And when he entered the restaurant, his mother couldn’t believe her eyes…”

“Have you gone completely crazy?” she almost shouted, backing away as if she had been caught red-handed. “Me? Hereupon? Playing your fiancée? Yesterday I was taking food out of the trash!”

Calmly, he clicked on the latch, closed the door, and, leaning wearily against the wall, said:

You don’t have to refuse. I’ll pay more than you can imagine. Just one night. Be my fiancée. For them. Because of my parents. It’s just a game. A work. Or did you already forget to act?

He was silent. His fingers, sheathed in worn-out gloves, trembled. His heart was pounding as if he wanted to burst. “Could this be the beginning of a new life? Or at least the end of an old pain?”

Thus began a story for which no one was prepared.

It was as rich as an entire country. His name was Nathan Berg. Young, strict, with a cold look and a serene face. His name graced the covers of business magazines, and his photos were on lists of the world’s most influential bachelors. Education, money, power… everything was to the letter. But his parents, who lived in Europe, kept repeating:

“When will we finally meet your girlfriend? Why are you hiding?”

They decided to come without warning. Tomorrow.

Nathan wasn’t afraid, he was confused. Not because he feared her judgment, but because he didn’t consider any woman suitable for the role. He despised actresses. I couldn’t stand fake smiles. I didn’t need someone… real. Or at least very different from what they expected.

That night, I was driving around town. Cold, traffic jams, night lights. And suddenly he saw her, at the entrance of the metro, with a guitar and a sign that said: “I don’t ask for charity. I’m asking for an opportunity.”

Nathan stopped. For the first time, it did not pass by.

“What’s your name?”

He looked up. His voice was hoarse, but full of pride:

Why do you need to know?

He smiled slightly.

I need a woman who knows how to survive. Really. Hurrah. No makeup. Like you.

Her name was Marta. He was 27 years old. Behind them were an orphanage, escapes, years on the street, rehabilitation, cold nights and a guitar. Their only truth.

The next night, he stood in front of the huge mirror in the room of the Hotel Esmeralda. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the fabric of an expensive deep-sea velvet dress. Her hair, freshly washed and stylishly styled, shone. The makeup accentuated her features so much that she was almost unrecognizable.

“They’re already at the restaurant,” Nathan said, adjusting his cufflinks. We are late to our happiness.

“Do you think it will work?”

He looked at her for a long time.

“I think you’re the only person who can win over my mother.”

In the restaurant, everything seemed under control. Almost.

His father was reserved but attentive. His mother, a woman of refined manners and penetrating gaze, capable of reading a person with just a movement of her eyebrow, had her gaze fixed on the girl in front of her.

“How did you meet my son?” he asked.

Martha felt Nathan’s gaze on her. He nodded slightly.

“In a bookstore,” she answered. I dropped a volume by Schopenhauer, picked it up… And we both laughed.

“Schopenhauer?” The woman was surprised. Have you read philosophy?

As children. In our orphanage, the librarian allowed us to take books, even on the most difficult subjects, if we promised to return them.

Silence, hunger. Nathan’s mother put down her glass slowly, without taking her eyes off Martha. With too much intensity.

“In an orphanage?” he asked again, and his voice flickered with something elusive: curiosity, or a trace of old pain.

Then something happened that no one expected.

Martha straightened up suddenly, gathered all her dignity in a fist, and said firmly:

Sorry. Lie. I’m not your daughter-in-law. I’m not from a bookstore, but from the street. I’m homeless. Just a woman who got tired of being someone’s possession and today felt human for the first time.

Instead of judging or scandalizing her, the woman in strict dress got up, approached and hugged her.

My daughter… I also started from scratch. Someone gave me a chance. And I’m glad you took advantage of it.

Nathan was silent. He simply observed. And for the first time he understood: the game was over. And real life was just beginning.

He spoke the truth, and received no contempt, but a hug. None of them knew yet that it was only the first step. Nathan’s mother turned out to be surprisingly sensitive: she saw in Martha not deception, but strength of spirit. His father remained distant.

“This is crazy, Nathan,” he said coldly, cutting off the tension. Have you brought us to a house of street fantasies?

“This is my decision,” the son replied calmly. Not your verdict.

After dinner, Martha went out. She took off her shoes, leaned against the wall and cried. But not of shame, but of relief. He told the truth. And no one stared at her.

Nathan approached silently. He held his coat.

“You won’t go back to the street. You will live with me. As long as necessary. He paused. You deserve more.

“I don’t ask for mercy.”

I’m not offering you that. I’m giving you a chance.

…

Thus began their strange, intense but honest life together. He worked late into the night, demanding of himself and others. She was studying. I borrowed books, attended conferences, cleaned the apartment, cooked. Sometimes he would play the guitar again, not for money, but because something alive was awakening inside him.

She was changing.

“You’ve become different,” he once said.

“It’s the first time I’m not afraid of being kicked out.”

…

A month later, his father left. He didn’t say a word. He only left a note: “If you choose your heart, count on my fortune no more.”

Nathan didn’t even open the envelope. He simply threw it into the fireplace and said in a low voice:

Money comes and goes. But if you get lost, you’re worthless.

…

Three months later Marta saw two lines in a test.

“It’s impossible,” she whispered, sitting on the bathroom floor. It’s too early… We are not even a couple…

When she told him, Nathan was silent for a long time. Then he hugged her.

I don’t know what this feeling is called. But one thing I do know: it’s correct.

…

There were court battles over the land his father wanted to take. Rumors spread online about “a billionaire and a homeless woman faking happiness.” There were difficult births, fear of losing the baby, pain, anxiety.

And then there was a new life.

A life in which Marta became the author of her own book. A woman who took the stage not as a beggar by the roadside, but as a person who survived poverty, indifference and betrayal.

And every time he faced the public, he would say:

I was engaged for an hour. Now I am a wife for life. Because one person saw me as a human being.

…

The final scene: the same restaurant. Marta holds the hand of a ten-year-old girl with lush curls.

“See, honey? Right here your dad really smiled for the first time. Here we become a family, not a play for spectators.”

Nathan is nearby. Smiling. Holding his hand. No trace of regret in his eyes.

He did not marry a princess. He chose a queen. That he once sat on the street with a sign asking, not help, but an opportunity.