From the Streets to the Altar: My Savior, My Husband

I don’t know how many times I’ve rolled my eyes since dinner began, but I know I’m at least on the tenth. Samuel Anders, my father’s business partner and one of the most talked-about men in the city, has just kissed my hand as if we were in some period film. The gesture was so exaggerated, so carefully elegant, that it made me want to laugh… or maybe gently shove him so he would stop acting like the lead in some old soap opera. Dad watched him with that same proud smile he always wears when he boasts about his “great friend, the man who saved our family.” I, on the other hand, could only look at Samuel with a hardened expression. His gaze met mine for a second, and I swear I saw a flicker of sadness in those gray eyes before he lowered them. “Alia,” my father growled, “could you be a little more polite?” “Dad, I only said hello,” I murmured, carefully pulling my hand away. “That’s not it, and you know it.” He sighed, disappointed. “Samuel is your fiancé. The least you could do is treat him with respect.” Fiancé. The word still sounded so foreign to me, so imposed, so absurd. It hadn’t been my decision. My father and Samuel had an arrangement, one of those business deals disguised as romantic destiny. According to Dad, “it was what was best for everyone.” According to me, it was the most elegant way to ruin my life. “I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t,” I said quietly, though loud enough for Samuel to hear. He didn’t answer. He only smiled politely, that smile that looked practiced in front of a mirror. But there was something in his eyes that didn’t match his reputation as a womanizer: a hidden weariness, a kind of sad tenderness that I couldn’t tell was real or just part of the role he played in front of everyone. The rest of dinner was a parade of forced conversation. My father’s partners talked about mergers, projects, investments. I only listened to the clink of silverware against porcelain and the sound of the clock on the wall, marking the seconds until I could escape. Hours later, when everyone had drifted away, I stood on the balcony of the main hall. The city of Livor glittered with cold white lights. Below, traffic continued its noisy, perfect dance. Sometimes I thought everything was the same—lights, appearances, programmed movements. I felt his presence before I heard him. Samuel was behind me, close enough for me to catch the scent of his cologne. Wood, leather, a hint of something bitter. “You shouldn’t look into the void with that expression,” he said softly. “Someone might think you feel trapped.” “Maybe I am,” I answered without turning around. He let out a faint laugh, brief, almost nostalgic. “I never wanted this to be like this, Alia.” “And how did you want it to be, Samuel? A love story between a business partner and the owner’s daughter?” My tone came out harsher than I intended. Silence. Then a sigh. “I just want you to give me a chance,” he said. “Not for your father. To prove to you that I’m not the man people say I am.” I turned, and this time I looked at him directly. There was sincerity in his eyes—more than I had expected. And for one instant, one single damned instant, I felt the tightness in my chest loosen. But then I remembered the rumors, the parties, the photographs in society magazines. No. I would not let myself be fooled by a few sweet words and a deep voice. “Good night, Mr. Anders,” I said with an icy smile. I turned and walked toward the stairs without looking back, though I could feel his gaze following me all the way to the last step. The next morning, Dad was in his study, going over papers. “You behaved like a spoiled teenager last night,” he said without looking up. “I am one,” I replied with sarcasm. He lifted his head and looked at me with tired eyes. “Samuel isn’t what you think. You’d be surprised if you stopped judging him.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to argue. Though part of me knew Dad was right: Samuel wasn’t exactly what he seemed. There was something about him… something broken, something that unsettled me. But admitting that would mean opening a door I wasn’t ready to walk through. That afternoon, I went to my father’s company. Klein Industries always smelled of expensive coffee and fresh paper. I walked down the hallways quickly, trying to avoid the curious glances of the employees. “Miss Klein,” the receptionist greeted me, “Mr. Anders is in the boardroom.” Of course. Naturally. I found him there, talking to Amanda Fox, the head of interior design. Amanda was one of those women who seemed to have been born with the word sophistication tattooed into her skin: impeccable, elegant, self-sufficient. And at that moment, she was looking at him with a mixture of professionalism and something more… something painful to witness. “Alia,” Samuel said, surprised to see me walk in. “I didn’t know you were coming.” “Neither did I,” I replied. “But apparently fate keeps crossing our paths.” Amanda smiled politely and stood up. “I’ll leave you two alone. I have to review the plans for the new headquarters.” When she left, silence lingered between us. Samuel rested his hands on the table and watched me without saying a word. “Why are you here?” he finally asked. “I don’t know,” I answered, and it was the truth. “Maybe I wanted to see if any of this was real.” He stepped closer, slowly, as if he were afraid I might run. “Alia, I don’t want you to feel forced into anything. But I also don’t want you to keep believing I’m the villain in your story.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. And then something unexpected happened: he lifted his hand as if he were going to touch me, but stopped halfway. His fingers trembled slightly, and for one second, the world stood still. The air smelled of ink, cologne, and something I couldn’t describe. My heart was beating far too fast, and I hated him for it. “I don’t know who you are, Samuel,” I whispered, “but I don’t want you to break me.” He smiled sadly. “I won’t. I promise.” I left before he could say anything else. Because if I had stayed one second longer in that room, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to leave. Samuel When the door closed, I stood there, motionless, staring at the empty space where Alia had been. I could still smell her perfume. Thomas stuck his head through the door. “Another argument?” I shook my head. “No. This time it was worse. It was honest.” He laughed. “Well, at least there’s that.” But I couldn’t laugh. From the day I met Alia, I knew my fate was sealed. She wasn’t the kind of woman you forget; she was the kind of woman who changes you even when she doesn’t want to. I dropped into the chair and ran a hand over my face. Loving her was a mistake. But some mistakes are as inevitable as breathing. And even though she still didn’t know it, soon she would understand that nothing I did was out of obligation. Everything, absolutely everything, was for love.