Forced into an arranged marriage to save my family’s business, I expected awkward small talk on my wedding night. But then Adriana gave me an order: “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.” Was this a joke? No. It was a power play — and if I refused, my family would lose everything.
“Son, I wouldn’t ask this of you if there was any other way,” my father said, his voice lacking its usual commanding tone.
A man seated at a desk in a corner office | Source: Midjourney
“You’re certain the only way to save the business is for me to marry some woman I’ve never met?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
He sighed. “Adriana is Victor’s daughter. The merger with his company is the only thing that can save us now. And he’s… traditional. He wants to unite the families.”
“So I’m just a bargaining chip?” The words tasted bitter.
“James, please understand—”
“No, Dad. I understand perfectly.”
An unhappy man in an office | Source: Midjourney
“You built this company, made all the decisions that led to this point, and now I have to clean up your mess by selling myself like some medieval prince.”
His face fell. “Just meet Adriana before you decide.”
I wanted to refuse. But the desperation in my father’s eyes stopped me.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll meet her. But I’m not promising anything.”
A serious-looking man | Source: Midjourney
We met in a restaurant a few days later. Adriana was breathtakingly beautiful with a voice like honey and eyes that assessed everything in seconds.
“I appreciate you agreeing to meet me,” she said as she took her seat. “This situation is… unconventional, but I think we can make it work.” She smiled faintly and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Let’s get better acquainted first. What would you like to know about me, James?”
A smiling woman in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
The conversation flowed freely after that. Adriana was intelligent, witty, and surprisingly easy to talk to. By the time we parted ways, I found myself rethinking my opposition.
“She’s incredible,” I told my father the next day.
Relief washed over his face. “So you’ll do it?”
I hesitated. Something still felt wrong, but seeing the hope in my father’s eyes…
“Yes,” I finally said. “I’ll marry Adriana.”
A man in an office smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
Our wedding was a business transaction disguised as a celebration. Corporate partners filled the pews, the vows felt like contract terms, and even the kiss seemed negotiated — brief, proper, for show.
The reception dragged on until finally, we were alone in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel.
Adriana kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the massive bed. I adjusted my tie, unsure of what came next in this strange arrangement.
A man adjusting his tie | Source: Pexels
Adriana locked eyes with me. “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.”
“Excuse me?” I laughed, certain she was joking. “Right. And what’s your first command, Your Highness?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I’m hungry. Go get me a burger from the McDonald’s on Grant Street. Walk there.”
“Adriana, it’s almost midnight. Grant Street is nearly two miles away.”
An incredulous man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m aware.” Her smile was cold. “Better get going.”
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. It never came.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious, James. My father only agreed to this marriage because your father promised you’d do whatever I wanted. That was the deal. So, you can either be my servant… or watch your family go bankrupt.”
A smirking woman | Source: Midjourney
I was stunned. Within a few hours, Adriana had transformed from a witty, easygoing woman into an authoritative stranger. One I couldn’t refuse without risking it all.
“Fine. One burger coming up.”
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and called a taxi. I might be trapped in this marriage, but I wouldn’t be completely powerless.
A man’s finger pressing an elevator button | Source: Pexels
The next morning set the tone for what would become my new normal. Adriana woke me at 6 a.m.
“Press my blue suit,” she instructed. “Then make coffee. Black, one sugar.”
“I’m not your butler,” I protested.
She looked at me with those cool eyes. “No, you’re my husband. Which means you’re whatever I need you to be.”
A woman smiling smugly | Source: Midjourney
Each day brought new demands. Wash her car by hand. Pick up her dry cleaning. Massage her feet after work. Each task was more demeaning than the last.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally asked one evening as I polished her collection of designer shoes.
“Because I can,” she replied simply. “What could be better than having a man who caters to my every need?”
I continued the task in silence, but my mind was racing.
A foot in a high-heeled boot | Source: Pexels
She thought she was breaking me, but she was teaching me instead. Every demand revealed something about her routines and her weaknesses.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went to my father.
“She’s turned me into her personal servant,” I confessed.
His face fell. “I had no idea, son. But the contract with Victor…”
“Can’t be broken without bankrupting us,” I finished for him. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” I replied, a plan already forming. “I’ll handle Adriana.”
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
The tiny wireless cameras were easy to install. I put them everywhere: the living room, the kitchen, her study, our bedroom.
For two weeks, I collected evidence of Adriana ordering me around like a dog, threatening to destroy my family if I disobeyed, and laughing on the phone with her friends about how she had me “completely under control.”
All while her Instagram portrayed us as the perfect couple. “Power duo,” she called us in her captions. If only her followers knew.
A woman taking a selfie | Source: Midjourney
The breaking point came on a rainy Tuesday night.
“I want sushi,” she announced from the couch. “From Akira. You’ll walk there.”
“That’s three miles away,” I pointed out.
“So? Take an umbrella.” She didn’t even look up from her phone.
