My boss paid me to be her husband for a year. But that “formal” marriage slowly turned into something real…
When my boss told me she needed me to pretend to be her husband for a year, the first thing I asked was:
— Do we have to sleep in the same bed?
Yes. That’s what I told the most feared woman in the entire company.
My name is Daniel Popescu. I’m 28 years old, I’m from a dusty town in Vaslui, and for five years I’ve been trying to build a life for myself in Bucharest.
I work as a junior copywriter at a company in Romania. It sounds good when I say it, like I’m some kind of creative genius, but the reality is less spectacular. I sit in a nondescript cubicle in an office building on Unirii Boulevard, writing slogans that people ignore while scrolling through their phones.
Every morning I take the metro, crammed between sleeping people. I wear the same worn-out shirts. I drink cheap coffee from the vending machine. Then I try to make “buy Romanian craft beer” sound original for the tenth time.
Outside of work, my life is not great anymore. I live in a small apartment, in an old block of flats in Rahova. The paint is peeling off the walls, the boiler makes strange noises, and the neighbor’s dog barks at all hours.
In the evening I eat shawarma on the corner, open my laptop, and send as much as I can to my mother in Vaslui. She is 62 years old and lives alone in the family’s old house on the outskirts of the city.
My father was a car mechanic. He worked until his body gave out. Last year he was diagnosed with lung cancer. The medical bills started to pile up. I paid what I could, but it was never enough. When he died, the debts remained.
I took out loans, paid off my credit cards, did everything I could to keep my mom from losing her house. Now I was over 200,000 lei in debt. That number was constantly weighing on my mind.
Two weeks before it all started, the landlord left me an eviction notice. Three months of rent outstanding. No negotiations.
I tried freelancing, sold my camera, even wrote to my former college classmates.
The answers were the same:
“I’m sorry, bro…”
That Monday morning I was at my wits’ end.
I arrived at the office early, my head heavy. My inbox was full: invoices, warnings, notifications. Everything was collapsing.
Then a new email appeared:
“Come to my office. 9:00.”
Andreea Sterling, vice president, daughter of the founder, my direct boss.
In the firm, they called her the “Ice Queen.” Impeccable suits, perfectly cut hair, a cold gaze. She didn’t socialize, she didn’t joke, she didn’t waste time.
At 8:59 I was in front of her office, on the top floor, overlooking the Palace of Parliament.
I knocked.
— Come in.
She didn’t look up. She showed me the chair.
— Take a seat.
She handed me a file.
— Open it.
I opened it… and my stomach dropped.
My whole life was in there: debts, bank statements, the eviction notice.
— How…? I asked.
— Basic research, she said calmly. You’re close to collapsing, Daniel.
I tensed.
— What does this have to do with my work?
— None. It’s a proposal.
She leaned back.
— My father left a trust. To keep control of the company, I have to be married before the end of the year and stay married for a year. Otherwise, control goes to my brother, Radu.
I knew him. Charismatic. Dangerous.
— I won’t allow that, she said. But I don’t want a real marriage either. So… I need you.
I blinked.
— Me?
— I need a husband.
The contract was simple: one year. Official marriage. Public appearances. No emotional involvement.
In exchange, she would pay all my debts and, at the end, give me 100,000 euros.
I was speechless.
— That’s crazy.
— It’s an opportunity, she said. And you don’t have many options left.
She was right.
That evening, I accepted.
We signed contracts. Strict clauses. No feelings. No money involved.
Within a few days, my debts were gone.
For the first time in years, I felt peace.
We got married discreetly, in a civil ceremony in Bucharest. My mother came from Vaslui, excited and confused.
— Are you sure? she asked me.
I lied.
— Yes.
I moved into her apartment in Nordului. Everything was impeccable. Cold. Luxurious.
At first, we slept separately. Then, gradually, in the same bed.
Without touching.
Without talking much.
The rumors started immediately.
“The vice president married a junior employee.”
Radu smiled too much.
— Welcome to the family, he said.
Andreea said to me one evening:
— She’s going to try something.
She was right.
The change came slowly.
One night I woke up from a nightmare. She noticed.
We talked. For the first time, honestly.
About my father. About fear.
She said:
— I live in fear too.
That night, we held hands.
In the sixth month, the scandal broke.
A blog said that our marriage was fake.
The council started an investigation.
We argued.
— Do you want to leave? she asked me.
— No.
And for the first time, it was true.
At a gala in Cluj, someone
questioned our relationship.
Without thinking, I kissed her in front of everyone.
It was real.
On the plane, she said to me:
— It wasn't in the contract.
— I know.
— Why did you do it?
— Because I don't want it to end.
She was silent.
— Me neither.
It turned out that Radu had paid for the scandal.
He was removed.
Andreea remained in charge.
But we didn't celebrate at the office.
We celebrated at home.
At the end of the year, the lawyer asked us:
— Are we getting a divorce?
Andreea took my hand.
— No.
We decided to stay married.
Three years have passed.
I'm no longer a junior. I run the creative department.
My mother moved to Bucharest.
Andreea and I… are not perfect.
But we are real.
Every morning, when I wake up next to her, I remember the first question:
— Do we have to sleep in the same bed?
Now I smile.
Yes.
And it is the one contract I never want to break.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or deceased, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intentional by the author.
The author and publisher assume no responsibility for the accuracy of the events or the way the characters are portrayed, and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
