I Married My Taxi Driver Just to Annoy My Ex – The Next Day, He Showed Me a Photo That Changed Everything 2

I sat down on the armrest of my couch, still holding the photograph. “Then why marry me?”

He didn’t sit, just stood near the window, watching the sunlight creep across the floor.

“Two years ago,” he said, “I was engaged to someone. She left me after I discovered she was cheating. I also found out that she wanted the title, not the man. I’ve been avoiding people ever since. But you—” he looked at me then, really looked—”you saw me for who I was behind the wheel. You weren’t interested in the money or the status. You just needed a ride.”

“You made me feel… normal again. And with that prenup, I knew my money was safe. So… why not take the leap?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “So what now?”

He grinned. “Now, we take it up a notch if you’re up to it. I have an idea that will really drive your ex insane. Come out on the yacht with me this weekend. We’ll enjoy the sun and sip champagne. You can post those photos.”

I nodded my head without thinking. “I’m in!”

The weekend came faster than I expected. Adam’s yacht was docked two hours south, but he insisted we drive there ourselves. We stopped for gas station snacks and sang along to ’90s pop songs on the radio like we had known each other for years!

The yacht was enormous! Not flashy, just elegant. The kind of place where everything felt soft and golden. Clara joined us and took photos of me in oversized sunglasses, Adam in swim trunks and a linen shirt, the two of us clinking champagne glasses under the open sky.

You know, the kind of photos with wind in your hair and a hint of mischief in your smile.

I posted three photos, no caption.

It didn’t take long for my phone to explode with messages.

Jonathan’s messages came in rapid fire.

“Are you serious right now?”

“You think parading around with some guy will make me jealous?”

“Come on, Emily. Be real. This is stupid. You’re not like this.”

But I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. The photos said enough.

My silence didn’t deter Jonathan, who kept sending more angry, frantic texts about how he’d expected me to “come crawling back” after “cooling down.” Seeing me with someone else, happy, was clearly eating him alive.

Which, of course, was exactly the point.

On the other hand, over the next few weeks, Adam and I kept finding excuses to see each other. Lunch turned into dinner. Dinner turned into him staying over. I learned he loved grilled cheese sandwiches and terrible action movies. He learned I talked in my sleep and hated folding laundry.