I Married My Biggest Fan

Five years in the entertainment industry, and I still hadn't made a name for myself. I had no choice but to accept my family's arrangement: marriage to a stranger.

On our wedding day, she didn't even show up. She just called and laid down three rules.

My heart belongs to someone else. Don't waste your efforts on me.

"If you have someone you like, feel free to pursue them. I won't interfere."

"This is a transaction. We'll divorce in a year. Don't renege and refuse to sign the papers then."

She hung up, and I stood in front of the study, stunnedthe room was filled with all sorts of merchandise featuring me.

I'd adopted a new name and bravely launched myself into the entertainment world five years ago. Despite my familys considerable investment, my naturally delicate constitution meant I never quite caught on. So, I reluctantly surrendered to my parents' demands, agreeing to the prearranged marriage.

My fiance was Sally Thorne, the aloof, self-possessed, and fiercely capable eldest daughter of the Thorne family. My friends told me she possessed an alluring beauty, a modern-day siren who easily lulled people into believing she was gentle and easygoing. In reality, she was said to be cold-blooded, harsh, and utterly ruthless, with eyes only for profit.

My friend's voice grew sympathetic as he recounted this. "Leo, everyone feels for you. To be married off to such a cold-hearted person. Who knows what hardships you'll endure."

I clenched my phone, silent for a long moment, then let out a helpless, bitter laugh. After hanging up, I went into the backend of my social media account and posted the retirement announcement I'd drafted long ago.

Though I was merely a C-list celebrity, I still had a few die-hard fans. The moment my retirement announcement went live, those familiar IDs flooded my inbox. Among the dense stream of messages, the username "S" stood out.

This person was intimately familiar to me. For the past five years, whenever I posted an update, she was always the first to like and comment, a true fan. Because she used exceptionally high-quality equipment, her fan art was always stunningly high-definition. She also poured vast sums of money into supporting me, so other fans affectionately called her "Sally Sister."

Clicking into her profile, the pinned posts were a compilation of my video edits and the hand gesture dances she learned from me. Though she never showed her face, every movement was so earnest it bordered on clumsy. Yet, what truly made her memorable were her messages. No lavish praises, no exaggerated declarations, just a simple, almost stubborn, recurring phrase: "Hope you're happy every day."

But today, she broke her routine. The dense text in the dialogue box described how she stumbled upon my videos during her darkest days. She wrote about how a casual remark of mine helped her through a sleepless night. She described how her fingers would tremble with excitement whenever I updated.

Finally, she seemed to exhaust all her strength, saying with restraint and sincerity: "I'm sorry, I might be presumptuous. But I still want to tell you, you are a beacon of light for me, a lifeline, the source of my motivation to live. In these five years since I found you, I've been incredibly happy every day. Leo, you are someone as important to me as life itself."

I stared at the screen, spotting several typos. She must have been typing frantically, her fingers trembling slightly, eventually even struggling to press the keyboard steadily. I finished reading her heartfelt essay, my eyes welling up. Ultimately, I responded to her with equal sincerity. "Thank you for your support and affection over the past five years. I hope you're happy every day. Perhaps we'll meet again."

After replying to all the private messages, I took a deep breath, fighting back my reluctance, and prepared to deactivate my account. But then I suddenly saw my fiance's name trending at number one:

#SallyThorneCryingInCar#

Curiously, I clicked on the hashtag, and a ten-second video automatically played. The dim streetlights illuminated Sally's flawless profile. Her long lashes were lowered, her shoulders trembled slightly, and tear streaks were clearly visible on her face. Her entire being exuded a fragile desperation, as if on the verge of breaking.

The comment section exploded.

"OMG, it's actually Queen Sally crying! The sun must have risen in the west today..."

"LOL, I thought her car was haunted by that ghostly sound."

"Terrifying, terrifying. Whatever you are, get off our CEO Sally immediately..."

"So what could possibly make this cold-blooded demon queen shed tears?"

As soon as that question was posed, people quickly began speculating about the reason for Sally's tears. Some said it was because she was deeply unhappy about the forced marriage, others that she was overwhelmed by her busy work schedule. But no matter the reason, I wasn't particularly interested. I casually scanned a few comments, then went to discuss post-retirement matters with my agent.

It was two in the morning. I dragged my exhausted body home. The moment I opened my phone, I saw the woman from the trending topic in my friend requests. The verification message simply said: "Sally."

I hesitated for two seconds, then clicked on her profile. Sally's avatar was completely black, her signature blank, and her username was just "S." Everything about it radiated an aura of "keep your distance."

I rubbed my throbbing temples and reluctantly accepted.

