I Married the Wrong Actor But He Chose Me First

Chapter 3 — Ground Rules

Chapter 3 — Ground Rules

Friday came with rain.

I stood outside my apartment building with two suitcases and a backpack, watching droplets streak down the side of a black car that had pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and loaded my bags without asking questions.

The back seat was empty.

"He's already at the residence," the driver said. "Wanted to get things ready."

I didn't ask what things. I climbed in and watched my neighborhood disappear through the rain-streaked window.

Twenty minutes later, the car turned onto a private road.

My hand found the door handle. The houses here were different—wide lawns, tall hedges, gates that opened without anyone pressing a button.

The car stopped in front of one of them. Clean lines. Wide windows. A front door that looked expensive.

And him. Standing in the doorway. Dark sweater. Sleeves pushed up. Like he'd been waiting a while.

---

The foyer had high ceilings. A staircase curved upward. The floors were warm wood that caught the gray light from the windows.

I stood in the center and turned slowly.

"This is the agency residence," I said.

"It is."

"It's a house."

He didn't respond to that.

"My apartment could fit in this foyer," I added. "Twice."

He picked up one of my suitcases. "Your room is upstairs. Second door on the left."

"Where's yours?"

"Downstairs. End of the hall."

I followed him up. The room was bigger than my entire apartment—wide windows, a bed with white sheets, a closet waiting for things I didn't own enough of to fill it.

I sat on the edge of the mattress. It didn't squeak. Of course it didn't.

---

By the time I came back downstairs, he was in the kitchen. A teapot on the counter. Steam curling upward.

"You made tea," I said.

"I was making it anyway."

"Right." I stood near the doorway, not quite sure where to put myself. "Thanks."

He poured a second cup and set it on the island between us. I sat. He sat across from me.

Silence.

I tapped my finger against the cup. He looked at the window. The rain had picked up again.

"So," I said finally. "We should probably figure some things out."

"Like what?"

"Like what we tell people. Reporters. Other actors. Anyone who asks." I gestured between us. "We need a story. How we met. How long we've been... you know."

"A couple."

"Yeah. That."

He nodded. "What do you suggest?"

"Something simple. We met through the agency. Auditions. Got to know each other over time."

"That works."

"What about you? How do you want to explain this?"

He was quiet for a moment, turning the cup in his hands. "The same. Simple is harder to question."

"Okay. So we met through work. How long?"

"Six months."

"That's specific."

"It's reasonable. Long enough to be serious. Short enough that people won't wonder why they haven't seen us before."

I stared at him. "You've thought about this."

"I had time this morning."

I took a sip of tea. It was good. Annoyingly good. "We should probably know basic things about each other. If someone asks. Favorites. Background. That kind of stuff."

"All right."

"Where are you from?"

"North. Small town. You wouldn't know it."

"And acting? How long have you been at it?"

He looked down at his cup. "A while."

"That's not very specific."

"It's been... both longer and shorter than it seems."

I waited for him to clarify. He didn't. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I've worked enough to know how the industry functions. And I've also started over more than once."

"Started over?"

"Changed directions. Tried different things."

"So you've had success?"

A pause. "I've had... experience."

"You're really not good at giving straight answers."

He looked up at me. "I'm giving you the answers I have."

I let it go. Maybe he'd had a few small roles that went nowhere. Maybe he'd auditioned for years and didn't want to talk about it. I understood that better than most people.

"Okay. Favorite color?"

"Blue. Dark blue."

"That was fast."

"It's an easy question."

"Favorite food?"

"Anything I cook."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's oddly specific."

"I like knowing what's in my food."

"Mine's instant noodles."

"I know."

I blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Zhou Min mentioned it. Something about a noodle commercial."

"Oh god. You saw that?"

"No. She just mentioned it."

"Great. So my new husband knows about my worst career decision."

His mouth twitched. Just slightly. "It wasn't that bad."

"You haven't seen it."

"I haven't."

