My mother took the “speak now” moment at my wedding way too seriously. As the officiant paused, she stood, dabbing fake tears, and declared, “Eliza is making a terrible mistake!” She sneered at Brian. “She could have married someone successful!”

The guests gasped. I was frozen, but Brian remained calm. He reached into his pocket and handed my mother a folded document. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.

Her face turned pale as she scanned the page. “This… this is private!”

“It’s your credit report,” Brian revealed. “You pretend to be wealthy, but you’re drowning in debt.” The room fell silent.

Then, with a smile, he said, “For the record, I’m a billionaire.”

My breath caught. My dad gasped. My mother stumbled backward, speechless.

“I wanted someone who loved me for me,” Brian continued. “Eliza never cared about money—unlike you.”

I turned to him, my heart racing. “Is this true?”

He nodded. “I own the library where I work. And several others.”

“Are you mad?” he asked.

“Only that you kept it from me. But I still want to marry you.”

I kissed him, and the room erupted in cheers. My mother fled, humiliated, but my father stayed, tears in his eyes. “Brian is exactly the man I hoped you’d find,” he said.

That night, as we danced, Brian whispered, “The best stories find us when we least expect them.”

And in that moment, I knew: I was the richest woman in the world.