I Married the Woman My Father Chose—What She Said on Our Wedding Night Left Me Stunned

I Married the Woman My Father Chose for Me — On Our Wedding Night, She Shocked Me by Saying, ‘From Now On, You Must Do Everything I Tell You’

I anticipated awkward small talk on my wedding night because I was forced into an arranged marriage to rescue my family’s business. “From now on, you must do everything I tell you,” Adriana ordered me. Was there a joke here? No. It was a power struggle, and my family would be devastated if I didn’t comply.

My father said, “Son, if there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask this of you,” without the customary authoritative tone in his voice.

“You’re certain the only way to save the business is for me to marry some woman I’ve never met?” I couldn’t help but sound incredulous.

He let out a sigh. “Victor’s daughter is Adriana. Right now, the only thing that can save us is the merger with his business. He’s also… conventional. His goal is to bring the families together.

“So I’m just a bargaining chip?” The words had a nasty taste.

“James, please understand—”

“No, father. I completely get it.

“You built this company, made all the decisions that led to this point, and now I have to clean up your mess by selling myself like some medieval prince.”

His expression dropped. “Just meet Adriana before you decide.”

I wanted to say no. But I was stopped by my father’s desperate expression.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go see her. However, I’m not making any promises.

A few days later, we met at a restaurant. Adriana had a honey-like voice, eyes that evaluated everything in a matter of seconds, and an incredibly gorgeous appearance.

She sat down and said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” “This situation is… unconventional, but I think we can make it work.” With a slight smile, she wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. “First, let’s get to know one another better. James, what do you want to know about me?

After that, the talk was free to flow. Adriana was clever, funny, and unexpectedly approachable. By the time we were parting, I had changed my mind about my resistance.

“She’s incredible,” I said the following day to my father.

His face flushed with relief. “So you’ll do it?”

I paused. Seeing the hope in my father’s eyes made me feel better, yet something was still off.

“Yes,” I responded at last. “I’ll marry Adriana.”

Disguised as a celebration, our wedding was actually a business deal. The vows felt like terms of a contract, the seats were packed with business associates, and even the kiss appeared to have been negotiated—brief, appropriate, and just for show.

The reception continued until, at last, we found ourselves in a five-star hotel’s presidential suite by ourselves.

Adriana perched on the side of the enormous bed after kicking off her heels. Uncertain of what might happen next in this odd configuration, I rearranged my tie.

Adriana and I looked at each other. “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.”

“Excuse me?” I chuckled, sure she was kidding. “All right. And, Your Highness, what is your first order?”

Her face remained unchanged. “I’m starving. Go to the McDonald’s on Grant Street and fetch me a burger. Go there on foot.

“It’s almost midnight, Adriana. The distance to Grant Street is almost two miles.

“I’m aware.” She grinned icily. “Better get going.”

I was waiting for the joke as I looked at her. It never materialized.

“You can’t be serious.”

“James, you’re dead serious. The only reason my father approved of this marriage was because your father assured me that you would comply with my wishes. That was the agreement. You might be my servant, then. or witness the bankruptcy of your family.

I was taken aback. Adriana had changed from a humorous, laid-back woman to a commanding stranger in a matter of hours. I couldn’t turn it down without taking a huge chance.

“All right. There will be one burger soon.

I took out my phone and dialed a cab on the elevator. Even though I’m stuck in this marriage, I wouldn’t be helpless.

The tone for my new normal was established the next morning. At 6 a.m., Adriana woke me up.

“Press my blue suit,” she said. “Next, prepare coffee. One sugar, Black.

I objected, “I’m not your butler,”

Her chilly eyes were fixed on me. “No, you are my spouse. This implies that you are anything I need you to be.

There were fresh requests every day. Hand wash her automobile. Get her dry cleaners. After work, give her feet a massage. Every assignment was increasingly humiliating.

“Why are you doing this?” One evening, when I was polishing her collection of high-end shoes, I finally inquired.

“Because I can,” was her straightforward response. “What could be better than having a man who caters to my every need?”

Silently, I carried on with the chore, but my thoughts were racing.

