It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life—our wedding day. Instead of walking down the aisle, I stood frozen in the middle of the venue as two police officers approached me, holding a photo of my fiancé.

“Ma’am? Do you know this man?” one of them asked.

But let’s rewind.

I met Andrew six months ago at an art gallery my friend dragged me to. I wasn’t thrilled about it—I figured I’d spend the evening pretending to understand abstract paintings while sipping overpriced wine.

“Come on, Serene,” Mimi had begged. “Let’s embrace some culture for once. First an art gallery, then maybe the theater. Please!”

“Fine,” I sighed. “But if I hate it—”

“I’ll buy you Thai food afterward. Deal?” she grinned.

So, I went. And that’s when I saw him.

Andrew.

Tall, with tousled dark hair, flecks of paint on his hands, and a smile so mesmerizing it could make you forget your own name. He was showcasing a series of surrealist landscapes, and when I stopped to admire one, he appeared beside me.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Honestly? It’s breathtaking,” I replied, looking at him instead of the painting.

From that moment, we were inseparable. Andrew was unlike anyone I’d ever met—unconcerned with wealth, status, or material things. He didn’t even own a car. Our dates were simple: street food, long walks, and late-night conversations in his tiny studio apartment, surrounded by towering stacks of canvases.

Then, four months in, he proposed. My heart said yes before my brain could even catch up. How could I say no? He was the love of my life. He slipped an unusual yet beautiful ring onto my finger, standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers.

My father, however, was livid.

“You’re marrying a man you’ve only known for six months?” he fumed, pacing the living room with a whiskey glass in hand. “A man with nothing but paintbrushes and a dream? Do you really believe he loves you for who you are—or for your family’s fortune?”

“Andrew doesn’t care about money!” I protested. “Not everything is about wealth, Dad!”

But he refused to give his blessing. My mother, though more neutral, wasn’t thrilled either.

Still, I trusted Andrew.

The morning of the wedding was chaotic but exciting. My parents arrived at the venue early to handle last-minute details while I got ready with my bridesmaids.

“Think your dad will behave today?” my maid of honor, Lisa, asked as she curled my hair.

“I hope so,” I muttered, fiddling with my engagement ring. “He’s been warming up to Andrew… I think.”

But as the ceremony approached, something felt off.

Andrew was nowhere to be found.

“Have you heard from him?” Mimi asked, concern lacing her voice.

I shook my head. I had already called three times—no answer. The ceremony was scheduled for 2 p.m. It was now 2:45, and the whispers among the guests grew louder.

Just as I was about to dial again, the doors burst open. Two uniformed officers strode in, silencing the room.

“Ma’am,” one said, approaching me. “Do you know this man?” He held up a photo of Andrew.

My knees nearly gave out.

“Yes,” I stammered. “That’s my fiancé. What happened? Is he okay?”

The officer exchanged a glance with his partner. “We’re sorry to inform you that your fiancé was apprehended earlier today while attempting to rob your family’s estate.”

The room erupted in gasps.

“What?!” I choked, shaking my head. “That’s impossible. Andrew would never—”

“I warned you!” my father’s voice thundered across the hall. He marched toward me, his face red with anger and vindication. “He’s a con artist! And now, he’s humiliated you in front of everyone.”

My heart pounded so loudly I barely heard the officers as they explained Andrew had been caught trying to flee the city. They invited us to go with them.

“Of course, I’m coming,” my father snapped. “Let’s see what this scammer has to say.”

The car ride was unbearable. My father muttered about how I should have listened to him. I stared out the window, my engagement ring feeling like a weight on my hand.

But instead of a police station, we pulled up to an old warehouse on the city’s outskirts.

“What is this?” my dad demanded.

“This is… an unusual case,” the officer replied, pushing open the door.

Inside, the space was filled with paint cans and scattered brushes. My breath caught in my throat.

On the warehouse’s massive wall stretched a breathtaking mural—a bride and groom. The bride, unmistakably me, with my dark curls and white dress. The groom, Andrew, holding my hand, beaming.

In the corner, a simple inscription:

Forever yours, Andrew.

Before I could process what I was seeing, Andrew stepped from behind a canvas, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Surprise!” he grinned nervously.

I blinked. “What… what the hell is this?”

“My wedding gift to you,” he said, gesturing to the mural. “I wanted to give you something permanent. Something that showed how much I love you. The police officers? Actors. I hired them. I know it was dramatic, but I wanted today to be unforgettable.”

My dad, stunned into silence, finally spoke. “This… was a prank?”

Andrew nodded. “Yes, sir. I wanted to prove I’m serious about Serene.”

For a moment, my dad just stared. Then, to my shock, he chuckled.

“Well,” he admitted, arms crossed, “you’ve got guts. I still don’t fully trust you, but today… you’ve earned my respect.”

Andrew grinned.

I, however, was fuming.

“No! This is NOT okay!” I shouted. “Andrew! We were supposed to be getting married! I’ve been calling you!”

He winced. “I know, I know. But the muse called. I had to finish it. You understand, don’t you?”

I wanted to scream. To stay mad. But how could I? I ran into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

“This is the best wedding gift I could’ve imagined,” I whispered.

“Good,” he murmured, holding me close.

Back at the venue, we explained everything to our bewildered guests. My dad even toasted to Andrew, admitting he may have misjudged him.

Love isn’t about perfect timing. It’s about trust, creativity, and sometimes, a little chaos.

After the wedding, as we lounged in our hotel suite eating chocolate-covered strawberries, I turned to Andrew.

“I have a gift for you, too.”

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for the champagne.

“I bought you a studio—bigger, better lighting, and attached to a gallery. So you can show your art anytime you want.”

Andrew was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “That’s everything to me, Serene. You’re my muse.”

And with that, I knew I had made the right choice.