"With only $250.41 left in my bank account, I took a screenshot and posted it to my socials as a joke. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a message from Carter Hayes popped up in my chat window: ""Please accept payment of $20,000.00."" Me??? ""Marriage."" ""$20,000 a month."" Hah, am I the kind of person who can be bought with money? My immediate reaction was to... Confirm payment. 1 My checking account balance was $250.41. I took a screenshot and posted it to my Instagram story with a caption born of desperation and dark humor. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a Venmo notification popped up on my screen: Carter Hayes sent you $20,000.00. I blinked. Then blinked again. A text message from him followed immediately. “For our wedding.” “And $20,000 a month.” “This is to satisfy our parents. We will live separate lives after.” What the hell? A laugh bubbled up from my chest, sharp and incredulous. Had my life suddenly turned into one of the ridiculous romance novels I secretly devoured? Was I the kind of woman who could be bought with a Venmo transfer? My thumb hovered over the ""Accept"" button for a fraction of a second. Turns out, yes. Yes, I am. With a trembling heart and shaking hands, I typed back the first thing that came to mind. “Okay, hubby.” There was no refusing this. Absolutely no way. Let someone else climb the corporate ladder. I was done. This dead-end job, this soul-crushing routine—I was so profoundly over it. They say a person without dreams is no different from a salted fish. But what if your dream is to be carefree? No one was going to stand in the way of my new career as a professional layabout. 2 Carter Hayes. A rising star in the business world, a man who had it all: wealth, looks, and a Midas touch. His net worth was in the nine figures. And me? Chloe Pierce. A corporate drone whose entire net worth was, as we’ve established, embarrassing. While I was personable, he was personally worth a fortune. The only reason I even knew a man like him existed was because my former boss had been desperate to land a deal with his company. To be more accurate, my ex-boss engaged in a level of sycophantic groveling that was painful to watch, but which, to my surprise, actually worked. For Carter to propose marriage to me, there were only two possibilities: either he was having a psychotic break, or this was his bizarre, one-man charity initiative. Whatever his reason for plucking me from the sea of anonymous faces, I couldn't help but feel moved to tears by his generosity. I, Chloe Pierce, was about to become a kept woman. Twenty thousand a month. That was one hundred and twenty thousand in six months. Two hundred and forty thousand a year. In just one year, I could bank enough for a down payment on a life of blissful early retirement. I’d be skipping forty years of the rat race. I could already picture it: his mother, or perhaps a long-lost love—the one that got away—showing up at my door with a check, telling me I wasn't good enough for him and demanding I leave. I could make a whole second bonus on the exit package. This was a win-win. Marry him? I’d do it yesterday. Forget just dealing with his parents; for that kind of money, I’d scrub his ancestral tombstones with a toothbrush until they gleamed. 3 That very afternoon, Carter and I went to City Hall and got the marriage license. I was the one rushing. An opportunity this good had a shelf life, and I didn’t want to waste a second. What if he came to his senses and changed his mind? I couldn’t bear the thought of losing out on millions. There was no emotion between us. We signed the papers, collected the certificate, and walked straight out, bypassing the cheesy photo-op station completely. Clutching the official document, a wave of relief washed over me. I felt revitalized, buzzing with a newfound sense of purpose. It’s amazing what a six-figure annual salary can do for your motivation. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice bright. “Your wish is my command. I am at your service.” A frown creased his handsome face. “What did you call me?” “...Hubby?” I tried. The frown softened, replaced by a flicker of satisfaction. He nodded. “Good. We’ll stick with that.” “You got it. Whatever makes you happy.” I knew I was laying it on thick, but this man was my patron, my golden goose. I’d call him Grandpa if he paid me enough. “So,” I asked, “what’s our next move?” “We move you in.” Of course. The plot demanded we cohabitate. It was a shame I’d just paid three months’ rent on my apartment that morning. Non-refundable. I felt a painful twinge in my wallet. I packed a single suitcase, traveling light, and moved directly into Carter’s sleek, modern townhouse. Most of my belongings stayed behind in my rental. My reasoning was twofold: first, I’d already paid for the place, so I might as well use it; second, if Carter ever decided to bring home his real girlfriend for a romantic evening, I’d have a place to discreetly disappear to. See? I was already a thoughtful, considerate wife. Mostly, I was just terrified he’d wake up one day, realize what he’d done, and kick me out. I needed an escape hatch. 