Although she believed she was breaking me, she was actually teaching me. Every request gave insight into her habits and areas of weakness.

I turned to my father when I was at my breaking point.

I admitted, “She’s made me her personal servant.”

His expression dropped. “Son, I didn’t know. However, the agreement with Victor…”

I concluded, “Can’t be broken without bankrupting us,” for him. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said in a low voice.

“Don’t be,” I said, already formulating a strategy. “I’ll handle Adriana.”

Installing the little wireless cameras was simple. I placed them in our bedroom, her study, the kitchen, and the living area.

I gathered evidence for two weeks that Adriana had me “completely under control,” threatened to ruin my family if I didn’t follow her orders, and laughed on the phone with her friends about it.

We were portrayed as the ideal pair on her Instagram. In her captions, she referred to us as a “power duo,” If only her supporters were aware.

A rainy Tuesday night was the tipping point.

She said, “I want sushi,” from the couch. “From Akira. You’ll stroll over there.”

I said, “That’s three miles away,”

“All right? Grab an umbrella. Not even her eyes left her phone.

“No,” I replied plainly.

Between us, the word lingered. Her eyes narrowed as she gently raised her head.

“What did you say?”

“No, Adriana,” I answered. I’m not going.

Anger flushed her face as she rose up. “You don’t refuse me. Never. Or have you forgotten the consequences of not complying?

“Go ahead,” I pushed back. “Give your dad a call. Express your disappointment to him.

“You know I will.” She grabbed her phone. “And your family will be finished.”

I grinned. “I don’t think so.”

Over the screen, her fingers hesitated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Call him,” I said. “Please. I insist.

Her face flashed with confusion, but she put the phone on speaker and made the call.

“Dad? We’re having trouble. James is being challenging. I believe we should reevaluate—”

“Adriana.” The tone of her father’s voice was icy. “What the hell have you been doing?”

She stopped. “What do you mean?”

“I received videos from James. dozens of them. When you stated that you wanted him to follow your instructions, I had no idea that this was your intention! Is this the way I brought you up? Like a despot?”

She finally understood as she stared at me, the color draining from her cheeks.

She muttered, “You recorded me?”

I gave a nod. “Every moment. Every demand.”

“Adriana,” her father went on, “you’ve given your husband enough blackmail information to ruin our family’s image, and he expressed his intention to use it as well. You’re divorcing someone. His demands were to get a divorce from you while maintaining his business relationship with his father. Do you get what I’m saying?

She managed to say, “Yes, Daddy,” in a tiny voice.

She looked to me with beseeching eyes as the call came to an end. “Please, don’t harm me like this! If we get divorced, it will damage my reputation.

I grinned. This was a chance to impart a useful lesson to her.

When I said, “I’ll consider staying,” “But only if you obey my demands.”

Her eyes flashed with anger and indignation, but she nodded.

Adriana had a taste of her own medicine over the following two weeks. I made sure she knew what it was like to be dominated, but I didn’t go nearly as far as she had.

I’d say, “Fetch my coffee,” “And remember, two sugars.”

With her eyes flaming with fury and her teeth clenched, she would comply.

My attorneys were drafting divorce documents in the meanwhile. I placed them on the kitchen counter for her to locate when they were ready.

She picked them up and asked, “What’s this?”

“Divorce papers,” I simply answered. “Our marriage is over.”

“But, you said you’d stay if I obeyed you!” She trembled when she spoke. “You lied to me!”

“Yes,” I said, “and I hope it taught you something.” If you hadn’t used that business arrangement to enslave me, Adriana, we might have truly been able to work this out. Gather your belongings and leave my flat.

“And before you go,” I said, “post on your Instagram that we’re separating amicably, by mutual agreement.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked aggressively.

I raised my phone. “Then these videos go public.”

Her expertly written piece surfaced one hour later. “After giving it some thought, James and I have made the decision to split up. We wish each other well and are still dedicated to our families’ common economic interests.”

I was able to breathe fully for the first time since our wedding day as the door closed behind her.

I had lost months of my dignity as a result of this forced marriage, but I had learned that no contract, familial duty, or financial consideration was worth giving up control of my life for.