Forced into an arranged marriage to save my family’s business, I expected awkward small talk on my wedding night. But then Adriana gave me an order: “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.” Was this a joke? No. It was a power play — and if I refused, my family would lose everything.
“Son, I wouldn’t ask this of you if there was any other way,” my father said, his voice lacking its usual commanding tone.
A man seated at a desk in a corner office | Source: Midjourney
“You’re certain the only way to save the business is for me to marry some woman I’ve never met?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
He sighed. “Adriana is Victor’s daughter. The merger with his company is the only thing that can save us now. And he’s… traditional. He wants to unite the families.”
“So I’m just a bargaining chip?” The words tasted bitter.
“James, please understand—”
“No, Dad. I understand perfectly.”
An unhappy man in an office | Source: Midjourney
“You built this company, made all the decisions that led to this point, and now I have to clean up your mess by selling myself like some medieval prince.”
His face fell. “Just meet Adriana before you decide.”
I wanted to refuse. But the desperation in my father’s eyes stopped me.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll meet her. But I’m not promising anything.”
A serious-looking man | Source: Midjourney
We met in a restaurant a few days later. Adriana was breathtakingly beautiful with a voice like honey and eyes that assessed everything in seconds.
“I appreciate you agreeing to meet me,” she said as she took her seat. “This situation is… unconventional, but I think we can make it work.” She smiled faintly and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Let’s get better acquainted first. What would you like to know about me, James?”
A smiling woman in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
The conversation flowed freely after that. Adriana was intelligent, witty, and surprisingly easy to talk to. By the time we parted ways, I found myself rethinking my opposition.
“She’s incredible,” I told my father the next day.
Relief washed over his face. “So you’ll do it?”
I hesitated. Something still felt wrong, but seeing the hope in my father’s eyes…
“Yes,” I finally said. “I’ll marry Adriana.”
A man in an office smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
Our wedding was a business transaction disguised as a celebration. Corporate partners filled the pews, the vows felt like contract terms, and even the kiss seemed negotiated — brief, proper, for show.
The reception dragged on until finally, we were alone in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel.
Adriana kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the massive bed. I adjusted my tie, unsure of what came next in this strange arrangement.
A man adjusting his tie | Source: Pexels
Adriana locked eyes with me. “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.”
“Excuse me?” I laughed, certain she was joking. “Right. And what’s your first command, Your Highness?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I’m hungry. Go get me a burger from the McDonald’s on Grant Street. Walk there.”
“Adriana, it’s almost midnight. Grant Street is nearly two miles away.”
An incredulous man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m aware.” Her smile was cold. “Better get going.”
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. It never came.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious, James. My father only agreed to this marriage because your father promised you’d do whatever I wanted. That was the deal. So, you can either be my servant… or watch your family go bankrupt.”
A smirking woman | Source: Midjourney
I was stunned. Within a few hours, Adriana had transformed from a witty, easygoing woman into an authoritative stranger. One I couldn’t refuse without risking it all.
“Fine. One burger coming up.”
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and called a taxi. I might be trapped in this marriage, but I wouldn’t be completely powerless.
A man’s finger pressing an elevator button | Source: Pexels
The next morning set the tone for what would become my new normal. Adriana woke me at 6 a.m.
“Press my blue suit,” she instructed. “Then make coffee. Black, one sugar.”
“I’m not your butler,” I protested.
She looked at me with those cool eyes. “No, you’re my husband. Which means you’re whatever I need you to be.”
A woman smiling smugly | Source: Midjourney
Each day brought new demands. Wash her car by hand. Pick up her dry cleaning. Massage her feet after work. Each task was more demeaning than the last.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally asked one evening as I polished her collection of designer shoes.
“Because I can,” she replied simply. “What could be better than having a man who caters to my every need?”
I continued the task in silence, but my mind was racing.
A foot in a high-heeled boot | Source: Pexels
She thought she was breaking me, but she was teaching me instead. Every demand revealed something about her routines and her weaknesses.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went to my father.
“She’s turned me into her personal servant,” I confessed.
His face fell. “I had no idea, son. But the contract with Victor…”
“Can’t be broken without bankrupting us,” I finished for him. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” I replied, a plan already forming. “I’ll handle Adriana.”