4 Carter left on a business trip the night we got our license. For a solid week, the sprawling townhouse was mine alone, save for the housekeeper who came for a few hours each day. And every single night, I woke up. From laughing in my sleep. This was the life. It was glorious. Husband away, direct deposit hits on time, no in-laws, no kids, no drama. I couldn’t stop grinning. This was the best damn job I’d ever had. My days were a blissful cycle of binge-watching shows, scrolling through TikTok, and playing online poker with my best friend. During that week, a viral TikTok trend was making the rounds, based on some old folk tale about a woman who waited eighteen years for her husband while living in poverty. I shook my head, screenshotted it, and sent it to my group chat. “A cautionary tale, ladies. Don’t end up waiting eighteen years for a man who’s out chasing his dreams.” Carter liked the post. It was the only contact we had since we’d gotten married. It seemed we were both on the same page, two pragmatic people in a business arrangement. That settled my nerves. Though I looked like a slacker, I maintained a strict daily regimen of self-reflection. My three essential questions were: When will Carter’s mom show up to pay me off? How much will she offer? How much should I counter with? I even bookmarked articles on negotiation tactics for just such an occasion. I waited and waited. Finally, a few days later, my phone rang. It was Carter. He told me his mother was coming to visit that evening. I shot up from the couch, my heart pounding. It was happening! The mother-in-law was making her move! Before I could say anything, his voice came through the phone again. “I’ll be home tonight to meet her with you.” I immediately shut that down. “No, no, that’s not necessary! I can handle it. You’re busy with work, don’t trouble yourself.” What was he thinking? If he was there, how was I supposed to gracefully accept his mother’s buyout offer? This was my golden opportunity, and he was about to ruin it. “It’s the first time you’re meeting,” he insisted. “It’s better if I’m there.” I refused. He insisted again. I refused again. After a few rounds of this, his tone shifted, laced with a new, sharp sarcasm. “What’s the matter? Is my being there going to get in the way of you taking her money and running?” Damn it. Was he a mind reader? How did he know exactly what I was planning? “My mother isn’t going to pay you to leave me,” he said, his voice flat. “Chloe, give it up.” I wanted to scream and punch a pillow. Instead, I forced a sweet, accommodating tone. “Of course not! I was just worried about your work schedule. But if you insist, then I’ll wait for you to come home.” 5 He’d said she was coming in the evening, but Carter’s mother arrived at three in the afternoon. She caught me completely off guard. I was deep in a nap when the housekeeper woke me. I barely had time to splash water on my face and run a comb through my hair before heading downstairs. I didn’t even get a chance to text Carter. She was seated on the sofa, the picture of elegance in a chic cream-colored pantsuit. Her smile was warm. “I’ve heard so much about you from Carter. You must be the daughter-in-law I’ve yet to meet.” I perched on the edge of the cushion opposite her, my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.” “Oh, none of that ‘ma’am’ business. You’re married to my son now. You should call me Mom.” I… so that’s where Carter got his thing about titles. When she learned that Carter hadn’t been home once since the wedding, her warm expression clouded with concern. “You poor thing,” she said, her voice laced with sympathy. “You must feel so neglected.” I managed an awkward laugh and told her the honest truth. “Not at all. I’m fine, really.” Honestly, I was better than fine. I was getting paid for this. How could I possibly feel neglected? But she seemed to think I was just being brave, that I was suffering in silence. She became instantly indignant on my behalf. “I’ll have him home tonight to spend more time with you!” My eyes widened in panic. “Mom, really, there’s no need.” She wasn’t listening. She was on a roll. “What’s the point of working so hard if he leaves his new bride all alone at home? It’s disgraceful!” She stood up abruptly. “Come on! Let’s go.” I was bewildered. “Go? Go where?” “To do some damage.” 