My boss paid me to be her husband for a year.
The problem is, the sham marriage wasn’t even a sham anymore.
When she said I had to play her husband for a year, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
“Do we have to sleep in the same bed?”
Yes. I actually asked that question to the woman everyone at our company was afraid of.
My name is Adam Bennett. I’m 28. I’m from a small town in Texas, and for the last five years I’ve been trying to survive in Denver. I work as a junior copywriter—it sounds nice, but in reality, I write advertising copy that people skim over without a second thought.
Drab office. Drab cubicle. Cheap coffee.
A rented one-room apartment with peeling walls.
Noisy neighbors. No money.
My father died of cancer. Debts remain. I sent my mother everything I could, and I was still tens of thousands in the red. A couple of weeks before the “offer,” an eviction notice was slapped under my door. Three months’ debt. End of conversation.
That Monday, I expected to be fired. Instead, I received a letter:
“Come see me. 9:00.”
Luna Sterling. Vice President. The owner’s daughter. Cold, precise, frighteningly calm.
She didn’t yell. She simply placed a folder in front of me.
Inside was my entire life: debts, bills, credit cards, even a copy of the eviction notice.
“You’re at rock bottom, Adam,” she said evenly. “And I can change that.”
“For what?”
“For marriage.”
It turns out, according to the terms of the family trust, she has to be married for a year, or the company goes to her brother. And her brother is quite the predator.
The terms were simple and heartless:
• a sham marriage
• a life together
• a perfect picture
• no feelings
In exchange—settlement of debts and money for a new life.
I agreed. Because pride doesn’t pay the bills.
We lived together, but separately. We played the part perfectly.
She—an iron lady.
I—a calm, reliable husband.
The problem began when we stopped playing.
I saw her not in a suit, but tired.
She saw me not as a “project,” but as a person.
And one day, the line disappeared.
Her brother was watching us. Cameras. Documents. Low blows.
He wanted to prove it was all fake.
And here’s the irony:
he caught the exact moment when it all became real.
At the board meeting, he laid everything out. The contract. The video. My past.
I thought it was the end.
But Luna stood up and told the truth. All of it.
And then I said mine.
Not for the money. Not for the contract.
Because I loved her.
She didn’t lose her company that day.
And I stopped being a “temporary” person.
The contract ended.
The marriage didn’t.
Sometimes the most false deals lead to the most genuine feelings.
