I never imagined finding my soulmate aboard the metro late at night, yet that’s exactly where my journey with Brian began. It was nearly midnight; the metro carriage was almost empty, carrying just a handful of exhausted commuters, including myself, weary from a strenuous 12-hour hospital shift. My eyelids were heavy, and I fought to stay awake when he caught my attention.
Across the aisle, Brian was deeply immersed in a well-loved copy of “The Great Gatsby,” his brow gently furrowed in thought. Wearing a faded hoodie and sneakers, he seemed oblivious to his surroundings, radiating an intriguing charm. My curiosity got the best of me, leading me to steal multiple glances. When our eyes finally met, embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I hastily looked away.
“Fitzgerald tends to pull people into another world, doesn’t he?” Brian remarked with a playful grin.
“Actually, I’ve never read it,” I confessed sheepishly.
His eyes widened, animated. “Never? You have to—it’s one of the greatest American novels.”
I shrugged apologetically. “With my schedule, reading hasn’t exactly been a priority.”
We parted ways without exchanging numbers, leaving me convinced it was merely a pleasant yet fleeting moment. However, fate had other plans.
A week later, during peak evening rush hour, the metro was crowded beyond comfort. As I stood clutching an overhead handle, suddenly my purse was ripped from my shoulder. The thief dashed toward the exit doors before I could even process what had happened.
“Someone stop him!” I cried desperately. Passengers remained frozen, except Brian.
From nowhere, he charged through the crowd, wrestling the thief onto the platform at the next stop. I watched, heart pounding, as the scuffle unfolded. Finally escaping the packed carriage, I reached Brian, now seated on the ground with my purse safely recovered but sporting a small cut above his brow.
“Quite the dramatic book club you run,” I teased, helping him stand.
He chuckled warmly, handing over my purse. “I owe you a Gatsby novel, remember?”
We went for coffee to tend his minor injury. Coffee extended into dinner, dinner into a leisurely walk home, culminating in a breathtaking first kiss. Within months, our romance blossomed profoundly.
Yet, one significant challenge remained: my mother, Juliette. From the moment she learned Brian was a librarian, she disapproved.
“A librarian, Eliza? How can he ensure your future?” she questioned skeptically.
“A future filled with joy and books,” I retorted defensively.
“Joy doesn’t pay the bills,” she scoffed.
My mother had long valued status and wealth above all, frequently exaggerating her lifestyle and connections. Brian’s heartfelt proposal, featuring a sapphire ring reminiscent of my eyes, thrilled me—but my mother disparaged its modesty.
“It’s lovely, Mom,” I insisted.
She shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps you’ll upgrade later.”
Our first family dinner was strained. Mom flaunted exaggerated tales of her wealthy acquaintances, openly doubting Brian’s sincerity, despite his polite manners and thoughtful gift—a rare bottle of wine that deeply impressed my father.
“I admire Brian’s substance,” my father later confided. “Give your mom time; he’ll grow on her.”
Despite my father’s optimism, tensions escalated as our wedding approached. Mom openly questioned Brian’s family’s privacy, mocked his career choice, and derided his simple wardrobe.
On our wedding eve, she confronted me privately. “It’s not too late to reconsider, Eliza,” she urged. “Love fades. Financial security is what lasts.”
“At least Dad taught me happiness matters most,” I retorted sharply, deeply hurt.
Our wedding day, held in a historic, beautiful library, was initially flawless. Yet when the officiant invited objections, my mother dramatically rose, shocking everyone.
“Brian isn’t good enough for my daughter,” she proclaimed boldly, shocking attendees. “She deserves someone successful—a doctor, lawyer—not a librarian.”
Brian’s calm composure astonished us all. With quiet dignity, he revealed a startling truth by presenting a document to my mother.
“Recognize this?” he asked calmly. “It’s your hidden credit report, Juliette. You’re swimming in debt, denied recent loans, yet portray an image of wealth.”
The room erupted in gasps. My mother stood utterly speechless, her façade shattered.
“And you question my worthiness? Here’s something else—I’m a billionaire,” Brian declared firmly.
I stared, stunned, as Brian revealed owning the library where he worked, among many others. He confessed wanting genuine love, not gold-digging affections.
“Do you still want to marry me?” he asked gently, seeing my astonishment.
“More than ever,” I replied passionately.
Amid applause and joyous cheers, we shared a heartfelt kiss, solidifying our union. My humiliated mother swiftly exited.
That evening, beneath twinkling lights, my father’s text read, “I’ve never been prouder. Brian is exactly who I hoped you’d marry—a man valuing you above all.”
Brian smiled when I showed him. “Your dad truly understands.”
“Unlike Mom,” I sighed softly.
Brian drew me closer. “Great literature always highlights characters misled by misplaced values—not riches or poverty.”
“Another Gatsby reference?” I teased gently.
“No, that one’s original,” he laughed softly.
As we danced beneath the stars, embraced by love and literary dreams, clarity struck profoundly. True wealth transcends monetary means—it’s measured in authentic love, genuine happiness, and having a partner who treasures you above everything else. Despite my mother’s stubborn blindness, I discovered genuine fortune beside Brian, making me truly the richest woman alive.