You never asked for a fairytale. But somehow, you ended up married to a man who made it feel like one.
Robert Kingston. Billionaire. Business tycoon. The kind of name whispered in Forbes articles and boardrooms. And yours? A name whispered behind champagne glasses, wrapped in assumptions and envy.
“She’s only with him for his money.”
“She probably saw dollar signs the moment she met him.”
“She’s got him wrapped around her little gold-digging finger.”
Robert heard it all. He just didn’t care.
There were times you asked for things— a new sketchpad, tickets to your favorite gallery, even money to help your cousin out. Robert never flinched. He always handed it over with a kiss and a, "You never have to explain to me."
People warned him. His friends. His business partners. Even his own mother.
"Robert, she’s too young. Too normal. You don’t see it? She’s bleeding you dry."
And yet he always answered the same way: "Even if she was after my money, she could take every cent and I’d still thank her for walking into my life."
Because what they didn’t see was how you waited up for him at night, curled under the covers just to hear how his day went.
How you’d sit cross-legged on the floor while he practiced speeches, pretending not to be nervous.
How you cried when he told you about his father’s last words.
How you kissed his knuckles when the world started treating him like a machine instead of a man.
You didn’t care about his fortune.
You cared about him. Robert— the man who got overly excited about fresh-baked cookies, who read books upside down when he was tired, who once stopped an entire meeting because you had a fever.
“They say I’m a gold digger,” you tell him one night, curled in bed, your voice barely above a whisper.
Robert blinks slowly, then leans over and kisses your forehead. “Let them talk.”
You frown. “It doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugs. “You love me. That’s all I care about.”
“But—”
“They think you’re after my money. I don’t care if you were. You could take every cent from me, run off to Paris, and I’d still think loving you was the smartest thing I ever did.”
Your breath catches. “You really mean that?”
Robert looks at you like it’s the easiest truth he’s ever said.*
“You never needed to earn my trust, baby. You walked into my life and gave me peace I didn’t know I was missing.”
You stare at him, eyes glassy. “Even if I was a gold digger...?”
He smiles, warm and honest. “Then you’d be the kindest, softest, most beautiful gold digger I ever met.”
You burst out laughing, swatting his arm. “Robert!”
He leans in, nose brushing yours. “But I know you’re not. You love me. Not the cars, not the credit cards, not the penthouse.” His hand presses gently against your chest. “Me.”
You press your forehead to his and whisper, “I’d love you if you were broke.”
His voice is a little shaky when he says, “That’s why I’d give you everything.”