The moment my blind date sat down, she demanded I buy a luxury penthouse in the city center — in cash — and put her name on the deed. She picked her teeth and looked me up and down like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I glanced past her at the part-time matchmaker standing behind her — eyes red, nearly in tears, desperate to close a deal. I pulled out my bank card, handed it to the matchmaker, and said with a smile, “I’ll marry you instead.” “City center. Top-floor penthouse. Full cash payment. My name on the deed.” The woman across from me — Chris — dug a fingernail between her teeth, picking at the remnants of the chicken wings she’d just demolished, and gave me a lazy sideways glance. The cheap perfume clinging to her skin mixed with the greasy smell of sauce, and I felt my temples start to throb. “Oh, and you need to buy me a house first. I’m not picky about the car — a Porsche 718 will do. Pink.” I leaned back in the booth. The faded shirt I was wearing was the same one I’d had on when I crawled out from a pile of bodies. It was older than Chris herself. “You should count yourself lucky I’d even consider a military guy like you. You understand that, right?” She spat a clean-picked bone onto the table. A few drops of grease splattered across the surface. I didn’t say anything. I just reached for the complimentary lemon water and took a sip. Sour. Fitting. My eyes drifted past her heavily made-up face and landed on the girl standing behind her. She was wearing an ill-fitting uniform from the matchmaking agency, with a name tag pined to her chest that read: Trainee Matchmaker — Samantha. She was young — probably still in college — no makeup, eyes red-rimmed. She was staring at me, lips moving silently, mouthing something. Run. Get out of here. I narrowed my eyes slightly. Interesting. Chris tapped the table impatiently when I didn’t respond. “With your situation, the second you walk out that door you won’t even be qualified to carry my bags. I’m doing you a favor.” “Oh?” I finally spoke. My voice came out a little rough. “Three minutes to decide. Either transfer the deposit right now, or get lost. Don’t waste my time.” She crossed her legs, pulled out her phone, and started scrolling TikTok on full volume — loud and grating. That’s when I felt something gently tap my knee from under the table. I looked down and saw a crumpled napkin being pushed across from the other side. Samantha had her head down, pretending to tidy the table, but her hands were trembling slightly. I hoked the little paper ball with my foot, slid it to my side without drawing attention, and picked it up. I smoothed it open. The handwriting was small and neat but huried. Run. She’s a scammer. They’re a whole gang. Don’t give them any money — they’ll take everything you have. The last stroke had pressed so hard it nearly tore through the napkin. I looked up just as Samantha lifted her eyes to meet mine. They were full of terror and pleading. Chris was still going on behind her, full of herself. “Made up your mind yet? I’m telling you — Heavenly Match is the most elite agency in the city. You’d have to be out of your mind not to jump at this chance.” “Manager Stockton told me your profile says you have two hundred thousand saved up. That’s just enough for the down payment.” I smiled. So they’d already figured out exactly what I had. I closed my fist around the note and stood up. Chris thought I was leaving. Her expression flipped instantly and she shrieked, “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done talking!” The agency manager — a plump, overly friendly woman — immediately appeared with two security guards, cutting off my path. “Mr. Johnson, Chris is one of our top-tier members. You’re a lucky man that she’d consider you. Is there a problem?” Manager Stockton’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. The threat in them was obvious. Samantha went pale. She shrank behind Stockton, shaking. I looked at her, then turned to Stockton. “No problem at all,” I said calmly, sitting back down. “But I have one condition.” Chris and Stockton exchanged a look. Both of them smiled — gredy. “Name it.” “I don’t want installments,” I said, measured and unhurried. “I want to pay for the house in full, the car in full, and the wedding fund all at once.” The room went dead quiet. Chris’s eyes went wide. She was barely breathing. Stockton’s cheks quivered as she tried to contain her smile. Only Samantha stared at me in disbelief, shaking her head over and over. I gave her a small reassuring look, then turned back to Stockton. “But I’ll need your agency to provide a written guarantee — confirming that Chris has a clean background and that the marriage will be stable and harmonious. If anything goes wrong, your agency bears full responsibility.” “Absolutely, of course!” Stockton agreed without a second’s hesitation. In her eyes, I was already fish on the hook. “There’s just one more small thing.” I paused, and my gaze settled on Samantha. “For our next meeting, I’d like Samantha to be our dedicated matchmaker.”
