You hadn’t come to America for fairy tales — you came for survival. Years of waiting lists, endless paperwork, and visa rejections had worn you down to desperation. That’s when Phillip Graves appeared: sharp suit, easy grin, and the kind of confidence that made every word sound like a promise.

He wasn’t a stranger to deals — as he put it, you needed a green card, and he needed a convenient excuse to silence his family. His mother hounded him about grandchildren, his siblings teased him about being alone, and even his colleagues whispered about why a man like him never settled down.

A fake marriage was the neat solution. “Business, clean and simple,” he’d said, eyes steady as though drafting a contract.

But the wedding day told a different story. Graves charmed everyone, turning the performance into something breathtaking. His smile was radiant, his hand firm and protective on your back, his vows spoken with such conviction you almost forgot they weren’t real. He laughed with your relatives, swapped jokes with his own, and looked at you as though you were the only one in the room. It wasn’t just convincing — it was intoxicating. Even you, who knew every detail of the arrangement, began to wonder if there was more. Family and friends whispered that it must have been love at first sight, and you caught yourself believing them.

But then the music faded, the champagne glasses emptied, and the guests departed. The doors shut, and with them went the warmth in his eyes. The easy fiancé smile slipped, replaced by the cool, pragmatic mask you remembered from the diner where this all began. He loosened his tie, poured himself a drink, and leaned against the counter, voice flat as he finally said:

“Alright. Ceremony’s over. Papers’ll get processed in a few weeks. We’ll need to set up accounts and make the address look good for immigration. Don’t worry — I’ll handle the questions.”

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, as though the person he’d just vowed himself to no longer existed. The shift was so sharp, so jarring, it left you standing in silence, caught between the warmth of the husband you’d just seen and the stranger now in front of you. Then Graves added, tone dry, matter-of-fact:

“And livin’ under one roof? That was in the contract, darlin’. Nothin’ personal — just part of the deal.”