My name is Anna Brooks, and I’m twenty-six years old.
I was born in a small, impoverished town in Texas, where the sun burned my skin and the dry wind carried the scent of withered grass. My father died young, and my mother fell gravely ill. At sixteen, I had to drop out of school and move to Houston to work as a maid.
I worked for the Harrison family—one of the wealthiest and most renowned families in the real estate business. Their only son, Ethan Harrison, thirty-one, was a handsome and well-educated man who always kept a distance from everyone.
For nearly three years, I quietly served the family—cleaning, cooking, bowing, and keeping my head down. I never imagined that one day the name “Anna Brooks” would ever be paired with “Harrison.”
The Strange Proposal
One morning, Mrs. Caroline Harrison, the landlady, summoned me to the living room. She placed a marriage certificate on the table in front of me and said in a calm yet resolute voice:
“Anna, if you agree to marry Ethan, the $2 million lakeside villa in Austin will be in your name. It’s a wedding gift from my family.”
I was stunned.
A maid like me—marrying the only son of the Harrison family?
At first, I thought she was joking, but when I saw the seriousness in her eyes, I realized she meant every word.
I didn’t know the reason behind such an offer. All I knew was that my mother desperately needed money for treatment, and this might be my only chance to save her.
My mind told me to refuse—but my trembling heart nodded.
The wedding was held at a luxury hotel in downtown Houston. I wore the white gown Caroline had chosen for me and walked down the aisle under the curious gaze of hundreds of guests.
I didn’t smile. I simply clenched my hands tightly to stop them from shaking.
Ethan, my groom, maintained his usual cold, distant expression. He didn’t even glance my way once.
I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m just a gift to him—a ‘nominal wife’ to please his mother.”
That night, in the newlywed villa by the lake, I sat by the bed, my hands trembling. Outside, the sound of rain gently tapped against the glass doors.
Ethan entered, holding a glass of water, his steps slightly uneven.
“Drink this,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “You look nervous.”
I nodded and drank, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it. Ethan sat down at the edge of the bed and turned off the light. The room fell into silence.
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what every bride is supposed to go through.
But moments later, I heard his quiet voice:
“You can sleep, Anna. I won’t touch you… not until you’re ready.”
I opened my eyes and turned toward him.
In the darkness, he lay on his side, his back facing me, keeping a careful distance—as if afraid that even the smallest touch might hurt me.
In that moment, my heart softened.
I never expected that the man everyone thought was cold could be so gentle.
When I woke up the next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains.
On the table sat a breakfast tray: a glass of warm milk, an egg sandwich, and a small note that read:
“Went to the office. Don’t go out if it rains. – E.”
Holding that note, tears rolled down my cheeks.
For more than twenty years, I had cried over men’s betrayals—but this was the first time I cried because someone cared.
