The Poor Girl Who Owned His Heart

At twenty-eight, I walked into the gala with a partner from a prestigious law firm on my arm. My childhood friend, Alex, sauntered over with a glass of champagne, a smirk on his face. Who would've thought, he mused, the two people who once argued until they were red in the face at the debate championships would be here now, fingers intertwined.

Later that night, long after Id returned home, my phone screen lit up. The name displayed was Alexander Fryman. It had been months since our divorce.

His voice, low and rough, came through the line. "That riverside penthouse you insisted on when we divorced," he asked, "was it because you could see his law firm from the window?"

The question threw me back ten years. I was eighteen, and Id stumbled upon a scene: a teenage Alexander, fumbling to fasten a girl's bra clasp. She was a scholarship student, and he was helping her. His expression was as serious as if he were performing a sacred rite, but his fingers were clumsy, awkward.

Eight years later, I married Alexander, just as our families had always planned.

Everyone in our city's elite circles knew about the portrait he kept hidden in his study. It wasn't of me. It was of her, the girl from all those years ago.

In the third year of our marriage, I asked for a divorce.

He was silent for a long time before finally signing the papers. His only words were a quiet promise that if I ever needed anything, he would be there to help.

A cold wind rattled the windows, but inside, the apartment was warm. The man sitting on the sofa across from me was dressed in an impeccable suit, his posture long and lean. His face was the same as it had been at eighteensharply defined, with deep-set eyes. The only difference was the fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin.

An hour ago, I'd gotten a call from the police station.

Alexander had been in a fight.

When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, gently dabbing at the wound. I recognized her. Emily, a classmate from high school.

The moment she saw me, she recoiled like a startled deer. Alexander immediately moved to shield her, his voice sharp with annoyance as he spoke to me.

"She's easily frightened. Don't scare her."

I said nothing, simply followed an officer to take care of the paperwork. By the time I returned, Emily was gone.

The drive home was silent, at least between us. Alexander was on his phone the entire time, and even now, he was still cooing softly to the woman on the other end.

I had never seen this side of him before. The tenderness in his eyes, the indulgent focus, all of itall his patience was reserved for Emily.

It was in that moment that the thought of divorce took root, firm and unshakeable.

If Alexander and I were childhood friends destined for an arranged marriage, then Emily was his great, unrequited lovethe one that got away.

We all met in high school. Unlike us, who came from wealth and privilege, Emily was the scholarship student. She was beautiful, smart, and had a relentlessly optimistic and driven personality. From the moment she transferred into our class, she had Alexander's undivided attention.

I used to think it was a passing infatuation, a novelty.

That changed the day Emily was framed for stealing class funds. A few of the other girls cornered her in the girls' restroom. By the time I got there, they were gone, leaving Emily alone, her shirt torn off.

I took off my jacket, ready to go in and help, but then I saw Alexander step out from one of the stalls. He was holding her clothes.

Emily's back was to him, her voice thick with tears. "You should go. If someone sees us, we'll never be able to explain this."

"Then we won't explain," Alexander said, his voice steady. "Just put your clothes on."

After a tense moment, Emily relented. But for some reason, she couldn't manage the clasp of her bra.

Without hesitation, Alexander stepped forward. "Here, let me."

His expression was solemn, his movements clumsy and uncertain. When the clasp finally clicked into place, I saw the tips of his ears burning a furious red.

He turned his head, and his eyes met mine. A flash of panic crossed his face before he composed himself and walked toward me. "You're just in time. Can you help her?"

He started to leave, but then turned back. "And please," he added, his voice low, "keep this between us."

I promised I would.

But by that afternoon, a photo of Alexander helping Emily with her clothes had spread like wildfire across the entire campus.

He was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his anger on me.

"Victoria, don't think for a second that just because my parents have your back, I won't do anything to you," he seethed. "You might be the daughter-in-law they want, but you're not my wife! No one gets to decide who I marry."

I bit my lip. "Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with this."

He laughed, a cold, bitter sound. "You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?"

"It wasn't me!" I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. "Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that about her?"

"Because you're jealous that she and I are together."

The world seemed to tilt. I stared at him, my mind reeling. "When... when did that happen?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with scorn. "I saw her. It's my responsibility to take care of her now."

"But, we..."

He cut me off, his patience gone. "Victoria, you didn't actually think I liked you just because I looked out for you all these years, did you?"

I felt like I'd been plunged into ice water, frozen to the spot.

