Oliver married Poppy purely out of spite—just to stick it to Emily. He wanted to prove he wasn’t heartbroken after she’d cheated on him.
He and Emily had been together nearly two years. He’d been head over heels, ready to move mountains, rearrange his entire life for her dreams. He thought marriage was the next step. But her endless dodging of the topic grated on him.
*”Why rush into marriage now?”* she’d sigh. *”I haven’t even finished uni, and your business is barely scraping by. No decent car, no house of our own—honestly, I’m not sharing a kitchen with your sister forever. If you hadn’t sold that house, we’d be fine.”*
It stung, but Oliver couldn’t deny the truth in it. He and his sister Lily were still in their parents’ old flat, the family hardware shop was just finding its feet, and he hadn’t even graduated yet when he had to step up. The house? Sold to keep the business afloat—agreed between him and Lily. Debts piled up in six months, and the sale cleared them, restocked the shop, and left a little nest egg.
Emily, meanwhile, lived like tomorrow didn’t exist. Easy to say when your parents paid for everything. Oliver? He’d grown up fast—Lily, the shop, groceries, bills. He believed it’d all work out. House, car, garden. No disasters on the horizon.
Then came movie night. Emily told him not to pick her up—she’d meet him. Oliver waited at the stop when a flashy Mercedes pulled up. She hopped out, handed him a book, and said, *”Sorry, we’re done. I’m getting married.”* Then she turned and slipped back into the car.
Oliver stood frozen. What could’ve changed in the few days he’d been away? At home, Lily took one look at his face.
*”You know already?”*
He nodded.
*”She’s marrying some rich bloke. Asked me to be a bridesmaid—I said no. Cheating cow!”*
Oliver hugged Lily, ruffling her hair. *”Let her be happy. We’ll be happier.”*
Then he locked himself in his room for a day. Lily pleaded through the door: *”At least eat something. I made pancakes.”*
By sunset, he emerged, eyes blazing. *”We need to get ready.”*
*”For what? What’s your plan?”*
*”I’m marrying the first woman who says yes,”* he said flatly.
*”You can’t! This isn’t just about you!”* Lily protested in vain.
*”Come or don’t. I’m going.”*
The park was packed. One woman tapped her temple at him. Another fled. Then a third—meeting his gaze—said yes.
*”What’s your name, love?”*
*”Poppy.”*
*”Engagement drinks!”* He dragged Poppy and Lily to a café.
Awkward silence reigned. Lily fidgeted. Oliver’s mind buzzed with revenge plots. Their wedding would be on the 25th—just like Emily’s.
*”I assume there’s a reason you proposed to a stranger,”* Poppy finally said. *”If it was impulsive, I’ll walk away now.”*
*”No. You gave your word. We’ll submit the papers tomorrow and meet your parents.”* He winked. *”And call me Oliver.”*
The month before the wedding, they met daily—talking, learning.
*”So… care to explain why?”* Poppy asked once.
*”Everyone’s got skeletons,”* Oliver deflected.
*”Just don’t let them rattle too loud.”*
*”Why’d *you* say yes?”*
*”Felt like a fairytale princess handed off to the first passerby. Those always end well—‘happily ever after’ and all. Wanted to test it.”*
The truth was messier. A past heartbreak had left her wary. Suitors swarmed; she scared them off with one look. She wasn’t hunting Prince Charming—just someone smart, driven. Oliver had that steel in his spine.
*”So which princess are you?”* he mused. *”Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty?”*
*”Kiss me and find out,”* she teased.
But no kiss came.
Oliver orchestrated the wedding single-handed. Poppy merely picked from his options—even her dress and veil, bought by him.
*”You’ll be the most beautiful,”* he’d say.
At the registry office, they bumped into Emily and her fiancé. Oliver forced a grin: *”Congrats,”* kissing Emily’s cheek. *”Hope you and your walking wallet are happy.”*
*”Don’t be dramatic,”* Emily hissed.
She scrutinized Poppy—tall, striking, regal. Emily shrank in comparison. Jealousy gnawed at her.
Oliver turned to Poppy: *”All good?”*
*”Still time to back out,”* she whispered.
*”We finish this.”*
Only during the ceremony, seeing Poppy’s sad eyes, did Oliver grasp what he’d done.
*”I’ll make you happy,”* he vowed, half-believing.
Life began. Lily and Poppy clicked—balancing each other out. Poppy, an accountant, streamlined the shop’s finances. In six months, they opened a second location, then added repair teams. Profits soared.
She was his secret weapon—slipping ideas into his head like they were his own. Everything was smooth, predictable.
*”Routine,”* Oliver grumbled. *”Like being stuck in treacle.”*
With Poppy’s push, they moved into full-house builds. Their first project? Their own home.
The better things got, the more Oliver dwelled on Emily. *”She couldn’t wait. Look at my car now! My house—no, my *mansion*.”* Pride curdled into something uglier. *”What if…?”*
Poppy noticed. She longed to be loved, but hearts aren’t negotiable. *”Not all fairytales have happy endings,”* she thought—but hope lingered.
Lily cornered Oliver: *”You’ll lose more than you gain,”* nodding at Emily’s social media.
*”Stay out of it!”*
*”You’re an idiot. She loves you, and you’re playing games.”*
Oliver fumed—who was she to judge? Yet Emily’s pull grew. He messaged her.
Emily whined: marriage flopped, husband dumped her, uni dropped, jobless, squatting in a Manchester flat.
Oliver hesitated. Then Poppy left to visit her ailing gran—his chance.
Heart racing, he sped toward Manchester, ignoring speed limits. Reality hit hard.
*”Look at you!”* Emily lunged, reeking of unwashed skin. He recoiled.
*”People are staring.”*
*”Who cares?”*
Short skirt, cheap makeup, cheap perfume. This wasn’t his elegant Poppy. *”Was she always like this?”*
*”Loan me cash, yeah? I’ll make it worth your while,”* Emily winked.
He bolted. *”Something came up.”*
*”See me again?”*
*”Doubt it.”* He tossed the waiter a fifty. *”She stays till that runs out.”*
Speeding home, Oliver groaned. *”Lily was right. What was I thinking?”* Then—*”Wait. I never even called Poppy ‘Poppy’ at home.”*
For five minutes, he sat still—replaying every moment since the wedding. Poppy’s smile, her fingers threading through his hair, those sharp blue eyes.
*”I promised to make her happy.”*
He spun the car around, detoured down a country lane, and pulled up to her gran’s.
*”A week was too long. I couldn’t last two days without you.”*
Poppy ran out, tear-streaked and grinning. *”You’re mad.”*
*”Poppy, my love,”* he murmured, dizzy with joy.