6 I thought she meant we were marching down to Carter’s office to give him a piece of her mind. Instead, she took me to Saks Fifth Avenue. “Buy whatever you want,” she declared, sweeping her arm out in a grand gesture. “My son and his father are exactly the same—married to their work. So, we’ll just have to make them pay for it. Don’t hold back.” With that, she had a sales associate pulling the latest designer collections. So this was the joy of the truly wealthy. But I hesitated at the entrance. A single t-shirt in this store cost more than my entire bank account pre-Carter. My fun money wasn’t built for this. Eleanor—I mean, Mom—saw me lingering. “Come on, Chloe! Don’t you dare try to save Carter any money!” Ma’am… Mom… the thing is, it’s not that I’m trying to save your son money. It’s that I don’t have any of your son’s money. Or his credit card. I made an excuse about needing the restroom and ducked into an alcove to frantically call Carter. “Carter, code red! SOS!” “What’s wrong?” His voice was low and calm. “Your mom dragged me to Saks.” I was practically vibrating with anxiety, but he just gave a quiet, “Mm.” Mm? Mm?! That’s all I get? An “mm”?! Just as I was about to lose it, he finally spoke again, his voice smooth and unbothered. “Buy whatever you want. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you both up for dinner.” “Right, but, uh… is this a reimbursable business expense?” I asked cautiously, terrified he’d say no. “I mean, it’s not for me, it’s for… corporate morale. You know?” A low chuckle came from his end of the line. “Yes, Chloe. It’s all reimbursable.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief. As long as it wasn’t my money, I was good. A moment after we hung up, a notification popped onto my screen. Carter Hayes sent you $50,000.00. My hand shook so badly I almost dropped my phone. A text followed. “If that’s not enough, let me know. Have to get back to my meeting.” “More than enough, thank you!” For rich people, sending fifty grand was apparently like sending fifty bucks. My God. The resentment was real. 7 Eleanor had the time of her life. The world of the wealthy is, it turns out, beautifully simple. Still, holding that much of Carter’s money made me feel a little guilty. So while I was picking out a few things for myself, I made sure to buy him a couple of nice dress shirts. Just when I thought our shopping spree was over, Eleanor made a sharp turn and strode into a high-end men’s lingerie store. I froze at the entrance. She beckoned to me. “Come on in. You can pick out a few pairs for Carter.” I… what? “Oh, I don’t think so,” I stammered, my face heating up. “We’re… not that close.” “You’re husband and wife, dear. No need to be shy.” She came over and gave me a gentle, motherly nudge. “We’ll each pick our own things. I won’t look, I promise.” With that, she propelled me into the store. Save me. This was a nightmare. Forget for a second that our relationship was purely transactional and we were nowhere near the “picking out underwear” stage. The real problem was… I had no idea what size he wore. I couldn’t possibly text him and ask, could I? ‘Hey hubby, what size underwear do you wear? Asking for a friend.’ Mortifying. But Eleanor was watching me, a determined look on her face that said I wasn’t leaving until I’d made a purchase. Left with no choice, I gritted my teeth and pretended to browse. Whatever, I thought. It doesn’t matter what size I get. I’ll just hide them when I get home so he never sees them. The second her attention was elsewhere, I snatched two boxes off a rack, threw them on the counter, and hissed at the cashier, “Just ring these up, please. Quickly.” 8 It was six o’clock by the time we left the mall. Eleanor had her driver drop me off in front of Carter’s office building. “I won’t intrude on your evening together,” she said with a wink, and then she was gone. I stood in the massive, marble-floored lobby, laden with shopping bags, unsure whether to stay or go. She had, very thoughtfully, arranged for someone to come down and escort me up to Carter. Before my escort could arrive, however, an unwelcome guest appeared. “Chloe.” That familiar voice. I turned. Oh, great. It was my ex-boyfriend, Mark. What a turd. We’d had an office romance. My pervy ex-boss had tried to use his position to get handsy with me. When I told Mark about it, his first reaction was to tell me to just let it go and pretend it never happened. “I’m up for a promotion this month,” he’d said, his face a mask of anxiety for his own career. “If you make a scene, it could look bad for both of us.” There wasn’t a shred of anger on my behalf. Only concern for his future. I just smiled, said nothing, and ate the piece of steak I’d been about to offer him. Go to hell, I thought. I broke up with him on the drive home and quit my job the next day. He was probably here trying to land a deal with Carter’s company. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “None of your business.” I had no interest in talking to him. I turned to leave. