My Parents Set Up an Arranged Marriage for Me, So I Chose to Put My Wealthy Fiancé to the Test

When Nadia returns home from college abroad, she has no choice but to agree to an arranged marriage to a wealthy man—a man chosen by her parents. But as the tentative date for their wedding draws closer, Nadia decides to test him, to truly understand who she’s marrying.

I never imagined that I’d find myself disguised as a homeless woman, sitting on a sidewalk outside of a restaurant. I sat there, hunched with a shawl wrapped around my shoulders.

People passed me without paying any attention, as I watched for the sleek black car that often carried my fiancé, Danny.

Despite it being the 21st century, in my culture, arranged marriage still holds its own.

But I had been studying in America for the past four years, and my ideal of independence and personal freedom was something very different from what I had left home with.

Now, I found myself rebelling at every turn.

When my parents first broke the news of my engagement to Danny, I was still ensconced in the States—my mind buzzing with new ideologies and lectures on autonomy.

“Now that you’ve been abroad and have studied,” my mother said, “it’s time for you to become a wife.”

I tried to protest, but it always fell on deaf ears.

“Nadia,” my mother said, “there is no choice here. Your father and I have done our research. Danny is a good one. He will take care of you.”

My mother moved around the kitchen, mixing a concoction of spices as she began to cook dinner.

“And that’s just it?” I asked, making some tea. “I have to marry this man?”

She nodded and smiled at me.

“Nadia, your father and I did it—we had an arranged marriage, and everything turned out well for us.”

Now, I was faced with meeting a stranger whom I was going to marry—a stranger and his affluent family.

“You’re going to meet him soon, and his family. They own a line of restaurants, darling. They’re always going out of their way to help people.”

A few days later, we were all settled around the dining table. It was the first time that I was meeting Danny, and I had no idea what to expect.

When I stepped out of the house, he was there in the driveway, dressed in a suit—holding a gift bag and flowers.

On first impression, he was good-looking, but I needed him to be more than just a nice face to look at.

This man was going to be my husband. I was stuck with him. And judging from the way my parents were behaving, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

As my father welcomed Danny and his parents into our home, my mother brought out a tray of tea and sweets.

“I didn’t know what you’d like,” she said, “so I got everything.”

Danny smiled at her; he seemed to genuinely care about impressing my parents. We exchanged polite conversation during the tea, and when it was time for us to have dinner, we sat around the table.

“Danny,” my father said, pointing to the head of the table, “sit here.”

My mother began to fuss over Danny and his family, ensuring that she piled their plates high with food.

“I need you to leave here knowing that you’ve been fed,” she said.

I poured myself a glass of juice. It was going to be a long meal.

“Why did you decide to study in America?” Danny asked me, frowning over his glass of water. “Didn’t you want to stay around family?”

“I applied not thinking that I could get in,” I admitted. “But then I did, and I wanted it to be a new challenge for me.”

“But being away for so long?” he pressed. “I bet you spent time in the library.”

“It was just four years. I came home a few times anyway.”

“Family is very important to me, Nadia,” he said firmly.

I looked at my mother, who refused to meet my eye. Without me replying to Danny, the silence took over for a few moments. Only the sound of scraping cutlery and chewing could be heard.

“Tell Nadia about your charity,” my father said, beaming at me.

“Oh!” Danny’s mother exclaimed, quickly putting her fork down.

She went on at length about how Danny feeds homeless people all the time, and that he had scheduled a roster for different areas around us.

“Nobody will go hungry if we can help it,” Danny’s mother said.

My goodness, I thought to myself as I dug into my chicken. Do I really need to bear this for the rest of my life?

The dinner ended, and my husband-to-be left the house.

“Don’t you love him?” my mother asked as we washed up the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.

“I don’t know him, Mom,” I said.

“But you will,” she replied, drying the plates with a dish towel. “You will get to know him soon.”

I didn’t have the energy to deal with it further. I went to my bedroom and sat down, wondering how I could just give in to tradition after having been away and free for so long.

I yearned for my college dorm and the liberation that had come with it. But I also knew that I would have to let go of that.

Instead, I had to wait for the day of my arranged marriage. As the months closed in, the wedding drew closer, and I began to get anxious—needing pills to sleep.

I didn’t know how I was going to marry Danny, knowing only the bare minimum about him.

One morning, while pouring myself some cereal, I decided that I would dress like a homeless person and wait outside the restaurant that Danny was based at. I needed to see how he would react to someone in need.

As the car approached, I huddled into my disguise, my voice hoarse as Danny stepped out of the car.

“Excuse me, Sir,” I said. “Could you spare…”

Danny paused, his brows furrowing slightly.

“Ma’am, what do you need? I can’t just hand you money or food for the day. We need to help you long-term.”

My heart tightened.

“There’s a shelter not far from here,” he said. “I can take you there, my mother volunteers there, too. You’ll be safe there. You can get a meal, a shower, clean clothing, and we can talk about getting you on your feet.”

I stood up and pulled my shawl away, revealing myself to him.

“Nadia?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I was testing you, Danny,” I said. “I wanted to see if you really are the person they say you are. I just needed to know. How else can I marry you?”

Danny looked stunned, then a wry smile spread across his face.

“I guess I should be honest too, then. I’ve been horrible on purpose, hoping you’d call off the wedding.”

His candidness took me aback.

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair as he silenced his ringing phone.

“Because I thought it was all a farce. I didn’t want to be part of an arrangement. Not really. I knew that it needed to be done, because of my age. But I’ve wanted love. I’ve wanted to marry for love.”

As we sat down on a nearby bench, Danny opened up about his past.

“The parents you met are my adopted parents. My mother died when I was very young, and they took me in. I’ve built my entire persona to help people who are where I once was. It’s not just philanthropy—it’s personal.”

His words echoed in the cold air—each syllable heavy with emotion.

“Yes, I am successful. But I never wanted to use that success as leverage for a marriage. I wanted someone to see me, not my money or my past.”

We talked through the evening, unraveling the misunderstandings and the pressure from our families. It was the first time we truly connected, seeing each other beyond the expectations set upon us.

In the weeks that followed, we began dating—real dates, filled with genuine laughter and shared dreams. Our parents saw the change in us, the way we looked at each other with newfound respect and affection.

Soon, we’ll be married, but now, I’m content with the reality of it.

What would you have done?