An hour and a half later, the taxi finally pulled into a quiet street on the outskirts of the city. The area was peaceful, with large plots of land between houses and barely any noise beyond the distant hum of insects and wind brushing through the trees.
Sarah paid the fare and stepped out, Mark following silently behind her. The house they arrived at was a modest two-story home, medium-sized but with a wide garden that wrapped around the back and a pool that shimmered under the moonlight.
Sarah stole a glance at Mark.
He didn't look the least bit surprised. No wide eyes, no impressed nods, not even a curious glance at the house or the land around it. He just stood there quietly, eyes calm and observant.
He's definitely not just a beggar, Sarah thought, her brows slightly furrowed in curiosity. That calm… that composure. It's like he's seen far better.
Still, she held back her questions.
"Come on, let's get inside," she said, brushing her hair off her face and turning toward the door.
Mark nodded silently and followed her in.
Inside, the house felt cozy. A warm ambiance filled the air. The living room was on the ground floor, with soft lighting and neutral-toned furniture. The kitchen and dining area were connected just past the hallway, and a staircase led up to the first floor where two bedrooms and a study room waited.
The clock on the wall read 00:37.
"You can use this room for now," Sarah said, stopping in front of the guest bedroom on the ground floor. "It's clean. Make yourself at home. I'll get you some new toiletries."
Mark gave a simple nod and stepped inside the room.
Sarah watched him for a moment.
Does he ever talk unless asked directly? she wondered, then turned away and headed to her room to grab the toiletries.
Meanwhile, Mark was surveying the room. The windows were wide and opened toward the garden, letting in the scent of flowers and fresh air. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held it in.
It had been a long, long time since he'd slept under a roof… in peace.
The sound of a door creaking made him turn around. A soft hand gently touched his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, Sarah was standing there, holding a small basket of toiletries.
"Sorry—I called you a few times. Looks like you were… lost in thought," she said, then offered a small smile. "Anyway, I brought these for you."
"Oh. Thank you," Mark replied, voice low but sincere.
"Alright. Good night," she said softly.
"Good night," he answered.
Sarah turned and left, retreating to her master bedroom. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat by the window, her thoughts spinning as she imagined the chaos that would erupt once her father found out she had married behind his back—and worse, married a beggar.
She winced.
No. He's not just a beggar. She couldn't even convince herself anymore. There was something deeper behind Mark. She could feel it. But what?
Then she remembered—"The sheets!"
She hadn't given him clean bed sheets.
With a sigh, she grabbed a set from the hallway cabinet and padded quietly downstairs. The house was mostly dark now, moonlight leaking in through the windows.
She opened the guest room door—and froze.
Mark had just stepped out of the bathroom. A towel was wrapped loosely around his waist, and another was draped over his head as he dried his hair, completely unaware of her presence.
His upper body was bare—broad shoulders, sculpted arms, and an impossibly defined chest that led into a toned, muscular abdomen. Each line of muscle looked like it had been carved by the gods themselves.
Sarah's jaw slackened a little.
What the hell… He's… damn.
She didn't even realize how long she was staring until Mark lowered the towel from his head and turned toward her, finally noticing her presence.
Their eyes met.
Sarah blinked, suddenly aware she was gawking.
"Oh! Sorry! I, uh…" she stammered, holding up the sheets. "I forgot to give you these. So I… brought them now."
Mark extended a hand, completely unfazed by her reaction. "Thank you," he said simply.
She passed the sheets to him, still avoiding eye contact. "Okay, I'm going. See you in the morning."
She turned and practically fled the room.
By the time she reached the living room, she was already muttering under her breath, cursing herself.
"Idiot. Stupid. What were you thinking, Sarah?" she whispered fiercely, smacking her forehead. "You looked like a thirsty maniac. Pull yourself together!"
She climbed the stairs, still scolding herself, and disappeared into her bedroom with a huff—vowing not to think about Mark's abs ever again.
Yeah, right.
*****
The next morning, Sarah woke up early and prepared herself, gathering all the documents required for registering the marriage. She checked everything twice, made sure her ID was in her purse, then headed to Mark's room.
She knocked gently on the door.
"You may enter," came his calm voice from inside.
Sarah opened the door and stepped in—only to freeze again. Mark was seated on the carpeted floor, legs crossed, eyes closed, meditating like a monk from a hidden temple. His breathing was slow and steady, face peaceful. Once again, Sarah was caught off guard. How can someone so composed, so centered, be a beggar? No fucking way.
Mark slowly opened his eyes, as if he sensed her surprise. "Yes?" he said in his usual calm tone.
Sarah cleared her throat and held up the clothes she brought. "I came to bring you this set of clothes. They actually belonged to my ex-boyfriend. You can wear them for now. We'll go buy new ones after we finish registering the marriage." She paused, then added, "Also, get your ID ready—we'll leave soon."
Mark stood and accepted the clothes without saying much. Sarah gave him one last curious look before heading back to her room. Not long after, Mark stepped out, now dressed neatly. The simple outfit somehow looked refined on him—clean shirt, jeans that fit just right, sleeves rolled at the forearm. His tall figure, broad shoulders, and confident stride made Sarah stare a little longer than she should.
He never fails to amaze me, she thought as she grabbed her keys.
She led him to the garage and unlocked her white Audi Q3, the kind of elegant SUV favored by successful, modern women who didn't like to flaunt too loudly.
They stopped by a cozy little restaurant nearby and had a quiet breakfast. Mark was polite, reserved, but not awkward. He didn't talk much unless necessary. Sarah tried not to be obvious, but she studied him again and again, puzzled and intrigued.
After breakfast, they arrived at the civil registry. A few couples were already waiting, and they took a seat, keeping mostly to themselves. By 11:20 a.m., it was finally their turn.
Inside the office, a middle-aged official welcomed them. The room smelled of freshly brewed coffee and paperwork. Sarah handed over their documents—IDs, proof of single status, photos, and completed forms. The official glanced through everything.
"Sarah Whitmore and Mark Atkinson," he read aloud. "You both understand this is a legal commitment. Are you entering this marriage of your own free will?"
"Yes," they answered in unison.
They signed the documents, took a quick photo for the records, and within a few minutes, it was done.
"Congratulations. You are now legally married," the official said.
As they stepped out, Mark looked at Sarah, his expression unreadable.
"We're married now," he said simply. "So… what's the plan?"
Sarah glanced around. "We can't talk about that here," she replied. "Let's go get you some proper clothes first—then we'll head home and talk."
Mark gave a short nod.
They drove to a high-end clothing store not far from the registry. The shop had clean wooden floors, warm lighting, and racks full of perfectly folded shirts, tailored suits, casual wear, and accessories. A store assistant approached, but Sarah waved him off—she wanted to pick everything herself.
She selected button-down shirts in neutral tones, two pairs of trousers, a navy-blue blazer, a black leather jacket, a couple of plain T-shirts, and even underwear and socks. She made sure everything matched his frame and style. Mark tried them on without fuss, stepping out occasionally to let her see.
When he came out wearing dark slacks, a grey fitted shirt, and the leather jacket, Sarah raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. Too perfect, she thought. No way he lived on the streets.
She paid for everything and handed him the bags.
"Let's go home," she said.
They got into the car and drove in silence—except this time, the silence was heavier. They had returned not just as strangers, but as husband and wife. And behind all of it… were questions Sarah could no longer avoid.
---