Barefoot and slightly unsteady, Sarah wandered across the quiet, dimly lit street, a bottle of beer dangling from her hand. Her discarded heels were long forgotten, left behind somewhere in her angry path. The breeze teased her messy hair, but she didn't care—not tonight.
"I won't let you control me anymore," she muttered, her voice low but sharp with resentment. "I won't let you ruin my life."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips—cold, hollow.
"You greedy old man... Selling your own daughter to save your company?" she scoffed. "Every day, you edge closer to your grave, and still, you refuse to repent. All you know is greed. What a joke... Poor me."
She kept walking, her footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. Eventually, she came to a stop near a small bridge. Beneath it, three beggars sat huddled. Two were near a fire, holding beers in their hands, mumbling to each other between sips. The third sat a short distance away, quietly focused on sewing a worn-out shoe, entirely indifferent to the world around him.
Sarah eyed them, her gaze steady and bold. A wild idea formed in her mind—a defiant response to the life she was being forced into.
"If he wants to control my life," she murmured to herself, "then I'll prove to him that I'm the only one in charge of me. I can do whatever I want. No one decides for me."
She stepped forward confidently, her chin lifted, eyes locked on the group.
"Marry me," she said firmly.
The two beggars by the fire froze, stunned. One of them tilted his head in disbelief, exchanging a look with the other. Before them stood a young, beautiful woman—clearly from wealth, clearly drunk—asking them to marry her?
Was she serious? Was she mad?
The third man glanced up from his sewing for a second. His eyes were calm and uninterested. Without a word, he returned to his task.
"I'll pay you a thousand dollars if you marry me," Sarah added, her tone unwavering.
The two beggars blinked, mouths slightly ajar, unsure if they were hallucinating. One thing was certain: this woman wasn't joking.
To prove she wasn't joking, Sarah pulled out a stack of crisp bills from her purse—exactly one thousand dollars—and held it out in front of the beggars like an irresistible invitation.
The two beggars near the fire widened their eyes, then exchanged a glance of pure disbelief. Without hesitation, they jumped to their feet and lunged toward her, both scrambling to reach the money first, elbowing each other out of the way.
"I'll do it! I'll marry you!"
"No, me! I saw her first!"
They fought clumsily, desperation thick in their voices, each one trying to be the first to offer himself.
But Sarah's attention wasn't on them.
Her eyes were fixed on the third beggar—the one who hadn't even flinched. Still sitting in the shadows with a worn shoe in his hands, calmly stitching like the world didn't exist. Not even the flash of cash stirred him.
She studied him closely now.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong, masculine build. His face, though partly hidden by an unruly beard and long hair, was surprisingly handsome—striking, even. The dirt and his ragged clothes couldn't conceal it. There was a quiet arrogance about him, a kind of detached calm that felt more regal than pitiful. He didn't look like a beggar. He looked like a man who chose solitude, not one forced into it.
"You don't have to fight," Sarah said, addressing the two scrambling beggars with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I won't be marrying either of you."
She pointed to the one still stitching the shoe.
"I want to marry him."
The two froze, their heads turning in unison toward the third man, stunned. But he didn't even raise his head. He kept sewing, calm as ever, untouched by the chaos around him.
Sarah smiled. Now, more than ever, she was determined to marry him.
At first, this was just a rebellious act—a dramatic statement to defy her father. But now? Now it had become personal. She was Sarah, heiress to a vast fortune, beautiful enough to make men fight over her, powerful enough to buy anything she wanted. Yet this man hadn't even looked at her. Didn't answer. Didn't care.
That stung her pride.
"What?" she said, stepping closer. "You don't think a thousand dollars is enough?"
"Mark, marry her," one of the beggars urged. "She's offering good money!"
"So, your name is Mark?" Sarah said, her lips curling into a curious smile. "Alright, I'll double it."
She reached into her purse again and pulled out another crisp thousand, offering it now with both hands.
Mark didn't look up. But then he finally spoke, his voice deep and steady.
"I want ten thousand dollars."
Sarah blinked in surprise. So he was interested... he just wanted more.
"Fine," she replied without hesitation. "Ten thousand it is. But I don't carry that much with me. You'll have to come with me to the nearest ATM."
Mark gave a slight nod. "Let's go."
"Let's go, guys," he added, motioning for the other two beggars to follow.
Sarah was stunned. Why is he bringing them along? she thought. But she didn't object.
They walked together under the night sky, an unusual little group—barefoot heiress and three ragged beggars—until they reached a nearby cash machine. Sarah withdrew the ten thousand dollars, then turned to face Mark.
"Well? Will you marry me now?"
"I will," Mark replied calmly.
Then, without another word, he turned around and handed five thousand dollars each to the two beggars.
Sarah stood there, speechless. She thought she had figured him out. She assumed his request for ten thousand meant he was just as money-hungry as the rest. But now—now he had given it all away.
"Mark… what about you?" asked one of the beggars, baffled. "You didn't keep anything for yourself."
Mark shrugged. "You take it. I don't need the money."
He glanced briefly at Sarah for the first time.
"Since I'm going to marry this lady, I won't be needing it. She'll give me a roof over my head, a warm blanket, and food for my stomach. You guys need it more than I do."
Sarah was stunned again—speechless in a way she hadn't been in years. This man, this beggar, had just flipped her entire understanding upside down.
And somehow, that made her want to know him even more.
---
"Ooh! Okay, take care, Mark," said the first beggar, his voice light but sincere.
"Yeah, take care, Mark," the other added with a grin, giving him a little wave.
Mark gave them a single, composed nod before turning to Sarah.
"Let's go."
Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah nodded. "There's a taxi stand nearby. We can catch one from there."
They began walking down the quiet street, streetlights casting a golden hue on the pavement beneath their feet. The silence between them was not uncomfortable—just filled with unspoken questions.
"My name's Sarah," she said, glancing sideways at him. "And you're Mark."
Mark didn't look at her, but he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
She studied him for a moment. "Do you… have your ID?"
"Don't worry," he replied, his voice calm. "I have my ID."
They walked a few more steps in silence before Mark turned to her, his tone casual but firm.
"So… when do we get married?"
Sarah was caught off guard for a second. She looked at him, surprised by how natural he sounded, as if this entire situation were normal.
"Tomorrow morning," she said finally, her voice steadier than she expected.
Mark gave a quiet hum in response. And then there was silence again—longer this time. But it wasn't awkward. Sarah found herself drifting away from thoughts of her father, her rebellion, and the chaotic emotions that had pushed her to this moment. Instead, her mind lingered on the man walking beside her.
Who exactly was he?
They reached the curb just as a taxi drove by and slowed to a stop. Mark opened the door for her. Sarah stepped in, casting him another glance as he followed her inside.
The taxi pulled away, heading toward her home.