My Contract Husband is My Biggest Fan
My fiancé, as it were, already hated me. He didn’t show up for the wedding ceremony our families had arranged, but he did call me afterward to lay down the law.
His voice was a cold, distant baritone over the phone. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m in love with someone else, so don’t waste your time on me.”
A beat of silence. “You’re free to see whoever you want. I won’t interfere.”
And the final blow: “This is a business arrangement. We’ll get a divorce in one year. Be prepared for that, and please don’t make a scene when it’s time to sign the papers.”
He hung up without waiting for a response.
I stood there, phone in hand, just outside the door to his study, lost in thought. Funny, because from where I was standing, I could see that his study was a shrine dedicated entirely to me.
1
My name is Maya, but for five years, I tried to make the world know me as Evie. I poured my soul into my music, my parents poured money into my career, but I never caught fire. My brand of indie pop was always described as "having a chilly reception." The irony wasn't lost on me.
So, I had to swallow my pride and honor the deal I’d made with my parents: if I couldn't make it on my own, I would come home and secure our family's future through a strategic marriage.
My designated husband was Caleb Vaughn, the eldest son of the Vaughn dynasty, known for his ruthless efficiency and ice-cold demeanor.
My best friend, Chloe, had given me the rundown.
“He has the kind of face that could charm a saint into sinning, Maya. Seriously, he could be the poster boy for 'dangerously handsome.' You look at him and think he’s this refined, gentle soul.”
Her voice had dropped, laced with pity. “But it’s a mask. Underneath, he’s a shark. He only cares about the bottom line. No heart, no soul, just profit margins.” She sighed. “Everyone feels so bad for you. Being married to a man like that… it’s going to be a cold, lonely life.”
I clutched my phone, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. There was nothing left to say.
After hanging up, I opened my social media for the last time. I navigated to my drafts, where a farewell message had been sitting for weeks. With a deep breath, I hit ‘post.’
2
I was never a superstar, but I had a small, fiercely loyal fanbase. The moment my retirement announcement went live, my DMs exploded.
A few familiar usernames scrolled past, but one stood out, as it always did: a simple, bold ‘C’.
I knew him well. For the past five years, he was the constant in my career. The first to like, the first to comment on every single post. He was my most devoted fan. His camera equipment was clearly top-of-the-line; the photos he took at my small gigs were always breathtakingly crisp and professional. He’d poured an insane amount of money into fan projects and charity drives in my name, earning the affectionate nickname "Captain C" from the other fans.
His profile page was a testament to his dedication. Pinned at the top was a video montage of my performances he’d edited, followed by a clip of him—never showing his face—meticulously copying a piece of choreography from one of my music videos. You could see the intense focus in his movements, an earnestness that bordered on clumsy.
But the thing I remembered most about him were his comments. He never wrote flowery compliments or over-the-top declarations of love. It was always the same simple, almost stubborn phrase:
“I hope you’re happy today.”
Today, however, he broke his own rule.
His message was a wall of text, a torrent of words filled with typos, as if he’d typed it in a frantic rush.
He wrote about stumbling upon one of my videos during the darkest period of his life. How a throwaway line in an old interview had helped him get through a sleepless night. How his fingers would tremble with excitement every time I posted something new.
His final words felt like they were torn from his very soul, restrained yet profoundly sincere.
“I’m sorry, I know this is forward. But I have to tell you. You were a light for me. A lifeline. You became my reason to keep going. Getting to know your music these past five years has brought me so much joy. Evie, you are more important to me than you can ever imagine. You’re like… life itself.”
I stared at the screen, noticing the jumbled letters and repeated words. He must have been typing through tears, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hit the right keys.
My own eyes burned as I finished reading his heartfelt essay. I took a moment to compose myself, then typed a careful, genuine reply.
“Thank you for five years of incredible support and kindness. I hope you’ll be happy every day, too. Maybe we’ll cross paths again someday.”
3
After replying to every last message, I took a deep, shaky breath, steeling myself against the ache in my chest. It was time to delete the account, to close that chapter for good.
But just as my finger hovered over the button, a notification banner flashed across my screen. A trending topic. And my new husband’s name was at the top of the list.
#CalebVaughnCrying
Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped the hashtag, and a ten-second video immediately started playing.
The dim, golden light of a streetlamp illuminated Caleb Vaughn’s sharp profile as he sat in the driver's seat of a car. His long eyelashes were cast downward, his shoulders trembling slightly. A tear track was clearly visible on his cheek. He radiated a sense of brokenness, a despair so profound it felt like it could shatter glass.
The comment section was a wildfire.
“Whoa, is that the Ice King himself, Caleb Vaughn, actually crying? Did hell freeze over?”
