Runaway Heiress, Mystery Husband
Chloe · Completed · 75.3k Words
Introduction
That night, I sat alone in a bar, drowning in cheap cocktails and three years of wasted devotion. A stranger sat next to me — quiet, well-dressed, nothing like the other men who tried to buy me drinks.
I was drunk. Broken. Done caring.
"Hey," I leaned in and asked, "you single?"
He nodded.
"Wanna get married?"
For a second, he just looked at me. Then came the softest "Okay" I've ever heard.
The next morning, I woke up with a hangover, a wedding ring, and no memory of my husband's face.
But here's the thing about hitting rock bottom — the only way left is up. And apparently, my brand-new husband plans to take me all the way to the top.
Even if I have no idea who he is.
Chapter 1
"Mr. Moore, I heard your ex Nicole Garcia is back in town. You're still with that agent girlfriend of yours? Not going after Ms. Garcia?"
"I am."
"I don't get it. If you've been carrying a torch for Ms. Garcia this whole time, why bother with Sophie?"
"Physical needs. No feelings involved."
"That's what I thought! Our Mr. Moore, such a devoted guy. No way you'd move on just three months after Ms. Garcia left, right? Men will be men. I get it, I get it."
At the bar, Sophie gripped her phone, replaying the recording over and over.
It was from a call with Matthew Moore—accidentally pocket-dialed while he was out drinking with friends.
She was Matthew's girlfriend. His manager, too.
A year ago, she'd met Matthew just as he was breaking into the industry. She'd just run away from home herself, alone in a new city.
Film school graduate, directing major. She'd even landed an assistant director gig on a decent production. But after she started dating Matthew, she'd walked away from it all.
Matthew wanted to be a star. So she found him a good agency, built his public image, pulled in investors.
Over the past year, his profile had skyrocketed. He was A-list now.
Matthew had helped her once. Given her warmth when she needed it.
So when he'd asked her out, she'd said yes without hesitation.
To better support his career, she'd abandoned her own directing ambitions and poured everything into him.
But now this recording looped in her ears like ice water down her spine.
Sophie's cheeks flushed from several cocktails. Each one tasted sweet going down, but left a bitter aftertaste.
Her assistant kept sending voice messages—reminding her about tomorrow's press event for Matthew's new project, telling her to bring his suit to set.
Oh, and Matthew was at the wrap party with the cast. Wouldn't be coming home.
She didn't reply. After leaving the apartment, she'd tossed Matthew's suit in a dumpster and headed straight to this bar.
As the last drink hit her system, Sophie laughed bitterly at herself.
God, how stupid she'd been.
A whole year wasted on a man whose heart belonged to someone else.
What a joke.
Sophie cut a striking figure—form-fitting black dress, red stilettos, chestnut waves cascading down her back. Liquid butterfly earrings caught the light.
She turned heads. Several men had tried their luck, but she'd brushed them all off—except for the guy in the gray trench coat who'd settled beside her without a word.
He looked out of place in the bar scene. Hadn't ordered a drink, hadn't touched his phone. Just sat there reviewing a stack of documents, occasionally glancing her way when he thought she wouldn't notice.
Sophie didn't catch those glances. The alcohol had made her bold. She turned, decided he looked decent enough—and somehow different from the others. Not repulsive.
She leaned closer, her finger trailing along his sleeve.
"Are you single?"
The man's hand stilled on the documents. He met her gaze.
"Yes."
Sophie's head swam pleasantly. She smiled. "What a coincidence. So am I."
"Would you consider getting married?"
His right hand clenched the papers. Something shifted in his eyes—his voice came out rough, like he was holding something back.
When Sophie asked again, he finally answered, voice hoarse: "Alright."
Sophie stayed at the bar until late. The courthouse opened at eight a.m.
When she left the building, the alcohol still clouded her thoughts. She wasn't fully sober.
She had no clear memory of getting home.
Just a hazy recollection of a man driving her back, calling her "wife."
He'd told her she was too drunk to keep track of the marriage certificate, so he'd take both copies for safekeeping.
After a cold shower, Sophie's head finally cleared.
Two things crystallized in her mind:
Her boyfriend Matthew had always been in love with Nicole. His feelings for her had never been real.
And apparently, she'd just gotten married. To a complete stranger.
But thinking it over—did it really matter?
If there was no love anyway, what difference did it make who she married?
She changed clothes and went to make breakfast. This time, only for herself.
Usually at this hour, Matthew would still be asleep. She'd always risen early to cook for him.
Whatever Matthew wanted, she'd make. If she didn't know how, she'd learn.
Now, with Matthew gone—and even if he came back—she was done cooking for him.
Matthew didn't like having staff around, so she'd never hired help. She'd done all the housework herself.
Sophie picked at her food without appetite.
That's when her phone buzzed in the cabinet where she'd locked it away.
She retrieved her old phone and answered.
"Sophie, come home. Your father won't force you into that arrangement anymore."
"Sophie, I was wrong. We miss you. Your mother and I both miss you."
After a year, her father's familiar voice brought tears to her eyes.
"Okay. I'll come home."
"We'll send someone to get you right away."
"No rush. Ten days. I need to handle some things first."
Sophie wiped her eyes.
She'd give herself ten days. Time to process this relationship.
To put a proper end to things with Matthew. And to track down her mystery "husband."
The marriage had clearly been impulsive for both of them. She didn't care about the certificate—but what if he did?
She couldn't just ignore it. She'd hurt someone, married him without any real feelings.
Once she found him, she'd accept a divorce. Or they could simply agree to live separate lives.
Lost in thought, she heard the door open.
Matthew was home.
The click of his dress shoes mixed with the staccato of high heels on the floor.
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Last Updated: 7/6/2026
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