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
The tiny wireless cameras were easy to install. I put them everywhere: the living room, the kitchen, her study, our bedroom.
For two weeks, I collected evidence of Adriana ordering me around like a dog, threatening to destroy my family if I disobeyed, and laughing on the phone with her friends about how she had me “completely under control.”
All while her Instagram portrayed us as the perfect couple. “Power duo,” she called us in her captions. If only her followers knew.
A woman taking a selfie | Source: Midjourney
The breaking point came on a rainy Tuesday night.
“I want sushi,” she announced from the couch. “From Akira. You’ll walk there.”
“That’s three miles away,” I pointed out.
“So? Take an umbrella.” She didn’t even look up from her phone.
“No,” I said simply.
The word hung in the air between us. She slowly raised her head, eyes narrowing.
A woman on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“What did you say?”
“I said no, Adriana. I’m not going.”
She stood, her face flushing with anger. “You don’t say no to me. Ever. Or have you forgotten what happens if you don’t play along?”
“Go ahead,” I challenged. “Call your father. Tell him how disappointed you are.”
“You know I will.” She reached for her phone. “And your family will be finished.”
A glaring woman | Source: Midjourney
I smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers paused over the screen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Call him,” I urged. “Please. I insist.”
Confusion flickered across her face, but she made the call, putting it on speaker.
“Daddy? We have a problem. James is being difficult. I think we need to reconsider—”
“Adriana.” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “What the hell have you been doing?”
A cell phone | Source: Pexels
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“James sent me videos. Dozens of them. I had no idea this was what you had in mind when you said you wanted him to do everything you said! Is this how I raised you to behave? Like a tyrant?”
The color drained from her face as she looked at me, finally understanding.
“You recorded me?” she whispered.
I nodded. “Every moment. Every demand.”
A man with crossed arms | Source: Midjourney
“Adriana,” her father continued, “you’ve handed your husband enough blackmail material to destroy our family’s reputation, and he made it clear he’ll use it, too. You’re getting divorced. Those were his conditions: a divorce from you that leaves the business arrangement with his father intact. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she managed, her voice small.
When the call ended, she turned to me, eyes pleading. “Please, you can’t do this to me! It will ruin my image if we divorce.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Pexels
I smiled. This was an opportunity to teach her a valuable lesson.
“I’ll consider staying,” I replied. “But only if you obey my demands.”
Outrage and fury flickered in her eyes, but she nodded.
For the next two weeks, Adriana got a taste of her own medicine. I didn’t go nearly as far as she had, but I made sure she understood what it felt like to be controlled.
A downtrodden woman | Source: Midjourney
“Fetch my coffee,” I would say. “And remember, two sugars.”
She would comply, her jaw tight, her eyes burning with hatred.
Meanwhile, I had my lawyers working on divorce papers. When they were ready, I left them on the kitchen counter for her to find.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking them up.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Midjourney
“Divorce papers,” I replied calmly. “Our marriage is over.”
“But, you said you’d stay if I obeyed you!” Her voice shook. “You lied to me!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “and I hope you learned something from it. We might’ve actually been able to make this work, Adriana, if you hadn’t used that business deal as a way to enslave me. Pack your things and get out of my apartment.”
A satisfied man | Source: Midjourney
“And before you go,” I added, “post on your Instagram that we’re separating amicably, by mutual agreement.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenged.
I held up my phone. “Then these videos go public.”
An hour later, her perfectly crafted post appeared. “After much reflection, James and I have decided to part ways. We remain committed to our families’ shared business interests and wish each other well.”
Social media icons on a phone screen | Source: Pexels
The door closed behind her, and for the first time since our wedding day, I could breathe freely again.
This arranged marriage had cost me months of dignity, but it had taught me something valuable: no contract, family obligation, or financial concern was worth surrendering control of my life.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My FIL Moved Into Our House After My MIL Ended Up in the Hospital & He Tried to Make Me His Maid — He Didn’t Expect My Response
When my father-in-law moved into our home, I thought we were doing him a favor. But soon, his presence turned into something I never could’ve anticipated — something that tested my patience, my marriage, and my limits.