Sally quickly sent a voice message, her tone cold and detached, as if dealing with an inescapable nuisance, merely maintaining basic politeness: [Mr. Imrie, hello, I am your fiance, Sally Thorne.]

I wasn't comfortable with voice messages, so I typed: [Hello.]

Sally had no interest in small talk, cutting straight to the point: [I already have someone I like, and I will only ever like him. So, after we're married, you don't need to waste your time on me.]

[Our marriage is a transaction. I don't mind an open marriage. You're free to pursue anyone you like; I won't interfere. Similarly, you must not interfere in my affairs.]

[Mr. Imrie, I heard from your father that you have a first love abroad whom you're very fond of. I frequently travel internationally for business, and by chance, I often go to the city where your first love resides. I wouldn't mind taking you along to create an opportunity for you two to meet.]

I was stunned, asking in disbelief: [Are you saying you can cover for me so I can see my first love?]

Sally: [Yes, that's what I mean. After all, I don't want you clinging to me. It's best if you have someone you like; I'd feel more at ease.]

[... ] I was speechless for a moment. [Go on, what else?]

Sally: [Also, I hope you always remember that our marriage will only last one year. After a year, we'll get a divorce. Don't you dare cry and make a scene, refusing to sign the papers then; it would be a huge embarrassment for both our families.]

I: [Alright, you can rest assured, I won't.]

Sally immediately let out a huge sigh of relief at my assurance: [Oh, and Mr. Imrie. I think we don't need to hold a wedding ceremony, and of course, no marital bedroom duties. We also don't need to publicly announce our marriage. I don't want too many people to know; it's better for both of us.]

I had no objections and agreed. Sally delivered this string of demands, then fell silent for a long time, likely concerned she had overlooked something. After a full fifteen minutes, she finally confirmed everything and sent a final message.

[That's all for now. I apologize, Mr. Imrie, but you know I'm a businesswoman, and businesspeople don't believe in verbal agreements. So, to prevent any future regrets, I'd like to draft a contract for us to sign, if that's alright? The contract content, besides property division, will include everything we just discussed. For example, the marriage lasting only one year, no marital duties, and me covering for you to meet your first love, and so on. Mr. Imrie, is that acceptable?]

Of course, I had no objections: [Okay, Miss Thorne, draft the contract and send it to me.]

Sally was satisfied: [I'll have the contract drafted and sent to you first thing tomorrow morning.]

I thought for a moment, then asked: [By the way, Miss Thorne, should we meet before getting our marriage license?]

Sally refused very directly: [There's no need. It's a waste of time, and there's nothing for us to meet about. We'll see each other when we get the license in three days.]

Just what I wanted, I nodded repeatedly: [Alright, alright.]

Sally was very worried I would back out, so she was incredibly efficient in drafting the contract. By four o'clock, she had already sent me the digital version. However, what I didn't expect was that the very next morning, around six o'clock, she personally delivered a dozen-page hard copy of the contract to my house.

While my dad was making polite conversation with her in the living room, my mom dug me out of bed and shoved me into the bathroom to get ready. Toothbrush in mouth, I hid in the second-floor hallway, observing Sally sitting in the living room.

Just as my friend had described to me over the phone, Sally sat primly on the leather sofa, her long legs crossed. Her custom-made dress perfectly accentuated her elegant figure. It was an utterly ordinary posture, yet her exceptionally refined bone structure and appearance imbued it with an inexplicable, almost ascetic, sexiness. No wonder my dad said Sally was his carefully selected, most excellent, and ideal match for my arranged marriage.

However, my eyes immediately caught sight of the blue bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve. Blue was my fan support color, so I could always spot blue among a jumble of colors. But Sally, with such a commanding presence, liking to wear a small blue hair tie? Quite amusing.

When my dad chatted with Sally, he kept glancing in my direction, subtle yet persistent. But Sally remained as still as an old monk in meditation, her eyelashes not even fluttering. She merely watched my dad's performance with a faint, indifferent expression. She was demonstrating through her actions that she had zero interest in me, her fianc whom she had never even met, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air.

My dad gritted his teeth, then just laid it out. "Sally, why don't you stay for breakfast? Leo's home too, you two can meet and get acquainted."

"No need." Sally's voice was clear and cool, tinged with detachment and indifference. "Mr. Imrie, no need to meet. After all, there'll be plenty of forced time together later; it'll be hard not to see each other, won't it?"

My dad tried to say something else, but Sally coldly cut him off. "Alright, Mr. Imrie, I'll take my leave now." With that, she simply turned and walked away.

The moment I stepped into the living room, fully dressed, Sally was just walking out, closing the door behind her. She never once looked up in my direction. It was as if she had "not interested" tattooed on the back of her head.