Upon Learning His Parents Were Visiting, the Wealthy Man Pleaded with a Homeless Woman to Pose as His Fiancée for Just One Night.

**Diary Entry**

When I heard my parents were coming to visit, I panicked. A wealthy man like me, and yet I found myself begging a homeless girl to pretend to be my fiancée for just one evening. The moment she stepped into that posh London restaurant, my mother nearly choked on her champagne.

Have you gone mad? she hissed, recoiling as if shed been slapped. Me? Playing your fiancée? Yesterday, I was rummaging through bins for food!

I locked the door behind us, leaning against it with a weary sigh.

Youve no reason to refuse, I said calmly. Ill pay you more than youve ever dreamed of. Just one evening. Play the part. For them. For my parents. Its just a role. Or have you forgotten how to act?

She stayed silent. Her gloved fingers trembled. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird. Was this her way out? Or just another cruel trick?

And so began a story none of us saw coming.

I was richer than some small nations. Nathan Whitmoreyoung, severe, with ice in my gaze and a face that never betrayed a thing. My name filled the pages of *The Economist*, my face plastered across lists of Britains most eligible bachelors. Breeding, wealth, influenceall textbook perfect. But my parents, settled in their country estate in the Cotswolds, never stopped nagging:

When will we meet your girl? Why are you hiding her?

Then they announced they were coming. Tomorrow.

I wasnt afraidjust baffled. Not because I feared their disapproval, but because no woman I knew fit the role. Actresses? Too polished. Socialites? Too false. I needed someone raw. Someone unlike what they expected.

That night, stuck in London traffic, cold rain tapping the Bentleys roof, I spotted her outside Westminster station. A guitar case at her feet, a sign propped beside her: *Not begging for change. Begging for a chance.*

I pulled over. For the first time, I didnt look away.

Whats your name?

She lifted her chin. Her voice was rough but fierce.

Why dyou care?

I almost smiled.

I need a woman who knows what survival means. The real kind. No pretense. Like you.

Her name was Elsie. Twenty-seven. An orphanage, runaways, years on the streets. A battered guitar, her only comfort.

The next evening, she stood before the mirror in The Savoy, smoothing the emerald silk of a dress worth more than her entire life. Freshly styled hair, makeup that made her glowshe barely recognised herself.

Theyre waiting downstairs, I said, adjusting my cuffs. Fashionably late, as always.

Dyou really think thisll work?

I studied her.

Youre the only one who might charm my mother.

Dinner was going smoothly. Almost.

My father watched, silent. My mothersharp as a blade behind polite smileslocked eyes with Elsie.

How did you meet my son?

I felt Elsie hesitate. I gave a slight nod.

In a bookshop, she said. Dropped a copy of *Wuthering Heights*. He picked it up. We laughed.

*Wuthering Heights*? My mother arched a brow. You read the Brontës?

Had to. In the childrens home, the matron let us borrow anythingso long as we promised to return it.

A pause. My mother set down her wineglass. Too carefully.

A childrens home? Her voice flickered. Not disgust. Something else.

Then Elsie did the unthinkable.

She straightened, squared her shoulders, and spoke clear as a bell:

Im lying. Im not his fiancée. Not from a bookshopfrom the streets. Im homeless. Just a woman who, for one night, got to feel human.

Instead of outrage, my mother stood, crossed the room, and pulled her into an embrace.

Darling I was nobody once too. Someone gave me a chance. Im glad you took yours.

I said nothing. Just watched. The game was over. Life had begun.

She told the truthand was met with arms, not scorn. None of us knew then how deep it would go. My mother saw past the act to the steel in Elsies spine. My father? Less forgiving.

This is lunacy, Nathan, he snapped over brandy. Parading a stray as your bride?

My choice, I said evenly. Not yours to judge.

Afterwards, Elsie slipped outside. Kicked off her heels, pressed her back to the brick, and weptnot from shame, but release. Shed told the truth. And the sky hadnt fallen.

I found her there. Held out her coat.

Youre not going back to the streets. Youll stay with me. As long as you need. A beat. You deserve better.

I dont want your pity.

Its not pity. Its a hand up.

So began our jagged, honest life. I worked gruelling hours. She devoured books, learned to cook, played her guitar not for coins but for joy.

Youve changed, I remarked once.

Im not scared of being tossed out anymore, she said simply.

A month later, my father left. No farewelljust a note: *Choose her, and my fortunes lost to you.*

I tossed it into the fire. Moneys fleeting. Lose yourself, and youre worth nothing.

Three months on, Elsie showed me two pink lines.

This cant be, she whispered, slumped on the bathroom tiles. Were not evenproper, are we?

I pulled her close. Dont know what this is. But its right.

There were lawsuits over the estate. Tabloids sneering about *The Lord and the Tramp*. A harrowing birth, nights of terror.

Thena new life.

Elsie wrote a memoir. Stood on stages not as a beggar, but a survivor.

I was a *fake fiancée*, shed tell audiences. Now Im a wife. Because one man saw *me*, not my past.

Last week, we returned to that restaurant. Elsie held our ten-year-olds hand.

See, love? Right here, your dad smiled proper for the first time. Heres where we became real.

I stood beside them. No regrets.

I hadnt married a lady. Id chosen a lioness. One whod once sat on the pavement, asking not for almsbut a shot.

**Lesson learned:** The rarest wealth isnt in banks. Its in the people brave enough to tell the truth.

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Upon Learning His Parents Were Visiting, the Wealthy Man Pleaded with a Homeless Woman to Pose as His Fiancée for Just One Night.
Leave the Keys on the Table,” He Whispered, Without Meeting My Eyes