Chapter 3: The Arrangement

Derek and I have been engaged since we were kids—one of those old family deals, like a trust fund with a side of emotional baggage. It’s the kind of story your aunt whispers at reunions: old money, old promises, new problems. Even as a kid, I thought arranged anything was a relic—like dial-up internet, just waiting to be unplugged.

But I know he’ll never actually marry me. Honestly, I’d bet a year’s worth of Starbucks on it. The only vows Derek cares about are the ones that benefit him.

First, before I came back to the States, I’d never even met him. There’s no real affection between us—no slow-dancing in kitchens, no inside jokes. Just two strangers linked by signatures on a lawyer’s paper. The American dream, but with more passive aggression.

Second, my family’s already gone bankrupt. The only reason I’m still his fiancée is because Derek’s mom remembers her friendship with my mom. If not for nostalgia, I’d have been ghosted faster than last year’s iPhone.

They’re just keeping up appearances, waiting for me to break things off myself. Everyone wants a tidy ending—preferably one they don’t have to clean up themselves.

Originally, I planned to be mature about it. I imagined a civil lunch—maybe at a Panera—where we’d agree to move on, shake hands, wish each other luck. Ha.

But at our first meeting, Derek sat down, pulled out his phone, and ignored me, texting someone else. He didn’t even look up when the waiter brought water. I counted every second he spent on that phone like it was a competition.

It was a full five minutes before he finally looked up. The smell of broccoli cheddar soup, the clatter of coffee mugs—none of it could drown out the awkward silence.

He said, “I know I’m good-looking, but do you really have to stare at me like that? Don’t you think you’re a little obsessed?”

He flashed a half-smirk, like being rude was a party trick.

Me: “……”

My jaw clenched so tight I thought I might chip a tooth. I wanted to toss my ice water in his lap. I fought the urge to slap him and swallowed the words, “Let’s just break up like adults.”

Instead, I took a slow breath and forced a smile. Why make it easy on him? Fine, since you’re refusing the easy way, don’t blame me for going all out for the money. You want a performance? I’ll give you one worthy of a Tony.

From that day on, I bombarded him with texts every day, focusing on two main points:

First: Babe, you there? You’re so handsome, I love you so much. I even sprinkled in heart emojis and those sappy stickers—just to make sure he got the point.

Second: Babe, you there? You’re ignoring me, I’m so sad. Why are you so heartless to your fiancée? Sometimes, I’d send those crying gifs just to drive it home.

But Derek wanted nothing to do with me. I nearly drove him crazy. I knew it was manipulative, but at least I was honest about my motives. Rent doesn’t pay itself.

He started leaving me on read, blocking, unblocking, sighing so loudly over text you could practically hear it. He knew I was broke now, so whenever he couldn’t take it anymore, he’d Venmo me just to buy some peace and quiet.

It started with a couple twenties—then it got more generous. A girl could get used to this, honestly.

What could I do? Of course, I was heartbroken, ashamed, and in tears. All those sad girl TikToks? I could’ve been the poster child. Cue the melancholy indie playlist. And then I’d accept the money in a heartbeat. Cash App: Received. Tears dried instantly. Next.