Stockton’s smile stiffened for just a moment before bloming back into full warmth. “Of course! Samantha, did you hear that? Go ahead and thank Mr. Johnson!” Samantha looked at me, hesitant, and said quietly, “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” Chris curled her lip. “What’s a trainee going to do? Whatever, as long as the money shows up I don’t care who’s there.” I left them with my new phone number. Under their gredy, contemptuous stares, I walked out of that upscale matchmaking agency. The sunlight outside was sharp. I took out my phone and made a call. “Wesley.” “Sir.” My personal assistant Wesley picked up immediately. “I need you to look into a matchmaking agency called Heavenly Match. Also two people — one named Chris, one named Samantha.” “And prepare two documents for me. One standard contract, and one deed of gift.” I hung up and turned the crumpled napkin over in my pocket. The girl’s handwriting still held a trace of warmth. In a city this cold, that tiny act of kindness felt like something rare. I didn’t know why she’d tried to help me. But I knew I wasn’t going to let her get swallowed up by these wolves. The next morning, Wesley’s report landed in my inbox. Efficient as always. Heavenly Match was a front — a full-scale fraud operation. They specifically targeted men with limited social circles but some savings, whose finances weren’t easily tracked. Veterans. Programmers who’d spent years working away from home. They fabricated the persona of a wealthy, beautiful woman and used every trick available to earn the target’s trust, then bled them dry under the guise of marriage. Chris was their star performer. Multiple prior offenses. Several victims had already lost everything. But the section of the report about Samantha stopped me cold. Samantha was a finance major and a top student — she’d held the national first-class scholarship for three consecutive years. She was an orphan, raised at Sunshine Home, a children’s care facility on the edge of the city. She’d taken this part-time job to raise money for surgery for a younger boy at the orphanage who’d been born with a congenital heart defect. She’d been tricked into working there. Stockton had lured her in with promises of high pay, had her sign a contract, then confiscated her ID and student card to keep her trapped. Worse — the photos gang used in their online profiles were all taken from Samantha’s personal accounts. They used her fresh, wholesome image to reel in targets, then swapped her out for Chris once the hook was set. The last page of the report included a photo: Samantha at the orphanage, holding a thin little boy, smiling the softest smile. Sunlight fell across her. Clean. Untouched. I closed the email. Something sat heavy in my chest. She was already stuck in the mud herself, and she was still reaching out to pull someone else free. My phone buzzed. A text from Samantha. Mr. Johnson, please don’t trust them. They’re all scammers. Just go to the police — please don’t have any more contact with them. There was a crying emoji at the end. I could imagine exactly how frightened she’d been when she sent that. I replied: I know. Then I called Wesley. “Sir?” “Get ready. Tomorrow, we close the net.”
The next day I showed up at the coffee shop at the agreed time. The scene was bigger than before. Chris hadn’t just come herself — she’d brought a whole crew of so-called relatives who filled two large tables. They were decked out in gold and jewelry, thick-necked, eyeing me like I was a meal. Samantha was standing in the corner. She looked even paler than the day before, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Chris spotted me and lifted her chin. “Bold of you to actually show up. You got the money ready?” Stockton stepped forward with a warm smile and held out a document. “Mr. Johnson, this is the prenuptial agreement we’ve prepared. Take a look — once everything looks good, we’ll sign and head to the bank.” I took it and skimmed through. The terms were absurd. The groom voluntarily transfers all assets under his name to the bride. All monthly income after marriage must be surrendered to the bride for her exclusive management. The groom may not interfere with the bride’s social activities in any capacity. In the event of divorce, the groom shall vacate with nothing and pay the bride ten million dollars in emotional damages. This wasn’t a prenuptial agreement. It was a bill of sale. “Everything look okay?” Chris asked, smug. The relatives behind her started chiming in. “Chris is one in a million — you’re lucky to have her!” “Stop stalling and just sign it, we’re waiting to celebrate!” “A military boy landing Chris? You’ve hit the jackpot, friend!” The jering and laughter filled the coffee shop. The other patrons were staring. In the corner, Samantha looked like she was about to cry, her lip white where she’d been biting it. I decided the curtain had gone on long enough. I picked up the agreement and tore it apart, page by page, in front of all of them. The pieces drifted down through the air. The entire coffee shop went silent. The smile froze on Chris’s face. Then she exploded. “What the hell are you doing?! Are you out of your mind?!” Stockton charged toward me, jabing a finger in my face. “You’re playing us?!” “Security Security! Throw this broke loser out!” The relatives swarmed in, shoving me, screaming. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him!” “A nobody like you trying to marry Chris — dream on!” “Hit him! Show him what happens when you mess with us!” They shoved me back hard. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. The old shirt tore at the shoulder. I didn’t pay attention to any of it. My eyes moved through the chaos and found Samantha — huddled in the corner, arms over her head, crouched on the floor, her thin shoulders shaking. I pushed through the crowd and walked toward her, one step at a time. Everyone froze, unsure what I was doing. I stopped in front of her. And then, in front of everyone, I got down on one knee. I reached into my pocket and took out a velvet box. I opened it. A pink diamond ring caught the light and threw color across the room. It had been my mother’s. Worth more than anything in this room. I held it out to Samantha, and though I didn’t raise my voice, every word carried clearly across the coffee shop. “Samantha, I don’t have a luxury penthouse. I don’t have a Porsche.” “All I have is a past that involved a uniform, and future that might be worth something.” “Will you marry me — a broke soldier?”
