I Married a Janitor to Spite My Wealthy Dad — When My Dad Came to Speak with My Husband, He Fell to His Knees at His Words

He studied me for a moment.

“So, you’re saying… you need a fake husband?”

“Exactly. A business deal.” I swallowed. “Just something to get my father off my back.”

I pulled out my phone, found my father’s picture, and showed it to him.

“Here.”

He examined the photo carefully, his expression changing as though he recognized the face.

“Name’s Ethan,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re really serious about this?”

I nodded.

“As serious as I’ll ever be.”

He still looked uncertain, waiting for me to admit it was all a joke.

“Look, you don’t know me. This could be trouble,” he said, watching me with calm, steady eyes.

“It’s just a contract,” I assured him. “I won’t bother you after. You’ll be free to go on with your life.”

He remained silent for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.

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