That night, the Fryman family found out about Alexander and Emily. His father dragged him to my house to apologize.

Alexander stood there, defiant. "You love Victoria so much," he sneered at his father, "why don't you marry her yourself?"

The words earned him a beating from both sets of parents.

Back then, Alexander hadn't yet grasped the full picture. He didn't see that I had been raised from childhood to be the Fryman family's daughter-in-law. As the sole heir, he had no say in the matter.

So, in the end, he married me.

Shortly after the photo scandal, Emily transferred to another school. After graduation, Alexander was sent to study abroad. He was gone for eight years.

When he returned, he was a different personthe boyish arrogance replaced by a quiet, commanding presence. He came to me and proposed.

"We're both still single," he said. "Let's just get it over with."

I knew an arranged marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I had known my whole life seemed like a small mercy.

It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning to the country was seek out Emily. But she, with her unyielding pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of lashing out at her.

"I have to go out. You should get some sleep."

Alexander's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood up, already heading for the door, his tone softening as he spoke into his phone. "Don't be scared, I'm on my way. They won't touch you... Yes, lock the door. Just wait for me."

I stood up too. "You're going out this late?"

He paused for a fraction of a second before continuing toward the door. "Something came up. I'll be back very late."

Just as he reached the entryway, I called his name again.

He turned, a flicker of annoyance on his face. "What is it now?"

"Alexander," I said, my voice even. "Let's get a divorce."

Anger instantly flared in his eyes. He fought to control his temper. "What are you on about now? Emily was scared today. She doesn't have anyone else here, so she called me for help."

I stared at him. "Is 'helping' her showing up at the club where she works every single night to run interference for her?" I shot back. "The great Alexander Fryman getting into a brawl over a cocktail waitress and ending up at a police stationis that what you call 'helping'?"

His lips thinned into a hard line, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous warning. "I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight," he said, his voice dangerously low. He paused, then added, "And it had better have nothing to do with you."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, sending a chill through my entire body. In the two years we'd been married, he had never lost his temper with me. For a while, I'd allowed myself to believe he had finally let go of Emily, that he was ready to build a life with me.

Now I saw how foolish I'd been.

I suddenly remembered something. A portrait of Emily used to hang in his study, one he had painted himself. He hadn't hidden it from anyone, not even his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, and the incident ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Emily was locked away in a cabinet.

In that moment, I understood. He hadn't compromised at all. He had just found a quieter way to defy his family.

The wind howled outside. A gust swept through the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered.

Just then, a piercing scream erupted from Alexander's phone.

In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, undiluted fear. He bolted for the door. "Emily, don't be afraid! I'll be there in ten minutes! Don't you dare open the door for anyone"

He was gone before he finished the sentence. The door clicked shut, sealing away all his tenderness, leaving me in the cold.

He didn't come back that night.

I sat on the sofa alone until dawn.

As the sun rose, two messages appeared on my phone.

The first was a photo of Alexander and Emily walking into a hotel together.

The second was a single line: Divorce him. Choose me.

I scrolled up. There were three unread messages from the same number.

Victoria, I'm back.

I'm here whenever you need me.

Do you really love him that much? Can't you love me instead?

I blinked, my eyes sore and dry, and quickly typed a reply.

Okay.

Alexander came home the next afternoon.

He was wearing a brand-new suit from a designer he normally wouldn't glance at twice. He was clean, with no trace of perfume on him. But the angry red mark on his throat was impossible to miss. It was clear he'd been with Emily in that hotel room until just a few hours ago.

Perhaps out of guilt, he'd brought me a gift. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice clipped. "What I said last night was out of line."

He placed the box on the coffee table.

I pulled the divorce papers I'd already prepared from a drawer and slid them across to him. "Take a look. If there are no issues, sign it."

His brow furrowed. "This is about my helping an old classmate? Are you serious? Victoria, when did you become so petty?"

I ignored his questions. "Our prenuptial assets were notarized and remain separate. We'll split the postnuptial cash fifty-fifty. As for property, I only want the riverside penthouse."

Alexander finally looked at me, truly looked at me, his deep-set eyes searching my face. After a moment, a cold smile touched his lips. "Is this your new strategy?"

He didn't believe me. He thought this was some new, manipulative ploy to win him back.

And why would he? The Fryman family was a dynasty. Countless other families were desperate to marry their daughters into it. In his mind, I had no reason to ever give up the title of Mrs. Fryman.