“LMAO for a second I thought his car was haunted.”
“Whatever cosmic entity is possessing Caleb Vaughn, please vacate the premises immediately. This is creeping me out.”
“Okay, but for real… what on earth could make this man cry?”
That last question sent everyone into a frenzy of speculation. Some guessed it was the stress of the forced marriage. Others thought it was a simple work-related breakdown.
Whatever the reason, I found I didn't much care. I gave the screen a cursory glance and put my phone away, turning my attention to the logistics of untangling my life from my career.
4
It was two in the morning when I finally dragged my exhausted body home. The moment I unlocked my phone, a friend request popped up. The man from the trending topic.
The request was simple, no message, just a name: Caleb Vaughn.
I hesitated for a second, then tapped on his profile. His avatar was a black void. His bio was blank. His username was a single letter: Z. Everything about it screamed stay away.
Massaging my throbbing temples, I sighed and hit ‘accept.’
A voice message came through almost instantly. His tone was cold and detached, the kind you use for a problem you can’t get rid of but are forced to deal with politely.
[Miss Miller, hello. This is Caleb Vaughn, your fiancé.]
I hated voice messages, so I typed my reply: [Hello.]
Caleb was clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. He got straight to the point.
[I’m in love with someone else. I will only ever love her. So, after we are married, I don’t want you to waste any of your time or energy on me.]
[This is a business arrangement, nothing more. I have no issue with an open marriage. You are free to pursue anyone you like, and I will not interfere. Likewise, you will not interfere in my life.]
[Maya, your father mentioned you have an ex you were very much in love with, who is now living abroad. I travel internationally for work quite often. I would have no problem with you joining me on a trip to create an opportunity for you two to meet.]
I froze, reading the message again. [Are you saying you’d give me cover to go see my ex?]
His reply was immediate.
[Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.]
[Frankly, I have no desire to be entangled with you. It would be a relief to me if you had someone else to occupy your attention.]
[…]
I didn't know what to say to that. [Okay. Is there anything else?]
[Yes. I want you to remember that this marriage will last for one year. Exactly.]
[After one year, we will file for divorce. I expect you to handle it professionally. No tears, no drama. That would be embarrassing for both of our families.]
I typed back quickly: [Fine. You don't have to worry about that.]
I could almost hear the sigh of relief through the phone.
[One more thing, Miss Miller.]
[I see no need for a public ceremony, nor will there be any… marital obligations. We should also keep the marriage itself private. The fewer people who know, the better. It’s for the best for both of us.]
I had no objections. It all sounded perfectly fine to me.
He went silent for a long time after that. I imagined him running through a mental checklist, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Fifteen full minutes passed before a final message came through.
[That should cover everything for now.]
[Forgive me, Miss Miller, but I am a businessman. I don’t trust verbal agreements.]
[To prevent any potential change of heart on your part, I would like to draw up a contract for us to sign. Would that be acceptable?]
[The contract will cover everything we’ve discussed, including asset division. One-year term, no marital obligations, my assistance in arranging a meeting with your ex, and so on.]
[Is this agreeable to you?]
Of course it was. [Yes, Mr. Vaughn. Draft the contract and send it over.]
He seemed satisfied. [I’ll have it ready for you by morning.]
I thought for a moment, then typed: [By the way, Mr. Vaughn, should we meet in person before we sign the papers?]
His refusal was swift and absolute.
[That’s not necessary. It would be a waste of time. There’s nothing for us to discuss. We’ll see each other at City Hall in three days.]
That suited me just fine. [Perfect.]
5
Caleb was clearly terrified I would back out, because the contract arrived in my inbox with remarkable speed. By 4:00 AM, a digital copy was waiting for me.
What I didn’t expect was for him to show up at my parents’ house at six o’clock that same morning with a hard copy, a thick stack of pages bound and ready.
My mother yanked me out of bed and shoved me toward the bathroom while my father made polite conversation with Caleb in the living room downstairs.
With a toothbrush hanging from my mouth, I crept to the landing on the second floor and peered down at him.
He was just as Chloe had described. He sat on the leather sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, his impeccably tailored black suit accentuating his lean, powerful frame. It was a simple posture, but on him, with his striking features and aristocratic bone structure, it exuded a kind of forbidden, magnetic allure. I could see why my father had been so adamant that Caleb was the "perfect, top-tier match" for me.
Then my eyes caught something. Peeking out from under the cuff of his expensive suit was a thin, rose gold bracelet.
Rose gold was my color—the signature color my fans had adopted for me. I could spot it a mile away.
Did this top-tier, alpha-male CEO have a secret penchant for delicate, pinkish accessories? How… unexpected.
