Met My Man When I Was Broke

CHAPTER 10

ESTELLA POV

My palms are sweating just thinking about tonight. I’m going to meet Damian’s biological father. Since we’re playing the part of lovers about to marry, Damian called me last week to say his father would be here—and he wants to meet me before the wedding.

We talked about how we’ll face his father as a fake couple. We made up a story that we met again after a year apart. That we first met at the orphanage, lost touch, and then recently reconnected and fell in love all over again. What a nice little story.

Damian said he’ll pick me up at my place. I wore the dress he sent me—a lacy number that fits me perfectly, paired with a pair of expensive red stilettos. I kept my makeup light and fresh to match the dress, and curled my hair just right.

“Estella?” someone called out from behind me.

I turned around to see Rael—the guy I met at the gym—standing there in the lobby.

“Hey,” I replied, a bit surprised but trying to sound casual.

Rael’s eyes immediately drifted over me, taking in the lacey dress, the curled hair, and the light makeup. He smiled, clearly impressed.

“You look… amazing,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “That dress really suits you.”

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. Compliments weren’t something I heard often, and coming from Rael, it made me smile genuinely. “Thank you, Rael. That means a lot.”

We chatted briefly about the gym and our units, the conversation easy and friendly.

Then suddenly, Damian appeared beside me, his expression tightening as he spotted Rael talking to me.

“Hey, Rael,” Damian said coolly, stepping between us. “Funny running into you here.”

Rael nodded, a bit taken aback but polite. “Hey, Damian. Just saying hi to Estella.”

I sensed the sudden tension in the air.

“Oh, don’t tell me she’s the girl you’re about to marry?” Rael asked Damian with a teasing smirk.

I glanced between the two, realizing they must be friends.

Damian’s expression hardened just a bit. “Yes, Rael. So back off, bro,” he said firmly, a protective edge in his voice.

Rael chuckled but took a small step back. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

I watched them, feeling a mix of amusement and confusion. Why was Damian suddenly so serious and… jealous? It was just a fake relationship, wasn’t it?

“Let’s go, Estella,” Damian said, reaching for my bag.

“I can carry this,” I offered, trying to be polite.

“I know, but I want to,” he replied, giving me a look I couldn’t quite read.

He glanced at Rael and smirked. “So, Rael, bye Estella and I are having a date.”

Rael laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, bro, a possessive Damian. Bye, Estella.”

I blushed slightly, feeling awkward but also a little flattered by Damian’s tone. Honestly, I didn’t understand why he sounded so jealous—was this just part of the act, or was it something more?

Fast forward, we were in his car. I clicked my seatbelt on, trying to shake off the awkward silence between us.

“Estella, before we get married, let’s go over some do’s and don’ts, okay?” Damian said seriously, breaking the silence.

I rolled my eyes. Damian was a big guy, but sometimes he acted like a kid.

“Okay, okay,” I said with a playful smile, waiting to hear what rules he’d come up with.

He gave a faint smirk, clearly satisfied with my reply, and started the engine. The ride was quiet—comfortable, almost. Maybe too quiet for two people about to fake a life together.

After about thirty minutes, we pulled up in front of an elegant restaurant. It wasn’t overly flashy, but it screamed old money and tradition. My palms started sweating again.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, ready to get out, when Damian reached into the glove compartment and handed me a small green velvet box.

“What is this?” I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“That’s your engagement ring,” he replied, almost too casually.

I opened the box, and my breath hitched.

The ring was simple but stunning—an antique cut diamond, delicately set in a band that looked like it had history. Expensive history.

“I think this ring is… small,” I whispered, but I already knew—it wasn’t. It was probably worth more than my entire unit. “This looks really expensive.”

“It is. That’s the family ring. My father gave it to me, said if I ever found someone to marry, I should give it to her. Since we’re acting like we’re really getting married, I figured… this is a good move.”

He turned his eyes to me, dead serious. “Don’t sell it, okay?”

I blinked at him. The way he said that—it wasn’t teasing. It was laced with something else. Something heavier. Maybe regret. Maybe fear.

While he explained, I slipped the ring onto my finger and examined it. It fit perfectly.

Then I looked up at him, arching a brow. “You know… you should’ve proposed before I wore this.”

He paused. His hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. Then he looked at me with a slight smirk, but his voice had a hint of something softer.

“Yeah?” he said, turning to face me fully. “Want me to do it now?”

I laughed, brushing a strand of curled hair behind my ear. “No need.”

He let out a short chuckle, his eyes still on me for a second longer than necessary.

“Too bad. I had a whole dramatic speech ready in my head.”

