“Well, Miley, I gotta say, this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“So, is that a yes?”
He studied me for a moment, that same spark in his eyes returning. “You know what? Why the hell not. You’ve got yourself a deal, future wife.”
And just like that, my life changed in a way I never could have imagined.
I took Stan shopping for clothes, got him cleaned up at a salon, and discovered that beneath all the grime was a surprisingly handsome man.
Three days later, I introduced him to my parents as my secret fiancé. To say they were shocked would be an understatement.
“Miley!” my mom exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Oh, you know, I wanted to make sure it was serious before I said anything,” I lied. “But Stan and I are so in love, aren’t we, honey?”
Stan played his part perfectly, charming my parents with stories of our whirlwind romance.
A month later, we were married.
I made sure to sign a solid prenup, just in case my plan backfired. But to my surprise, living with Stan wasn’t bad at all.
He was funny, intelligent, and always willing to help around the house. We settled into an easy rhythm—like roommates who occasionally had to pretend to be deeply in love.
Still, one thing bothered me.
Whenever I asked about his past or how he ended up on the streets, he would shut down. His eyes would darken, and he’d quickly change the subject. It was a mystery that both intrigued and frustrated me.
Then came the day everything changed.
It started like any normal day when I came home from work. As I walked in, I noticed a trail of rose petals leading into the living room.
What I saw there left me speechless. The room was filled with roses, and a large heart made of petals covered the floor.
And in the middle of it all stood Stan.
But not the Stan I knew. Gone were the jeans and T-shirts I had given him.
Instead, he wore a sharp black tuxedo that looked more expensive than my monthly rent. In his hand was a small velvet box.
“Stan?” I said, barely able to speak. “What’s going on?”
He smiled, and my heart skipped.