6
As my dad chatted with Caleb, he kept shooting subtle glances in my direction. But Caleb was like a statue, his gaze fixed on my father, his expression unreadable. Not even an eyelash flickered. He was making it painfully, abundantly clear that he had zero interest in his unseen, unheard-of fiancée.
My dad, bless his heart, finally decided to force the issue. “Caleb, why don’t you stay for breakfast? Maya’s home, it would be a good chance for you two to get acquainted.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Caleb’s voice was deep and smooth, yet utterly devoid of warmth. “No need to rush it, Mr. Miller. We’ll be seeing plenty of each other soon enough. It will be difficult to avoid, won’t it?”
Before my dad could argue, Caleb cut him off coolly. “I should be going, sir.”
He stood and turned to leave. At that exact moment, I finished getting ready and stepped into the living room.
Caleb was just stepping out, pulling the front door closed behind him.
He never once looked in my direction. He might as well have had the words “NOT INTERESTED” tattooed on the back of his head.
7
The moment he was out the door, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
[Miss Miller, I’ve left the sealed contract with your father. Please review and sign it. My assistant will be by to pick it up later.]
I sat down and read through the entire document carefully. In addition to everything we’d discussed, the final section had a clause that made my eyes widen.
All profits and assets gained as a result of our alliance would be split 60/40. Sixty percent to me, forty to him. Furthermore, upon the dissolution of our marriage, I would receive a substantial lump sum payment.
The total amount was staggering. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life, never having to work again. I counted the zeros twice.
Suddenly, my apprehension about this marriage morphed into a different kind of anxiety—the kind that comes with being handed a fortune.
I typed out a message, my fingers fumbling.
[Mr. Vaughn, I noticed there aren’t any clauses in the contract regarding you and the woman you’re in love with.]
[Did you forget?]
It was a genuine question, but his reply was sharp with suspicion and impatience.
[Miss Miller, you don’t need to test me.]
[I am aware that women are often at a disadvantage in marital arrangements. I have no intention of doing anything that would cause you public embarrassment during the term of our marriage.]
I paused, picturing him on the other end, frowning at his phone. I could almost hear him muttering, “Damn it, why is she prying into my business?” before composing a more diplomatic response.
[Furthermore, I would never ask her to be the other woman. Not even in name.]
He paused, and when he continued, his tone had softened, a clear shift brought on by the thought of her.
[I will wait until my marriage to you is officially and completely over. Then, and only then, will I pursue her properly. I’ll tell her how I feel, and I’ll ask her to be with me.]
[Of course, that’s all contingent on her not despising me and not being in love with someone else by then.]
I’ll be damned. The ruthless CEO was a hopeless romantic.
After another moment, he added:
[By the way, please send me your passport number.]
I immediately tensed up. [What for?]
[The day after we register the marriage, I have a business trip. To the same city where your ex lives. I assume you still want to see him?]
[I’ll book your ticket along with mine. As per our agreement, I’ll provide you with cover. We’ll tell our families we’re on our honeymoon.]
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
He must have sensed my reluctance, because his tone became persuasive, almost coaxing.
[Miss Miller, this is a golden opportunity.]
[It’s unlikely our schedules will align this perfectly again. You should think carefully.]
[If you miss this chance, who knows when the next one will be.]
I was still wavering. After our breakup, I had blocked him on everything.
[Your father mentioned the breakup was… unpleasant,] Caleb typed. [I happen to have a friend who is an expert in relationships, he specializes in helping estranged couples reconcile.]
[I can bring him along. I’m certain he can help you two patch things up.]
His persistence was starting to win me over. At the very least, it would be a free trip.
I finally sent him my passport number. [Alright… thank you. I appreciate it.]
[You’re welcome.]
His mood instantly brightened. Even his texting style felt lighter. He really, really didn't want me getting attached to him.
8
The plan was for Caleb’s assistant to pick up the signed contract, but late that evening, he sent me another message.
[Miss Miller, I’ve been pulled into a last-minute meeting. My assistant is tied up. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to drop the contract off at my house.]
[And I’d prefer if you brought it yourself. I don’t trust couriers. The sooner this is signed and settled, the better for both of us.]
He wasn't wrong. He was afraid I’d back out; I was afraid he’d secretly change the numbers.
I glanced outside at the torrential downpour and sighed. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself out of bed.
Thankfully, he lived just a few blocks away, a short ten-minute walk.
Standing outside his house, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The layout of the front porch, the specific type of planters… it all felt incredibly familiar.
I punched in the code he’d given me and the door clicked open. The houses in this neighborhood all had similar floor plans, so I easily found what I assumed was his study.
But I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the door. It was a glaring, out-of-place bubblegum pink. The rest of his house was a symphony of cold, minimalist design—cool white walls, black furniture, even black curtains. This one door was a splash of defiant color in a monochrome world.