When my mother-in-law ended up in the hospital unexpectedly, my father-in-law, Frank seemed utterly lost. He’d always depended on her for everything — cooking, cleaning, even remembering to take his medication. Without her, he was like a rudderless ship.
“I don’t know what to do with myself,” he admitted when my husband, Brian, and I visited him a few days after the incident. His cheerful voice was low, and his shoulders drooped.
Brian squeezed my hand, giving me the look — the one that said he was about to make an impulsive decision I’d have to clean up later. Sure enough, he turned to his dad and said, “Why don’t you come stay with us for a bit? It’ll be better than being alone.”
Son talking to his depressed dad | Source: Midjourney
Frank’s eyes lit up, and before I could process what just happened, he was moving into our guest room with an alarming amount of suitcases for someone who claimed it was “temporary.”
At first, it was fine. He seemed grateful, even a bit shy about imposing. But then little things started to change.
“Hey, dear,” he called out one afternoon while I was on a Zoom call for work. “Can you grab me some coffee? I can’t find the pods.”
“They’re right on the counter,” I replied.
“Yeah, but you know how to work the machine better,” he said, chuckling as though I’d find this endearing.
Senior man seated next to a coffee making machine | Source: Midjourney
Then it was, “Can you fix me a sandwich?” and “Don’t forget my toast in the mornings, I like it just golden.” One day, he even handed me a basket of his clothes, saying, “I’ll need these for golf tomorrow. Thanks, daughter.”
Each time, Brian was “too busy” to notice. But my patience? That was wearing dangerously thin. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could play along.
The breaking point came on a Thursday evening — a night I’ll never forget. My father-in-law decided to host poker night at our house, apparently without feeling the need to ask me first.
“Just a couple of guys, nothing big,” he’d said that morning, flashing a grin as he searched through the fridge. “We’ll keep it clean. You’ll barely notice we’re here.”
Senior man standing next to the fridge talking to his daughter-in-law | Source: Midjourney
Barely notice? By 8 p.m. the living room was transformed into a smoky den of laughter, chips clinking, and loud chatter. And me? I was in the kitchen, balancing trays of snacks and refilling drinks like an unpaid server.
“Hey, we’re out of beer!” one of his friends yelled. “Sweetheart,” Frank called to me, not even bothering to stand, “Can you grab some from the garage?” I clenched my jaw, my blood boiling, but I grabbed the beer.
When another one of his friends tapped his glass and said, “A little more ice,” I nearly lost it.
Senior men hanging out | Source: Midjourney
After the game, as Frank walked his buddies to the door, I overheard him chuckling and saying to Brian, “See? That’s how you should treat a woman.”
The words hit me like a slap. I felt my stomach twist as the realization sunk in. This wasn’t just about poker night — it was about a pattern. I’d seen it for years in the way Frank treated my MIL like she was there solely to cater to him. Now he was training my husband to do the same.
Father and son having a conversation | Source: Midjourney
It started small, almost unnoticeable. “Hey, can you grab me a drink while you’re up?” Brian would ask, even when I wasn’t already standing. At first, I didn’t think much of it — he’d always been good about splitting chores and being considerate. But then, those small favors turned into expectations.
One evening, as I was folding laundry, Brian walked past with a plate from his dinner. Instead of putting it in the sink like he always did, he left it on the coffee table. “Can you take care of that?” he asked, not even breaking stride.
Another time, I was in the middle of preparing dinner when he strolled into the kitchen. “Don’t forget I need my blue shirt ironed for tomorrow,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek like it would soften the demand.
Couple in the kitchen preparing dinner | Source: Midjourney
That was it. “No, Brian,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ve taken it seriously enough. You both need to understand—this stops now. I am not your maid, and I am not his either.”
The tension in the room was thick, and I could see Brian’s stunned face as I walked out, determined that things were about to change—for good.
The very next morning, after a sleepless night of seething and strategizing, I sat down at the dining table with my laptop and began typing out a “rental agreement.” I wasn’t going to charge Frank rent, but I wanted clear, no-nonsense rules. If he was going to stay under our roof, things were going to change.
Woman using her laptop | Source: Pexels
The rules were simple but non-negotiable:
- I cook one meal for everyone each day. If someone wants something else, they can cook it themselves.
