On our wedding night, seeing my husband “down there,” I trembled and understood why my husband’s family gave me a lakeside villa worth approximately 1 million dollars to marry a poor girl like me.

On our wedding night, seeing my husband “down there,” I trembled and understood why my husband’s family gave me a lakeside villa worth approximately 1 million dollars to marry a poor girl like me.

On our wedding night, seeing my husband “down there,” I trembled and understood why my husband’s family gave me a lakeside villa worth approximately $1 million to marry a poor girl like me…
My name is Lily, I’m 26 years old, and I grew up in a poor family in sunny and windy West Texas. My father died early, my mother was sick, and I had to drop out of school in 10th grade to work as a contract worker. After many years of struggling, I finally got a job as a maid for one of the wealthiest families in San Francisco: the Whitmore family in Pacific Heights.

My husband, Michael Whitmore, is the only son in that family. He’s handsome, polite, and quiet, but there’s always an invisible distance around him. I worked there for almost three years, getting used to bowing my head in silence, not daring to think I could enter his world. But one day, Eleanor Whitmore (Michael’s mother) called me into the living room, placed the marriage certificate in front of me, and promised:
“Lily, if you agree to marry Michael, the lake house in Lake Tahoe will be in your name. It’s a wedding gift from the family.”

I was stunned. How could a servant like me compare to her beloved son? I thought she was joking, but her eyes were very serious. I didn’t understand why they chose me; I only knew that my mother was seriously ill and the monthly medical expenses were an unimaginable burden. My mind told me to refuse, but my weak heart, and my concern for my mother, made me nod.

The wedding was luxurious beyond imagination at The Fairmont San Francisco. I was wearing a white dress, sitting next to Michael, still thinking I was dreaming. But the way he looked at me was cold and distant, as if he were guarding a secret I hadn’t yet touched.

On our wedding night, the room was filled with flowers. Michael wore a white shirt, his face like a sculpture, but his eyes were sad and peaceful. When he approached, my whole body trembled. And in that moment, the harsh truth was revealed.

Michael wasn’t like other ordinary men. He had a congenital defect that prevented him from fully fulfilling the role of husband. Suddenly, everything became clear: why he was given a villa; why a poor servant was allowed into a wealthy family—not because I was special, but because they needed a “nominal wife” for Michael.

Tears sprang to my eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was self-pity or self-pity. Michael sat silently and said, “I’m sorry, Lily. You don’t deserve this. I know you’ve sacrificed a lot, but my mom… She needs me to have a family to feel safe. I can’t go against her will.”

In the yellow light, I saw his eyes were moist. It turned out the cold man was also in deep pain. He was no different from me, both victims of fate.

The following days, our lives were strange. There was no sweetness between the couples, only respect and sharing. Michael was very kind: he invited me in the morning, took me for a walk around Lake Tahoe in the afternoon, and we had dinner together in the evening. He didn’t see me as the servant I usually was, but as a partner. That was what made me uncomfortable: my heart was moved, and my mind reminded me that this marriage wouldn’t be “complete” by the usual definition.

CONTINUE READING ON THE NEXT PAGE 🥰💕

Leave a Comment