Honestly, I was a completely spoiled kid with rich parents. The only things I cared about were my inheritance, money, and my share of the business. So when my parents, tired of my bachelor lifestyle, made it a condition that I marry to inherit Dad’s business as he planned to retire, I was furious.
To spite them, I planned to find a farm girl and marry her — no love involved — just to annoy them.
I met Mary, and she seemed perfect for the role. My parents were shocked when they found out where she was from and demanded I change my mind, but I stood firm.
However, last week, we were all at a charity ball, including Mary. The mayor came over to greet us, and I expected him to ignore Mary completely, but instead, his face lit up, and he stepped forward, taking her hand with enthusiasm and bowing.
“Miss Hollander! It’s an honor, truly.”
I blinked. Hollander? I’d never even asked for her last name.
My mother’s face froze, her smile tight. “You two know each other?”
Mary smiled politely, that usual calm ease in her voice. “We’ve met a few times. My family supplies produce for several of the city’s fine-dining restaurants.”
The mayor chuckled. “Not just that. Her family’s estate practically feeds half the county. Her father’s a legend in agricultural circles.”
My jaw clenched. Wait…estate? Legend? This wasn’t the dirt-under-the-nails image I had sold to my parents.
Later that night, back at our apartment, I asked her directly.
“You never told me you came from money.”
She tilted her head. “You never asked.”
That was the first twist. The second came two days later when my dad called me in for a “business chat.” He offered me a seat across from him and got right to the point.
“Your wife… she’s got more business sense than you ever had.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He handed me a file. “She met with our logistics manager. Spotted inefficiencies we hadn’t seen in years. Suggested a distribution partnership with her family’s company. It would save us 18% annually.”
I stared at him. My father, the man who once scoffed at “small-town girls,” was praising her like she was royalty.
That night I asked Mary, “What are you doing?”
She gave me this small, knowing smile. “You married me to prove a point. But I don’t play games for revenge. I play to win.”
I didn’t know how to feel. She wasn’t the simple pawn I’d imagined. She wasn’t naive or in awe of our world. She was already a part of it — maybe more than I was.
Days turned into weeks, and I found myself… admiring her. She handled meetings better than I did, she remembered details about people, made deals with empathy and precision. She didn’t just understand business — she understood people.
One night, we had this long, quiet dinner on our balcony. No games, no tension.
“I should’ve told you,” she said, breaking the silence. “But I wanted to see what kind of man you really were, too. You picked me thinking you were in control. I agreed thinking I might change your mind.”
I looked at her, truly saw her for the first time.
“So… what’s your verdict?”
She smiled. “You’re not as hollow as you pretend to be.”
I laughed. For the first time in a while, it felt real. No posturing, no proving. Just two people, stripped of the act.
Over the next few months, our marriage… shifted. Slowly. We started talking more, working together. She challenged me, pushed me, even embarrassed me in meetings — but only to help me grow.
And I did grow. Not just in business. I stopped caring about impressing my parents. I stopped playing the role of the spoiled son. Mary didn’t just help me keep the business. She helped me deserve it.
Funny how the person I chose to spite everyone ended up being the one person who finally got through to me.
Now, two years later, we’re still married. Not for business. Not for inheritance. For each other.
And the farm girl I married to make a point? Turns out, she’s been making better points all along.
Never underestimate someone based on where they come from. And never assume you’re the smartest person in the room — because love, humility, and growth will humble you faster than pride ever will.