- If you’re physically capable of doing something, you do it yourself—this includes fetching drinks, laundry, and cleaning up after meals.
- Everyone cleans up after themselves. Dishes go in the dishwasher, not the sink. The laundry will be folded and put away by the person who wore it.
- If you invite guests over, you’re responsible for hosting them, including food, drinks, and cleanup.
- No sexist comments or behavior — this house operates on mutual respect, period.
- Contributions to household chores are expected, not optional. You live here; you pitch in.
Identical cubes with RULES inscription | Source: Pexels
I printed it out, stapled the pages together, and waited until Frank came into the kitchen. He looked startled to see me sitting there, sipping my coffee with a hard copy of the rules in front of me.
“Morning,” he said cautiously, sensing the shift in my demeanor.
“Morning,” I replied, pushing the document toward him. “We need to talk.”
“What’s this?” he asked, frowning as he scanned the first page.
“It’s a rental agreement for staying in this house,” I said evenly. “These are the rules moving forward.”
Frank blinked at me, his face turning red. “Rules? What is this, the army? I’m your guest!”
Annoyed senior man | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I said sharply. “You’re not a guest anymore. You’ve been here for weeks. You’re family, which means you’re not entitled to sit back while everyone else waits on you. This is how it’s going to work if you’re staying here.”
Brian walked in midway through the exchange, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing between us.
“Your wife is trying to turn this house into a dictatorship,” Frank said, slapping the paper onto the table.
Brian picked up the agreement and skimmed it. “Uh, isn’t this a bit… much?” he said, hesitating.
Young man in deep thoughts reading a document | Source: Pexels
“No, Brian,” I said, meeting his eyes. “What’s much is your father treating me like I’m his maid? And lately, you’ve started doing the same. That stops today.”
The room fell silent. Frank looked like he was ready to explode, and Brian seemed torn. But I held my ground, unflinching.
“You can either follow the rules,” I said, standing up, “or find somewhere else to stay.”
Frank opened his mouth to argue but closed it again, realizing I wasn’t bluffing. For the first time in weeks, I felt in control — and I wasn’t about to let that go.
Young woman and a senior man having a conversation | Source: Midjourney
When my mother-in-law, Sarah, finally came home from the hospital, I was both nervous and relieved. Nervous because I had no idea how she’d react to what I’d done, and relieved because, frankly, Frank had been a handful.
As she settled on the couch, sipping the tea I’d made her, I slid the “rental agreement” across the table. “Sarah,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “I need you to see this. It’s something I worked on while Frank was staying here.”
Her brows furrowed as she read, her lips tightening at first. By the time she got to Rule 5, she glanced up at me with a knowing smile. “Oh, I like this one,” she said. “Mutual respect. Novel concept for him.”
Senior woman smiling while reading a document | Source: Midjourney
I exhaled, grateful she didn’t seem offended. “I know you care deeply about him,” I said, sitting beside her. “But Sarah, he’s been relying on you for far too long. It’s not fair to you. And while he was here… well, let’s just say I realized how much you’ve been carrying all these years.”
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of exhaustion. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s been like this since the day we got married. I just… I thought it was my job.”
“No,” I said firmly, taking her hand. “It’s time for him to step up. Not just for your sake, but for his.
Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “I wish I’d done this years ago.”
Senior woman and her daughter in law reading a document | Source: Midjourney
When Frank came into the room, Sarah waved the paper in the air. “You’ve got work to do, mister,” she said, her voice playful but firm.
He groaned, muttering something about a conspiracy, but Sarah stood her ground.
As they walked into the kitchen together, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time, it felt like Sarah wasn’t carrying the entire load alone.
“Hey,” Brian said, coming up behind me. “You really think he’ll stick to it?”
I turned, watching Sarah guide Frank to the sink where she handed him a dish towel. For the first time, he didn’t argue — he just started drying.
I smiled, my voice steady. “He doesn’t have a choice. Because this time, we’re all playing by the rules.”
Family setting dinner on the table | Source: Midjourney
Love this story? You won’t want to miss the next one: My FIL threatened me after I caught him with his mistress in a café—But karma stepped in at just the right moment. You won’t believe how it all unfolds! Click here to dive in.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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