We sat in silence for a moment. The rain tapped against the windows.

"Okay," I said. "Your turn. Ask me something."

"What do you want me to ask?"

"I don't know. Something real. Something you couldn't find in my file."

He thought for a moment. "Why do you keep auditioning?"

The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Three years. Failed auditions. Rejection. You're still here. Why?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. "Because I don't know what else to do. Because when I'm on stage—or on camera, or whatever—it's the only time I feel like I'm supposed to be somewhere."

He nodded slowly. Didn't say anything. But his expression had shifted, just slightly. Less guarded.

"What about you?" I asked. "Why acting?"

He looked at the window. The rain streaked down the glass. "Someone told me once that I should try. So I did. And then I kept going."

"Someone?"

"A long time ago."

"That's vague."

"I know."

---

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Zhou Min: I'm sending you the marriage registration photo. Both of you need to post it on your socials. Caption something soft. The agency will handle the rest.

I stared at the screen. "Zhou Min wants us to post."

"I know. She messaged me too."

My phone buzzed again. The photo—the one from the Civil Affairs Bureau. Two people standing against a white wall. Not smiling. Not touching. Looking exactly like what they were: strangers who'd just signed a document.

"She wants us to post this?" I held up my phone. "We look like we're at a funeral."

"We look like two people who were nervous on an important day. That's believable."

"Believable isn't romantic."

"Romantic is suspicious. Nervous is real."

I sighed and opened my social media app. Zhou Min had already created the account—@LinYue_Official. The profile picture was a headshot I'd taken two years ago. There were already a few hundred followers.

"She set up my account," I said.

"She set up both of them."

I looked at the photo again. Two strangers. Me and him. Married.

"What are you going to write?" I asked.

"Something short. What about you?"

"I don't know. 'Here's a photo of me and a man I met twice. Please believe we're in love.'"

"That might need editing."

I almost laughed. Almost.

I typed: New beginnings. 🤍

Short. Vague. Soft enough to pass as romance without actually lying about anything specific.

I hit post. He did the same.

Within seconds, likes started appearing. Comments. Shares. The numbers climbed faster than they should have.

"There are already two hundred likes," I said.

"Three hundred."

"That's not normal. I've never had more than twenty likes on anything."

"Zhou Min said the agency would handle it."

"Handle it how?"

He turned his phone toward me. The comments on his post were flooding in—but they looked strange. Generic. All slightly different variations of the same sentiment.

Beautiful couple! So happy for you both!

Love this! Wishing you nothing but happiness!

This is so romantic! Couple goals!

"These are bots," I said.

"Some of them. At first."

"Zhou Min bought us fake followers."

"She bought us visibility. There's a difference."

"That's not a difference. That's the same thing with better branding."

He set his phone down. "In this industry, perception is reality. If people think you're being talked about, they start talking about you."

I looked at my phone again. The likes kept climbing. Interspersed with the bot comments, real ones were starting to appear—real people, real curiosity.

Wait who is this?

New couple just dropped??

She's pretty, who is she?

"This is so strange," I said.

"Yes."

"Does any of this feel real to you?"

He looked at me for a long moment. The rain had softened to a drizzle outside.

"Some parts," he said. "More than I expected."

---

That evening, I sat on my bed and scrolled through my phone. The post had reached five thousand likes. Real comments were starting to dominate—people asking who we were, where we came from, why they hadn't seen us before.

I closed the app and set the phone down.

Downstairs, I could hear him moving around. A cabinet closing. Water running. The quiet, ordinary sounds of someone existing in the same space.

I thought about what he'd said. I've had experience. Such a careful word. Not success. Not failure. Just experience. Like he was standing somewhere in between and didn't want to commit to either direction.

Maybe he'd had a few small roles. Maybe he'd been close to something bigger and lost it. Maybe that's why he was here now—starting over, same as me.

I stared at the ceiling and listened to the rain.

At least the bots seemed happy for us.

---

End of Chapter 3