On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Serene’s wedding took an unexpected and shocking turn when two police officers arrived with disturbing news about her fiancé. But as the truth unraveled, Serene found herself gifted with a love more extraordinary than anything she had ever imagined.
I remember that day like it happened just yesterday.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life—my wedding day. But instead of walking down the aisle, I stood frozen in the middle of the ceremony hall as two uniformed police officers approached me, holding a photo of my fiancé.
“Ma’am, do you recognize this man?” one of them asked.
Let’s rewind a bit.
I met Andrew six months earlier at an art gallery my best friend dragged me to. I went reluctantly, fully expecting to spend the evening sipping overpriced wine and pretending to understand abstract art.
“Come on, Serene,” Mimi insisted. “Let’s dive into some culture. First an art gallery, then maybe the theatre!”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I wasn’t planning anything else tonight anyway. But if I don’t enjoy it…”
“I’ll make it up to you with Thai food, I promise,” she grinned.
So I got dressed and out we went.
And there he was.
Andrew.
Tall, with tousled dark hair, smudges of paint on his hands, and a smile that could make you forget your own name.
He was one of the featured artists that night. His work—a collection of surrealist landscapes—instantly drew me in. When I stood admiring one of his pieces, he appeared beside me.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Honestly? It’s stunning. Breathtaking,” I replied—though I was looking more at him than the painting.
From that moment on, we were inseparable. Andrew was unlike anyone I’d ever dated. He didn’t care about wealth or status. He didn’t even own a car.
He lived in a cramped studio apartment filled with canvases and paint fumes, happy with simple dates and long walks. But he was kind. Passionate. Creative. And deeply in love—with life, with art, and, eventually, with me.
“Don’t move, Serene,” he whispered one afternoon. “The light is perfect.”
He was trying to paint me, though I couldn’t sit still. I felt restless. As if something was coming. Something big. I didn’t know why, but I was right to feel unsettled.
That same evening, Andrew proposed. We’d only officially been together for four months, but my heart answered before my mind had a chance to catch up.
How could I have said no? He knelt with wildflowers in one hand and slipped a beautiful, unusual ring on my finger.
It felt meant to be.
My father, however, was furious.
“You’re marrying a man you’ve only known six months?” he snapped, pacing with a glass of whiskey in hand. “He owns nothing but a few paintbrushes and a dream. Don’t be naïve, Serene. Do you really think he loves you—or is it the family fortune he’s after?”
“Andrew isn’t like that,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t care about money. He loves me for who I am. Not everything is about wealth, Dad.”
But my father wasn’t swayed. He refused to give us his blessing. My mother stayed quiet, trying to appear neutral, but her silence spoke volumes.
Still, I believed in Andrew.
The morning of the wedding was chaotic but full of joy. My parents were handling the final arrangements downstairs while I got ready with my bridesmaids upstairs.
“Think your dad will behave today?” Lisa, my maid of honor, asked as she curled my hair.
“I hope so,” I muttered, fidgeting with my ring. “He’s been more civil lately.”
But as the ceremony approached, something felt wrong. Andrew wasn’t there.
“Have you heard from him?” Mimi asked, worry tightening her voice.
I shook my head. I had called him three times already—no answer. The ceremony was set for 2 p.m. It was now 2:45, and the whispers among the guests had grown louder.
Then, the doors flung open. Two police officers entered.
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Ma’am,” one of them said, walking toward me, “do you know this man?”
He held up a photo.
My legs nearly buckled.
“Yes,” I whispered, trembling. “That’s Andrew. My fiancé. What’s happened? Is he alright?”
The officer exchanged a glance with his partner.
“We’re sorry, ma’am. Your fiancé was apprehended earlier today while attempting to break into your family’s estate.”
Gasps echoed through the hall.
“What?!” I cried. “That’s impossible. Andrew would never—”
“I warned you!” my father roared, his face red with fury. “I told you he was after your money. He’s a fraud! And now he’s humiliated you in front of everyone!”
My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear the rest. The officers said Andrew had been caught trying to flee the city. They asked us to accompany them.
“I’m coming too,” my father growled. “Let’s see what this criminal has to say.”
The car ride was unbearable. My wedding dress felt like a cage.
“You were too naïve, Serene,” my father muttered.
I said nothing, staring out the window, my ring heavier than ever.
But we didn’t go to a police station. Instead, the officers brought us to an old warehouse on the city’s outskirts.
“What is this?” my father demanded.
The officer gave a vague smile. “You’ll see.”
We stepped inside—and I froze.
Tins of paint were everywhere. Paintbrushes scattered across the floor. It looked like Andrew’s studio.
Then I saw it—a massive mural on the wall. A stunning, vivid painting of a bride and groom. Me and Andrew. He was holding my hand, both of us smiling.
In the corner were the words:
Forever yours, Andrew.
Before I could react, Andrew stepped out from behind a canvas, wiping his hands.
“Surprise,” he said nervously.
“What… what is this?” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes.
“My wedding gift to you,” he said, gesturing to the mural. “Something permanent. Something to show my love. The officers are actors—I hired them. I know it was dramatic… but I wanted to make this day unforgettable.”
My father stood frozen.
“You’re saying… this was a stunt?” he asked.
Andrew nodded. “Yes, sir. I wanted to prove I’m serious about your daughter.”
To my shock, my father chuckled.
“Well… you’ve got guts. And talent. I don’t trust you yet. But you’ve earned some respect.”
Andrew smiled.
But I wasn’t amused.
“No! This isn’t okay!” I cried. “We were supposed to get married! I’ve been worried sick!”
“I know,” Andrew said, eyes wide. “But I had to finish. The muse struck. You understand, don’t you?”
I wanted to be mad. But I couldn’t. I ran to him, laughing and crying all at once.
“This is the most beautiful wedding gift I could ever imagine,” I whispered.
Back at the venue, Andrew explained everything to our stunned guests. Even my father raised a toast, admitting he might have been wrong.
Love doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it takes faith—and a little risk.
And Andrew?
He wasn’t just my husband.
He was my masterpiece.
Later, in our hotel room, we ate chocolate-covered strawberries.
“I thought you were gone,” I admitted. “I was scared.”
“Nothing will ever take me away from you,” he whispered.
“I have a wedding gift for you too,” I said.
“Oh?” he asked, pouring champagne.
“When we get home, I want you to pack up your old studio. I bought you a new one. Bigger. Brighter. With a gallery space.”
He stared at me, speechless.
“That’s everything, Serene,” he finally said. “You’re my muse. You always will be.”