But the thought had crossed my mind long ago.

It was on an ordinary day. Alexander had come home drunk from a business dinner, as he often did. As I moved to help him, he pointed a finger at me, his words slurring. "Victoria, your love... it disgusts me."

I froze, a sharp, acidic pain filling my chest.

I could have sworn he used to love me, too.

In our first year of high school, we weren't in the same class. Our classrooms were directly across the hall from each other. One day, an earthquake in the next province sent strong tremors through our city.

The first person out of his classroom wasn't running for the exit. He burst into mine, threw his school jacket over my head, and half-dragged, half-carried me down the stairs.

The earthquake caused no damage. The only injury I had was a dark bruise on my wrist from where his fingers had dug into my skin.

His friends teased him mercilessly, calling me his "precious cargo" and telling us to just get married already. I expected him to get angry, but instead, he just said, "We will."

"Whoa, don't be so sure," one of them joked. "You've got a few years until you're even legal."

Alexander didn't miss a beat. "If I ever get married and it's not to her, none of you are invited."

When we did get married, all his friends were there.

But what good did it do?

Alexander was convinced I was playing a game of push-and-pull, using divorce as a threat. He sat across from me, his expression cold and detached. Every time we fought, I was always the first one to back down. He was waiting for me to crumble, to apologize, just like all the other times.

But he didn't know. This time, I was done.

I pulled the agreement toward me and picked up the pen. Under his cool, watchful gaze, I flipped to the last page and signed my name with a steady hand.

Then, I offered the pen to him. "If there are no issues, just sign."

In that instant, I saw the realization dawn in his eyes. This wasn't a game.

His expression hardened, and his voice was dangerously low. "You're sure about this?"

I glanced at the clock. "If we leave now, we can still make the last appointment at City Hall."

He said nothing, just stared at me, his dark eyes searching for a crack in my composure. After what felt like an eternity, he looked away.

"Fine. Let's do it."

He signed his name. The tip of his pen paused. "My grandfather's birthday is next month. I'd like to wait until after the party to tell the family about this."

I had no objection. I stood and pulled a packed suitcase from the corner of the room.

"Victoria," he said, his voice losing some of its edge, "you can stay here."

"There's no need." Now that it was over, there was no reason to prolong the inevitable.

"If you need anything in the future, just ask," he added.

I didn't stop. As I reached the front door, he was suddenly behind me. "I'll drive you."

"You don't have to. Someone's coming to get me."

Downstairs, a tall figure stood waiting under a streetlight. The moment he saw me, he strode forward and took the suitcase from my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Once we were in the car, I looked at the handsome, confident man in the driver's seat. "Nathaniel," I said, "give me one month."

A soft laugh escaped him. He leaned over, his warmth enveloping me as he clicked my seatbelt into place. "A month is nothing," he murmured. "I can wait."

Nathaniel and I were classmates in law school. We were always at the top of our classcolleagues, but also rivals.

We first properly met at a major debate tournament. The topic was: If you had the superpower to make the person you love fall in love with you, would you use it?

We were on opposing sides. The debate was fierce. In the end, my team won.

Afterward, he stopped me in the hallway. "If I had that power," he said, his eyes intense, "I would use it without a second's hesitation."

I was young and arrogant then, and I went for the kill. "That just means you're not worthy of being loved."

He just looked at me, a deep, unreadable expression on his face. "I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don't give up, I know she'll see me one day."

I smiled, a little smugly. "So, even the great Nathaniel has someone he can't have."

He didn't reply, just watched me in silence.

We ended up spending more and more time together because of student government, our interactions a constant battle of wits. Over four years, we somehow became friends.

On the day of our graduation, Nathaniel asked me out for a drink. I went. He asked me what my plans were for the future.

"What else?" I joked. "For people from families like ours, it's marry, have kids, and secure long-term partnerships for the family business."

He looked at me, his expression suddenly serious. "Could you wait for me, then? Five years, max. Can you just wait for me?"

The bar was loud, and I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. I drained my glass, and the moment I set it down, he kissed me.

I fled. Not because he had crossed a line, but because I realized, with a terrifying jolt, that I was drawn to him. That I had kissed him back. I hated the feeling of losing control.

I turned off my phone, cutting off all contact. A week later, when I finally reconnected with my classmates, I found out that Nathaniel had already left the country to study abroad.

He was gone for four years. By the time he came back, I was already married.