The Orphan Bride Of The Town's Richest Man

WE NEVER TALKED ABOUT THIS

EPISODE 11

The ring felt heavy.

Not because of the diamond.

Because of what it meant.

"So... wedding planning?" Damien asked the next morning over coffee.

He was in sweatpants. Barefoot. Hair messy.

It should’ve been illegal how good he looked.

"Yeah," I said. "Small. Simple. At the orphanage garden."

"Simple?" He frowned. "Freya, my family—"

"Your family isn’t invited," I cut in.

Silence.

Damien set his mug down. Slowly.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me," I said. "Victoria. Your board. The reporters.

I don’t want them at my wedding."

"Freya, I have 200 investors. My grandfather—"

"Then have a second reception for them!" My voice rose.

"This is MY wedding, Damien. Not a business merger."

He stood up. "That’s not fair."

"What’s not fair is you deciding everything without asking me!"

I stood too. "Just like the contract!"

The word hung between us.

Contract.

His face went cold.

"So that’s what this is? You’re still thinking about the contract?"

"I’m thinking about the fact that we skipped every step!" I shouted.

"We went from fake wife to real proposal in 2 weeks!

We never dated! We never fought! We never—"

"Never what?" he snapped.

"Never talked about kids? About where we live? About money?

You proposed in front of 200 people, Damien!

Did you ask me first? NO!"

Damien ran a hand through his hair.

"I thought you’d say no if I asked in private."

"So you ambushed me?"

"I was scared!" he yelled back. "Of losing you!"

We both stopped. Breathing hard.

This was our first real fight.

---

Clara came in, saw us, and backed out.

Smart girl.

Damien turned away. "I need to go to work."

"Run away?" I said, and immediately regretted it.

He stopped at the door.

"Don’t," he said quietly. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Treat me like I’m the villain.

I messed up. Okay? I messed up because I love you and I’m bad at this."

He left.

Door clicked.

I stood in the kitchen.

Ring on my finger.

Tears in my eyes.

We didn’t text all day.

---

That night, I went to the orphanage alone.

Needed to breathe.

Grandma hugged me. "You okay, child?"

"We had a fight," I whispered.

"About what?"

"About everything. About nothing.

About the fact that we don’t know each other."

She wiped my cheek. "Good."

"Good?"

"Fights mean you care enough to fight," she said.

"Silent treatment means you already gave up."

I stayed late. Helped with dinner.

When I got home at 10pm, the house was dark.

Damien wasn’t in bed.

He was in his office.

Lights on. Suit jacket on the floor. Tie loose.

He looked up when I came in.

Eyes tired.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said.

Awkward.

We’d never been awkward before.

"I’m sorry," he said first.

"I am too," I said. "For yelling."

"You were right," he said. "I did ambush you.

I was so scared you’d leave that I did the one thing that might make you leave."

I sat on the couch across from him.

"We never talked about this," I said. "Any of it.

What we want. What we’re scared of."

"Then let’s talk now," he said.

"No contract. No conditions. Just talk."

I nodded.

"Okay," I said. "I’m scared you’ll get bored of me.

That one day you’ll realize I’m not fancy enough.

That I don’t know which fork to use at dinners."

Damien laughed. Soft. "Freya, I hate those dinners."

"I’m scared I’ll hurt you," he said. "That my world will chew you up.

That Victoria will say something and you’ll believe it."

"I’m scared of kids," I admitted. "I don’t know how to be a mom.

I barely had one."

"Me too," he said. "I had the worst example."

We sat there.

No yelling.

Just truth.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"We go slow," he said. "Like you said.

We date. For real.

Dinners. Movies. Fights. Make-ups.

All of it."

"And the wedding?"

"When you’re ready," he said. "Not when my board is ready.

Your timeline. Your rules."

I felt something in my chest loosen.

"Okay," I said.

He stood and came to sit next to me.

Took my hand.

"Can I tell you something stupid?"

"What?"

"I was jealous today."

"Of who?"

"Of the fact that you went to the orphanage without me.

That you have a place that’s yours and I’m not in it."

I stared. "That’s not stupid."

"It is," he said. "I’m a grown man jealous of kids."

"Come with me next time," I said. "Meet Grandma properly.

Play with the kids.

Be part of it."

He looked at me like I’d given him the world.

"Really?"

"Really," I said. "If you want to be my husband,

you have to be part of all of me.

Not just the pretty parts."

He kissed my forehead.

"Deal."

We sat in silence.

His thumb rubbed over my ring.

"Freya?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you.

And I’m going to be bad at this sometimes.

But I’ll keep showing up."

Tears came again.

"Me too," I said. "I’ll show up too."

He pulled me onto his lap.

I didn’t fight it.

I buried my face in his neck.

"We’re a mess," I mumbled.

"The best mess," he said.

Outside, Nairobi was quiet.

Inside, two people who had no idea what they were doing

decided to figure it out together.

No contract.

No rules.

Just us.

And maybe that was scarier.

And better.