Time seemed to stop. The coffee shop was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone stared at us, frozen. Samantha lifted her head. Her eyes were wet with tears, and they were filled with shock and total disbelief. She looked at me. She looked at the ring. Her lips trembled. She couldn’t get a single word out. Chris was the first one to snap out of it. She doubled over laughing. “He’s lost it — he has absolutely lost it!” “Some broke guy pulls out a glass marble and thinks he’s doing a proposal? I’m dying!” Stockton joined in. “Mr. Johnson, isn’t this a bit dramatic? If you don’t have the money, just say so. Isn’t this embarrassing for you?” The relatives fell over each other laughing. “Did the army knock something loose in his head?” “That’s a pink diamond? I’d bet that’s from a dollar machine!” “Samantha, don’t fall for this guy — he can barely feed himself, let alone you!” Samantha’s face shifted between red and white. She looked at me with a complicated mix of emotions — moved, uncertain — but above all, worried. “Mr. Johnson, please stand up,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.” She thought I was staging this to give her a way out. She thought I was sacrificing whatever dignity I had left to fight these people off for her. She was afraid they’d humiliate me even more. I didn’t stand. I just looked at her and waited. I knew what she was afraid of. Chris’s laughter turned sharper. “Samantha, what are you just standing there for? Tell this lunatic to get out.” “If you dare say yes, I’ll make sure you never graduate. I will make your life in this city impossible.” Stockton followed up with her own threat. “Samantha, remember your contract. I still have your documents. Think carefully about the consequences.” Samantha was shaking harder now. She looked at Stockton and Chris — hard-faced and threatening — then back down at me, still kneeling. The tears finally broke loose, rolling down one after another. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. She just cried, and kept saying, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I knew she was apologizing to me. For not being able to help herself. For not being able to accept what I was offering. Just as Chris was moving to drag me away, the coffee shop door swung open. The sound of synchronized footsteps came from outside. Ten black Rolls-Royce Phantoms pulled silently to a stop in front of the shop. The doors opened. A line of men in black suits and white gloves filed in and took positions along both sides of the room, cutting the noise in half like a wall. At the front was my assistant, Wesley. He was wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit, gold-rimed glasses, and an expression cold enough to drop the temperature in the room. He walked straight through the crowd, stopped in front of me, and bowed slightly. “Mr. Johnson. Everything you requested is ready.” He held out a black folder. I didn’t take it. I stayed one knee, eyes on Samantha. Wesley understood. He opened the folder himself. He removed a card first — matte black, a fish design engraved in solid gold. “This is the Global Elite Black Card. No spending limit. Redeemable for cash at any bank in the world.” Chris stopped laughing. Stockton’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. They might not have recognized the card, but they couldn’t miss the weight it carried. Wesley didn’t acknowledge their reactions. He continued “These are the property deds for the entire Tower A of Riverside Crown — all forty-eight penthouse units, transferred into your name.” “These are the purchase contracts for ten pink Porsche 718s.” “This is a certified check for eight hundred and eighty thousand dollars, redeemable immediately.” “And additionally—” With every item Wesley named, the color drained further from Chris’s and Stockton’s faces. By the time a thick stack of deds and car contracts sat on the table, their legs had started to give. A collective intake of breath swept through the coffee shop. Everyone was staring at me — at this man in a worn-out shirt, kneeling on the floor of a coffee shop, proposing to a matchmaker — like they were seeing something they couldn’t explain. Chris’s mouth worked soundlessly. She pointed at me, voice cracking. “You — you—” She couldn’t finish a sentence. Stockton lost it entirely. She collapsed straight to the floor with a thud, and a moment later the acrid smell of urine spread from where she sat. She had wet herself. I didn’t look at either of them. From the beginning to the end, there had only been one person in my sight. I raised the ring again and asked quietly, “So — will you marry me now?”
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