𝗦𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗮 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗲𝗿 𝗢𝘄𝗻 𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗛 𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆. 𝗢𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗛𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺—𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗛𝗲 𝗖𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗢𝘂𝘁, 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗…
On her wedding day, Sophia stood in front of the mirror in a white dress. Her hair was neatly styled, and her hands trembled as she held a bouquet of wildflowers. Behind her, Maria approached and wrapped her arms around her
You are strong, my dear Sophia! Remember that!” Sophia nodded, but tears were already streaming down her cheeks
The ceremony took place in a small village church. Michael stood at the altar in an elegant suit, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight.
With a trembling voice, Sophia gave her consent, and he slipped a gold ring onto her finger. She sobbed as she married him, unable to contain the overwhelming mix of fear, hope, and sorrow. The guests believed she was crying out of happiness, but Sophia knew the truth.
After the wedding, Michael took Sophia to his home in the city. It was a grand mansion with high ceilings, marble floors, and servants who bowed whenever she entered. Sophia felt out of place, her simple countryside shoes looking ridiculous against the backdrop of such luxury.
Michael noticed her unease and gently took her hand. “Give yourself time to adjust,” he said kindly. That evening, exhausted by the day’s events, she asked for permission to retire to her room.
Closing the door behind her, Sophia collapsed onto the bed, finally allowing herself a moment to relax. But sleep wouldn’t come—her mind was racing with thoughts of what she had left behind and what lay ahead.
Soon, she was pulled from her thoughts by a strange sound—the muffled noise of running water coming from the bathroom through the wall.
Sophia opened her eyes, straining to listen. The sound was soft but persistent, like the murmuring of a stream, and in the silence of the enormous house, it seemed louder than it actually was. She sat up, her heartbeat quickening slightly.
Could Michael be feeling unwell? He’s not young anymore, she thought, recalling his silver hair and slow movements. Maybe he needed help. That thought pushed away her hesitation.
Sophia stood up, slipped a light robe over her nightgown, and walked barefoot toward the door. The hallway was shrouded in darkness, except for a thin strip of light slipping out from under the bathroom door. She stopped, her hand freezing on the doorknob.
And when she saw what was inside, she nearly FAINTED…
Michael was bent over the sink, struggling to remove what looked like an artificial facial plate. He caught sight of Sophia’s reflection in the mirror and turned around in alarm. The “silver hair” she had believed was natural turned out to be part of a carefully styled wig resting on the countertop. The room was filled with a bizarre mix of half-removed prosthetics and tinted skin creams, giving Michael a disjointed, patchwork appearance. He looked nothing like the elderly gentleman who had just placed a ring on her finger
Sophia’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap out of her chest. She glanced at the wig, at the small jars of makeup for wrinkles, and back at Michael. She stumbled backward, catching the doorframe to keep from collapsing. “What is going on?” she whispered, voice trembling.
Michael ran a hand through the sparse hair remaining on his real scalp. Without the wig and makeup, he looked like a man in his mid-fifties—older than her, yes, but not the frail old figure he had presented himself to be. “Please, let me explain,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on her in genuine concern.
Sophia wasn’t sure if she should run or stay. Curiosity and panic battled inside her. She found herself lingering in the doorway, needing to hear whatever explanation Michael had to offer. “I’m listening,” she managed, her voice still shaky.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve never wanted to deceive you, but… you see, I didn’t tell you the full truth. I come from a wealthy family. My father, who actually owned most of this estate, insisted that I carry myself a certain way. He felt that appearing extremely old would keep away gold-diggers—women who only wanted my money. He believed a heavily staged look, complete with hairpieces and makeup, would scare off those who didn’t have true intentions.” He paused, looking down at the mosaic floor. “He passed away a year ago, leaving me everything. But I never felt right about the entire charade.”
Sophia stood in stunned silence. All her life, she had heard of bizarre habits among the super-rich, but this was beyond her imagination. “But then why… why go through with it if it felt wrong?” she asked, mind churning.
“I’ve never known a life different from the one my father shaped. I believed that if I kept up this persona of an old, feeble man, I would protect myself—and preserve his legacy—by only marrying someone who truly needed help or genuinely cared for me. And now I see how misguided that was. I realize you married me to help your own family, too. My father’s plan might’ve worked in a strange way, but it also felt… awful to deceive you.” His voice grew heavy with remorse.