“No,” I said simply.
The word hung in the air between us. She slowly raised her head, eyes narrowing.
A woman on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“What did you say?”
“I said no, Adriana. I’m not going.”
She stood, her face flushing with anger. “You don’t say no to me. Ever. Or have you forgotten what happens if you don’t play along?”
“Go ahead,” I challenged. “Call your father. Tell him how disappointed you are.”
“You know I will.” She reached for her phone. “And your family will be finished.”
A glaring woman | Source: Midjourney
I smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers paused over the screen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Call him,” I urged. “Please. I insist.”
Confusion flickered across her face, but she made the call, putting it on speaker.
“Daddy? We have a problem. James is being difficult. I think we need to reconsider—”
“Adriana.” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “What the hell have you been doing?”
A cell phone | Source: Pexels
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“James sent me videos. Dozens of them. I had no idea this was what you had in mind when you said you wanted him to do everything you said! Is this how I raised you to behave? Like a tyrant?”
The color drained from her face as she looked at me, finally understanding.
“You recorded me?” she whispered.
I nodded. “Every moment. Every demand.”
A man with crossed arms | Source: Midjourney
“Adriana,” her father continued, “you’ve handed your husband enough blackmail material to destroy our family’s reputation, and he made it clear he’ll use it, too. You’re getting divorced. Those were his conditions: a divorce from you that leaves the business arrangement with his father intact. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she managed, her voice small.
When the call ended, she turned to me, eyes pleading. “Please, you can’t do this to me! It will ruin my image if we divorce.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Pexels
I smiled. This was an opportunity to teach her a valuable lesson.
“I’ll consider staying,” I replied. “But only if you obey my demands.”
Outrage and fury flickered in her eyes, but she nodded.
For the next two weeks, Adriana got a taste of her own medicine. I didn’t go nearly as far as she had, but I made sure she understood what it felt like to be controlled.
A downtrodden woman | Source: Midjourney
“Fetch my coffee,” I would say. “And remember, two sugars.”
She would comply, her jaw tight, her eyes burning with hatred.
Meanwhile, I had my lawyers working on divorce papers. When they were ready, I left them on the kitchen counter for her to find.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking them up.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Midjourney
“Divorce papers,” I replied calmly. “Our marriage is over.”
“But, you said you’d stay if I obeyed you!” Her voice shook. “You lied to me!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “and I hope you learned something from it. We might’ve actually been able to make this work, Adriana, if you hadn’t used that business deal as a way to enslave me. Pack your things and get out of my apartment.”
A satisfied man | Source: Midjourney
“And before you go,” I added, “post on your Instagram that we’re separating amicably, by mutual agreement.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenged.
I held up my phone. “Then these videos go public.”
An hour later, her perfectly crafted post appeared. “After much reflection, James and I have decided to part ways. We remain committed to our families’ shared business interests and wish each other well.”
Social media icons on a phone screen | Source: Pexels
The door closed behind her, and for the first time since our wedding day, I could breathe freely again.
This arranged marriage had cost me months of dignity, but it had taught me something valuable: no contract, family obligation, or financial concern was worth surrendering control of my life.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Stepmom Covertly Called Off My Prom Hair Appointment to Spoil My Evening – Yet She Was Stunned When a Limousine Arrived for Me
Yeah, that woman cannot stand me.
It all started 7 years ago, after my mom passed away from a cold that just wouldn’t go away. Before I knew it, my dad was seeing Carla, and a year later, he married her.
“Your father doesn’t waste any time, does he?” my aunt sniffed on the day of the wedding. “And who is Carla anyway? She’s nothing compared to your mom!”
Carla was fine at first. I mean, she tried hard to get me on her side. But slowly, the passive-aggressive jabs started piling up. I remember once, I caught her staring at me.
“You look too much like your mother, Emily,” she said. “It actually pains me to look at you. No wonder your father gives Mason more attention. He’s closer to Mason right now, isn’t he?”
I sighed and ignored her, trying not to let her words get to me.
My dad, of course, didn’t notice a thing. It was like he couldn’t—or just wouldn’t—see how Carla treated me. And she loved that. She loved being the only one ready to taunt me.
Anyway, fast forward to prom season. Like every other girl in my class, I was dreaming of the perfect night. I saved up enough babysitting money for months to buy a gorgeous violet dress.
I couldn’t help but wish that my mother was around to spend these moments with me.
But that’s why I chose the violet dress. It was her favorite color.
Prom was going to be my night. I just knew it.
Whenever I thought about it, I just felt like something magical was going to happen at prom. To make myself feel even better, I booked a hair appointment at a fancy salon. All my friends were going there too.
Everything was set.
But then the big day came, and Carla made sure to ruin it.
I went to the salon, all excited, but when I got there, the receptionist looked at me, confused.
“Emily? Are you sure?” she asked, looking at her computer screen. “Zelda told me that you canceled?”