“Save it for your real fiancée someday,” I said teasingly, looking down at the ring. “I’m just the stand-in, remember?”

His fingers drummed once against the steering wheel, but he didn’t answer right away.

“Right,” he finally said, starting the car again. “Just a role.”

We walked side by side into the restaurant, Damian’s hand wrapped firmly around mine. I glanced around the dimly lit space and noticed something odd.

“Why does it feel like we’re the only people here?” I murmured, leaning closer to him.

He glanced at me, completely unfazed. “I rented the place.”

My eyebrows shot up. Of course he did.

So rich, this was probably basic to him—like ordering fast food for the rest of us.

As we approached, I spotted two people seated at a table near the center of the room. One was a man who looked to be in his late forties. He had sharp features, a powerful presence, and…

Oh.

He looked exactly like Damian—same intense eyes, same strong jawline. That had to be his father.

Next to him sat a woman, not much older than us. Her beauty was the poised, polished kind—elegant dress, flawless makeup, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Damian’s sister? I wondered. But something about their body language said otherwise.

She was sitting a little too close. Her hand brushed his arm like it belonged there.

Wait… no way. Don’t tell me… they’re a couple?

I glanced up at Damian to read his expression, but he was unreadable—calm, composed, detached. Like he had built a wall I couldn’t peek through.

We were getting closer to the table, and my heart picked up a nervous beat.

Damian’s grip on my hand tightened just slightly.

Acting or not… this just got real.

“Hi, Dad. Ms. Valerie,” Damian said coolly as we approached the table. “Please meet my fiancée, Estella Railey.”

I gave them a polite smile, trying to keep my posture relaxed even though my stomach was tying itself in knots. “Nice to meet you both,” I said gently.

The older man stood and shook my hand with a firm but warm grip. “Fabian,” he introduced himself, a calm authority in his voice. “I’m his father. And this lovely woman beside me is Valerie—my girlfriend.”

I turned to Valerie, who smiled just enough to be polite. Something about her expression felt… performative. I couldn’t explain it, but the way her eyes flicked briefly to Damian before landing on me again made my skin prickle.

“Call me Dad, anyway,” Fabian added with an easy chuckle.

“Oh—ah, yes… D-Dad,” I replied quickly, forcing a small laugh to cover the awkwardness of saying it for the first time.

Then I felt Damian’s hand settle on the small of my back—gentle, but intentional. Like a silent reminder: Play the part.

But I couldn’t ignore the strange energy in the air. I glanced at Damian, whose jaw looked a little too tight for someone meeting his father with his “bride-to-be.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. And when he finally looked at Valerie, it was brief—too brief for someone meeting a future stepmother, or whatever she was supposed to be.

And Valerie… she kept glancing at Damian too. Not flirtatious exactly—but there was something unsaid lingering there. Something too complicated to be just casual history.

I couldn’t place it. But I felt it.

“So, let’s sit and eat,” Valerie said, smoothly inserting herself into the moment like she owned the night.

Yeah, sure. The hell—I’m starving too.

“Order whatever you like, Estella,” Damian’s father offered kindly, flashing a warm smile in my direction.

“Yes, I will,” I replied shyly, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

I picked up the thick, leather-bound menu and stared at it like it had personally offended me. What even were these words? French? Latin? Alien?

Seriously, why did every dish look like it belonged in a fancy art exhibit?

My stomach grumbled as I kept scanning, and the pressure only grew.

“Hey… Damian, please help me,” I whispered, leaning slightly toward him, hoping no one else noticed my plea.

But of course, Valerie did.

“Yes, Estella—do you have a problem?” she asked, voice so polite it almost felt mocking.

My cheeks heated up instantly. Ugh. Kill me now.

I looked at her, then at Damian. He noticed my panic and leaned in casually, flipping my menu toward him as if nothing unusual was happening.

“She’s just overwhelmed by the menu. It’s her first time here,” he said coolly, like it was no big deal.

But under the table, his hand found mine. A small squeeze. Reassurance. A reminder to breathe.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Valerie wasn’t just trying to be helpful.

It was like she was testing me—and I had just failed the first question.

“What kind of food are you in the mood for?” Damian asked, his voice low as he leaned closer.

“Something delicious,” I replied with a sheepish grin, keeping my tone light—but truthfully, I had no idea what anything on this menu meant. It was all written in French… or maybe alien. I couldn’t even tell if one dish was fish or a fancy salad.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “Damian, help. I can’t pronounce anything here… and I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

He glanced over and chuckled softly. “That’s foie gras. Duck liver,” he whispered, pointing. “This one is steak, French style. And this? Definitely not dessert, trust me.”