With a furrowed brow, I pushed it open.
The first thing I saw was a massive, life-sized poster. My breath caught in my throat.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
The person on the poster was me. It was from a photoshoot I did in my second year as Evie. I’d completely forgotten it existed.
But it wasn’t just the poster. The room was filled. Photo cards, keychains, magazine spreads, merchandise from every brand I’d ever endorsed. There was even a cup holder from a bubble tea chain I’d been the face of for a summer.
Every single item was meticulously labeled with a date. There were at least a dozen boxes of this memorabilia, all arranged with the care of a museum curator. Each piece was preserved as if it were a priceless treasure.
9
I rubbed my eyes, hard, convinced I was hallucinating. I wasn't.
And the setup of his desk, the specific angle… it looked identical to the background in ‘C’s’ videos. I pulled out my phone, comparing a screenshot to the room around me.
The conclusion was staggering, undeniable.
Caleb Vaughn—the cold, ruthless, contract-obsessed CEO—was my hardcore, devoted, anonymous fan, ‘C.’
Before I could even process this earth-shattering revelation, my phone buzzed again. A new message from him.
“Miss Miller, I forgot to specify. The study I need you to leave the contract in is on the second floor, not the first.”
My face flushed. [Sorry. I already put it in the first-floor study.]
His reply was instant, tinged with panic.
[?]
[In that case, please leave immediately after dropping it off. And do not touch anything in that room.]
[Those items are extremely important to me. If anything is damaged, I will not be lenient.]
[Uh, don’t worry. I just put the contract on the desk and left. Nothing is damaged.]
I paused, my gaze sweeping over the collection again. Some of these items were so rare, even I didn’t have them anymore. Yet here they were, perfectly preserved by him.
An audacious thought sparked in my mind.
[Mr. Vaughn, that celebrity… the woman you’re in love with… is it the one whose posters are all over this room?]
A long silence followed before he replied with a single, solemn word. […Yes.]
Me: […]
Caleb: [Why? Do you know her? Are you a fan too? …Wait, are we fans of the same person?]
Me: […Ha.]
Caleb: [?]
I managed a weak laugh. [I don't think I know her.]
His reply was tinged with a strange sadness.
[That’s not surprising.]
[She never made it big. I was going to finally take over the company this year, and I had plans to secretly funnel resources to her, things a thousand times better than what she had before. But… she retired.]
[What is she going to do now? Will she get married this year?]
[I wonder what kind of lucky bastard gets to be with her.]
[That bastard better treat her right. If he doesn't, I’ll hunt him to the ends of the earth. I will physically castrate him, then dismember his body. I will not let him get away with it.]
Me: […]
10
I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and decided to push my luck.
[By the way, Mr. Vaughn, are you absolutely sure we don’t need to meet before we go to City Hall?]
Caleb:
[Yes. I’ve already said so. I am absolutely certain a meeting is unnecessary.]
Me: […Alright. I hope you don’t regret this.]
His tone turned to ice.
[What do you mean by that, Miss Miller? Are you having second thoughts? Are you planning to violate our agreement?]
[Don’t forget, we have a signed contract. You can’t back out now.]
Me: […]
I chuckled. [Relax. I have no intention of backing out.]
He still didn't seem convinced.
[Miss Miller, I recall the contract states there are penalties for breaching the terms.]
I smiled. [I know. Don’t worry. Whoever backs out is a fool.]
He mulled that over for a second, then replied with the conviction of a man making a solemn vow.
[It’s a deal, then. Whoever backs out… is the biggest fool!]
Me: [Heh. Mr. Vaughn, I bet people compliment you on your intelligence all the time, don’t they?]
Caleb: [Of course. I often pride myself on my superior intellect.]
Me: […]
11
Three days passed in a blur. We didn't speak.
On the day we were scheduled to go to City Hall, I arrived half an hour early. I was leaning against a wall, half-asleep, when Caleb’s Maybach finally pulled up to the curb.
The moment he saw my face, his hands clenched the steering wheel. He froze, as if he’d been turned to stone.
I didn’t hesitate. I pushed off the wall and started walking toward his car.
At the same time, my phone began vibrating nonstop in my purse. It was Caleb, spamming me with messages. All his cold, detached arrogance from the past few days had evaporated. His texts were frantic, giddy with excitement.
[Miss Miller, can we possibly postpone City Hall for a bit? I just saw her.]
[She’s walking toward me right now. I just want to say one word to her. Just one. Please.]
[Oh god, my heart is beating so fast. Am I having a heart attack? I think today might be the day I…]
I reached his car and tapped my fingers lightly on the driver’s side window.
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