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed. “Why would I? Prom is this evening!”
“Calm down, honey,” the receptionist said. “I’ll get Zelda.”
I waited impatiently while she went to get the hairdresser. Finally, they returned.
The hairdresser looked uncomfortable.
“I got a call earlier today saying that you wanted to cancel your appointment, Emily. I assumed that it was your Mom?”
My heart dropped. Canceled? How? I didn’t cancel it! What mom?
I was still processing everything when I looked over and saw her.
Carla.
Sitting there, getting her hair done. Of course.
She saw me and just smirked, her eyes cold as steel. Carla had canceled my appointment.
“Is there any way that you could still schedule me in?” I asked Zelda.
She shook her head sadly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “When your appointment was canceled, a woman called in and booked her own. All of our slots are taken. I’m sorry, honey.”
I stood there in shock. So, Carla had called pretending to be me? Pretending to be my mom? And then she took my appointment so that she could watch me be disappointed?
Sick.
I barely managed to keep it together as I ran out of the salon, my head spinning. I felt nauseous.
My perfect prom? It was just falling apart around me. By the time I got home, I locked myself in my room, tears pouring down my face.
I sat at my dressing table trying to fix my hair on my own, but nothing looked good. I felt stupid for telling Carla my plans in passing.
See what had happened?
I looked at my dress, hanging off a hanger.
I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to go to prom anymore.
I sat there, looking at my makeup sitting on my dressing table and wondered if it was even worth it. I mean, what was the point? I was already upset and didn’t feel like anything good was going to come from this.
Suddenly, I heard this loud honking outside. I ignored it at first, thinking it was just a random car.
A teenage girl’s dressing table | Source: Midjourney
A teenage girl’s dressing table | Source: Midjourney
But it didn’t stop.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and dragged myself to the window, fully expecting to see commotion on the road. But when I looked out, my jaw dropped.
A glossy black limousine was parked in front of our house.
I thought it was some sort of mistake. There was no way that the car was for me. My friends’ parents had said no when we first talked about it months ago. But still, I ran downstairs.
I stood at the doorway, waiting for something to happen. The driver stepped out and walked up to our front door. My dad, who had been as clueless as ever during all of this, stood on our porch, looking as confused as I felt.
“I’m here for Miss Emily, sir,” the driver said, holding out a small card.
Miss Emily? Me?
“She’s right here,” my dad said, nodding to me.
I hesitantly took the card from my dad’s hand and opened it. Inside, written in neat handwriting, were the words:
To my beautiful sister, Emily. I know you’ve had a rough time lately, but you deserve the best night ever! Enjoy the limo, and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve been saving all my birthday and Christmas money.
Have a magical night, sis.
Love, Mason.
Mason? My 11-year-old brother did this?
I burst into tears all over again, but this time from pure shock and gratitude. I ran upstairs to find Mason in his room, grinning like he’d just pulled off the ultimate prank.
“I heard Mom on the phone this morning,” he said, shrugging like this wasn’t a big deal. “I knew that it wasn’t fair at all.”
Turns out that he had overheard Carla canceling my hair appointment, and in true little brother fashion, took matters into his own hands.
“But did you really use your money?” I asked him, feeling horrible.
“Not really,” he grinned. “See, Mom has been saving up money to buy some fancy diamond necklace. She’s been showing Dad the necklace, hoping that he would get it for her. But he said no.”
Good for you, Dad, I thought.
“Anyway, after I heard her phone call, she left home. So, I took some of the money from her stash, and went to Mr. Johnson next door. He owns the limo company, remember?”
But Mason didn’t stop there.
“There’s more, Em,” he said. “Mrs. Evans, from across the road? Her daughter is a stylist at the mall. She’s coming here to do your hair and makeup soon.”
Just as the words left his mouth, the doorbell rang.
“That should be her!” Mason said. “Go wash your face, I’ll send her up.”
When did Mason grow up? I wondered as I did what he said.
Twenty minutes later, I went from crying in my bedroom to looking like a princess. I just wished my mom was around to fuss over me. To take endless photos and tell me how proud she was of me. I wanted a hug from her more than anything.
But still, Mason had saved prom!
When Carla drove into our driveway, I was already outside, stepping into the limo like a movie star. Her jaw dropped. And she got out of the car and just stood there, stunned.
Her face? Oh my God. I wish I had a picture of her expression. I would have stuck it on my mirror!
“Richard? Did you do this?” I heard her shriek to my father before the driver closed the door.
Moments later, the driver whisked me away.
Prom was everything I had hoped for. When I arrived at the hall in the limo, heads turned. I was glowing, and I knew it. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my mom was right there with me.
The whole night was pure magic. Dancing, laughing with my friends, and just forgetting all the drama at home.
As for Carla, I hope she learned a lesson. You can’t mess with someone’s joy and get away with it… especially if your son is going to come in and save the day!
What would you have done?
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