I stifled a laugh. “Then pick something for me. Just not the liver, okay?”

He gave a short nod. “Got it. Let me take care of it.”

Just as he waved the waiter over, Valerie chimed in, her eyes flicking toward me. “Is there a problem, Estella?”

I froze for a second, caught off guard. Damian stepped in smoothly.

“She’s just not used to French menus. I’ll order for her,” he said with a firm tone, placing a hand over mine on the table. “She trusts my taste.”

Valerie’s expression was unreadable, but she didn’t say anything more.

I stayed quiet too, though I glanced at Damian under the table. For someone acting like a fake fiancé, he was starting to feel a little too natural at this.

So, the stressful menu situation was finally over—thank heavens. I felt like I just passed a pop quiz I didn’t study for.

Still feeling a bit awkward, I reached for the clear drink in front of me. It looked harmless enough. Bubbly, clear… probably Sprite or 7-Up, right?

I took a big sip—and instantly regretted it.

My throat burned, my eyes widened, and I had to fight the urge to cough it all back out.

This was not Sprite.

It was alcohol.

Strong alcohol.

“Oh my god,” I choked, grabbing the napkin and trying to recover my dignity. “That’s not soda.”

Valerie leaned forward quickly, concern on her face. “Oh no, Estella—are you alright?” she asked, handing me a tissue.

“I thought it was softdrinks,” I said, wiping my mouth, still stunned. My voice came out half-squeaky.

Damian tried not to laugh, but I could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really thought they’d serve soda in a wine glass?” he teased.

“Well excuse me for being uncultured,” I muttered, glaring playfully at him while trying to recover from the mini heart attack.

Valerie chuckled lightly. “That was champagne, darling. But don’t worry—it happens.”

Damian’s father let out a soft laugh too. “You’re full of surprises, Estella,” he said kindly.

And just like that, the awkwardness faded—well, a little.

Note to self: never trust a bubbly drink in a fancy glass ever again.

How many humiliations am I going to encounter tonight? Seriously, what the heck.

Our food finally arrived, and after my two embarrassing moments, I was determined to make it up to Damian. Time to step up my game.

I looked at him with a teasing smile. “Hey, darling, can you cut my steak for me?” I said, batting my eyelashes playfully.

He gave me a confused look, clearly caught off guard.

“You want me to cut your steak?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” I said, grinning. “Since you’re the gentleman, right?”

He sighed but smiled. “Alright, if you insist.”

“So how do you meet and when the wedding?”- Damian's father asked.

Okay the skit please Damian tell them.

Damian cleared his throat and smiled confidently. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but basically, Estella and I met at the orphanage years ago. We lost touch for a while, but fate brought us back together recently. Since then, things just... clicked. We started seeing each other again, and well, we realized we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He glanced at me, and I gave him a reassuring nod.

His father raised an eyebrow but smiled. “And the wedding?”

“Next month,” Damian said without missing a beat. “We want to keep it simple but meaningful.”

Valerie nodded approvingly. “Sounds lovely.”

“I can help Estella with the preparations,” Valerie offered with a warm smile.

But I noticed Damian’s subtle stiffening beside me—his jaw tightening just a bit.

“Nah, you don’t have to,” Damian replied quickly, a little too firmly. “I already hired some people to help.”

Valerie’s smile faltered for a moment, but she masked it well. “Of course, if you say so.”

I watched Damian closely, sensing there was more beneath the surface—like a quiet warning or some unspoken history between them. It made me wonder what really went on.

Damian’s father smiled warmly, his eyes softening as he spoke.

“You know, my son and I got separated when Damian was just a kid. That’s why he ended up in the orphanage.”

I glanced at Damian, noticing the faint shadow that crossed his face, like old wounds flickering beneath the surface.

“It wasn’t easy,” his father continued, “but I’m glad we’re reconnecting now.”

Damian nodded silently, his fingers tightening briefly around my hand.

Hearing this made me feel even more determined to support him—this wasn’t just an act for a wedding. There was real history here, pain and hope mixed together.

“So I’m happy for my son,” Damian’s father said softly, eyes looking straight at me, “he found his happiness. So, Estella… love my son, please.”

His words carried a sincerity that caught me off guard. It wasn’t just about the fake wedding or the story we were playing out. I could feel the weight behind his eyes, as if he truly wished for Damian’s happiness — and maybe even accepted me as part of that.

For a moment, the line between reality and pretense blurred. I wondered if maybe this fake wedding was becoming something more complicated. A part of me felt the pressure, the unspoken expectations, and the fragile hope tangled in all of it.

I smiled gently, squeezing Damian’s hand. “I’ll do my best.”