You know that part in weddings where they ask if anyone objects? My mom took it way too seriously—stood up, fake tears and all, trying to ruin everything. But Brian, my fiancé, had the perfect mic-drop ready.
We met late one night on the metro—me exhausted from a hospital shift, him lost in The Great Gatsby. We had a short, charming exchange, and I thought I’d never see him again. But a week later, fate stepped in. A thief grabbed my purse on a packed train, and out of nowhere, Brian tackled him, saving the day. That coffee to patch his cut turned into dinner, then love.
Six months later, we were engaged. But my mother, Juliette, hated him from the start—he was a librarian, not a doctor or lawyer. She mocked his job, his clothes, even his engagement ring. Brian stayed polite through it all.
The night before the wedding, she begged me to call it off. I didn’t. But I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it go.
At the ceremony, she stood up at the “speak now” moment, claiming I was throwing away my future on someone beneath me. The room froze—until Brian calmly handed her a document. It was her credit report—mountains of debt, rejected loans, and a fake image of wealth.
Then came the kicker: “I’m a billionaire,” Brian said, shocking everyone, including me. Turns out, he kept his fortune hidden to find someone who loved him for who he was. And I did.
We said “I do.” My mother stormed out in disgrace. My dad cried and called Brian the man he’d always hoped I’d find. Brian’s parents, secret guests at the wedding, welcomed me warmly.
That night, as we danced under the stars, I realized: the richest life isn’t built on money—it’s built on love, truth, and someone who sees your worth. And in that moment, I had it all.