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I got the promotion.” “So? And you are…?” I started, then switched back to English. “What does that have to do with me?” “I know you were hurt by what happened,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But I’m a manager now. I can support you even if you don’t work. We should get back together.” The earnest look on his face just made me feel sick. “Mark, I’m expensive. That thousand-dollar raise you got isn’t going to cut it.” “Chloe, you never used to be so materialistic,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist. His eyes fell to the designer shopping bags. “Where did you get the money for all this?” This was absurdity on a whole new level. He was lecturing me about materialism over a thousand-dollar raise. “Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away. Just as I was wondering how to get out of this, my savior arrived. 9 “Chloe. Over here.” Carter was standing a few feet away. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. His gaze was fixed on Mark’s hand, and his expression was thunderous. I yanked my arm free and practically ran to Carter’s side, a brilliant smile plastered on my face. “Carter! There you are!” “Mm,” was all he said, his face an unreadable mask. “Well, shall we go?” Carter reached for the bags, but I swatted his hand away. “No, no, I’ve got them!” I knew my place. The moneybags doesn’t carry the bags. But my refusal only seemed to make him angrier. His face darkened, and he started walking toward the exit at a brisk pace. I had to half-jog to keep up with him. It wasn’t until we were in the car that he finally spoke. “Who was that?” “My ex,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. “It’s completely over. We just ran into each other by chance.” At that, the tension in his jaw seemed to ease slightly. If I didn’t know our marriage was a contract, I would have thought he was jealous. But I have a mischievous streak. His reaction was too good not to poke at. “Mr. Hayes, are you jealous?” I teased. “I thought we agreed on ‘separate lives.’” “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just asking.” I knew it. He started the car, changing the subject. “What do you want to eat?” “Whatever’s fine.” Half an hour later, Carter pulled up in front of a tiny, unassuming restaurant. “So, what are we having?” Without even looking at me, he said, “Dumplings.” I… okay. 10 The car rolled to a stop in the driveway of the townhouse. I wrestled the mountain of shopping bags out of the back seat, ready to say my goodbyes. “Thanks for the ride home.” As the words left my mouth, Carter opened his door and got out. “Chloe,” he said, his tone flat. “This is my home, too.” I was a little surprised. “You’re staying here tonight?” He shoved a hand in his pocket and stared at me. “You seem disappointed.” He saw right through me. I forced a laugh. “What? No! Of course I want you to come home more often.” “Good. Because starting today, I’ll be staying here every night.” In other words: your freewheeling, solo vacation is over. I could have kicked myself. Why did I have to open my big mouth? But Carter was the owner of this house and, technically, my husband. I had no grounds to object. Defeated, I handed him the bag with the shirts I’d bought for him. “You bought these for me?” “Yeah. See if they fit.” He sat down on the sofa and started looking through the bag. He pulled out one of the small boxes and examined it. “Ahem,” I coughed. “Too small.” I was still sulking about my lost freedom and wasn’t really paying attention. I retorted automatically, “How would you know? you haven’t even tried it on!” I glanced over. In his hands was one of the boxes of underwear I’d grabbed in a panic. Oh, crap. Because I never intended for him to wear them, I hadn’t even looked at the size. In my haste at the store, I’d just tossed the boxes into the same bag as the shirts, thinking I’d hide them later. His sudden announcement about moving in had completely thrown me off my game. My face burned. I snatched the box from his hand and hid it behind my back, trying to salvage the situation. “That’s not for you.” “Not for me? Then who is it for?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Your ex-boyfriend?” He glanced at the box behind my back, a single eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. “He’s… that small?” “You—you—!” I was so flustered I could barely speak. “You’re shameless!” A slow smile spread across his face. “Size XXL,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “Remember that for next time.” He was provoking me! And I was not about to lose. If he wanted to play games, fine. “Why?” I shot back. “You need a two-bedroom apartment for that thing?” Carter leaned in close, his lips curving into a smirk, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Not convinced? You could always check for yourself.”"
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