined. No regret in his eyes.
He didnt marry a princess. He chose a queenone who once sat on the pavement with a sign that asked not for charity, but a chance.
