My Parents Exiled Me To My Mute Fiancé

"Guys, your girl Freya has been abandoned by her own parents!"

I made an exaggerated meme face at my phone's front camera. The comments exploded instantly, flooding the screen with sympathy and comfort.

"What West Coast market expansion, what independent living training—all excuses! The truth is they think I'm an embarrassment and want to exile me to Los Angeles!"

I waved my hands furiously, completely ignoring the driver's helpless look in the rearview mirror. Yesterday's livestream disaster was still trending, and the hashtag #FreyaBabyApology refused to die down. My parents literally packed me up and shipped me off.

"I'm telling you, even at the ends of the earth, I won't give up! I'm going to build an even bigger business empire in LA and make everyone who looked down on me regret it!"

"Miss, we're here." The driver's voice interrupted my passionate declaration.

I looked up and instantly froze.

"Wait... what is this place?"

Before me stood a converted industrial loft, red brick exterior covered in climbing green vines, massive floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the afternoon sun. This wasn't a luxury apartment—it screamed artist studio vibes!

"Did my parents actually want to turn me into a bohemian artist?"

My expression shifted from anger to confusion on camera, and the live chat started flooding with "lmao" and crying-laughing emojis.

Dragging my suitcase into the loft, I was shocked by the interior. Contemporary art pieces everywhere, spacious yet slightly cold, sunlight pouring through the skylights creating dappled patterns on the polished concrete floor.

"Okay, at least the design taste is decent." I looked around. "Guess my parents do have some artistic sense after all."

Just then, my phone rang. FaceTime, showing "Dearest Mom."

"Hello, Mom—"

"Freya darling! Did you arrive? How do you like it?"

Four faces suddenly appeared on screen: my parents, plus two unfamiliar middle-aged couples.

"Wait, who are these people?" I frowned. "Mom, didn't you say I'd be living alone?"

"Oh, forgot to mention," my mother laughed awkwardly, "remember that childhood betrothal arrangement from when you were little?"

"WHAT?!"

I nearly dropped my phone. Childhood betrothal? That ancient arranged marriage thing?

"You're joking, right?" My voice started shaking. "This is the 21st century!"

The four parents on screen exchanged glances. My dad cleared his throat: "Actually, you two were promised to each other as children. Now you both have... well... some challenges, and we thought you could help each other."

"Challenges?!" My volume skyrocketed. "Are you saying there's something wrong with me? And arranged marriages aren't even recognized in California! This is completely illegal!"

"Freya, listen—"

"No! This is too ridiculous! I'm not living with some random guy! What if he's a psycho? What if he's a creep? I refuse! Absolutely refuse!"

I waved my hands furiously, ready to hang up.

Just then, soft footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned around, and the world seemed to go quiet.

A guy slowly descended the stairs, looking like he'd just woken up, hair slightly messy, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans. Sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows bathed him in a golden glow.

Oh my God, what kind of living masterpiece is this?

Deep eyes, perfect bone structure, plus that effortless god-like aura... like an artistic male lead straight out of some indie film.

He saw me, paused slightly, then politely nodded without speaking.

"Uh..." I suddenly didn't know what to say.

My mom's voice came through the phone: "Freya? Are you still there? Let us see Easton!"

I mechanically turned the phone toward the guy. The four parents on screen immediately broke into satisfied smiles.

"Perfect! You've met!" My mother said excitedly. "Easton, this is Freya!"

The guy named Easton waved at the camera, still silent. But that smile... absolutely killer.

I felt my brain short-circuit.

"Wait..." I looked at the phone, then at Easton. "Although arranged marriage is definitely very... outdated, but..."

My voice grew smaller and smaller.

"If it's him though..." I cleared my throat. "I think I can consider this proposal."

The four parents on screen audibly sighed in relief, while Easton looked confused.

"Wonderful!" My mother said excitedly. "You two get along well! We won't disturb you anymore!"

After the call ended, I immediately raised my phone and switched to selfie mode.

"Guys! Major news! Your girl Freya found a husband!" I excitedly told the camera, then swung it toward the still-dazed Easton. "Look! My fiancé! Isn't he gorgeous?"

Easton saw the camera pointed at him and clearly stepped back, panic flashing in his eyes.

"Hubby!" I walked right over to link my arm through his. "Come on, say hi to my followers! We're already engaged!"

He quickly dodged, rushed to the table, tore off a piece of paper, scribbled something and handed it to me:

Nice to meet you.

"Aww, hubby you're so formal!" I put away my phone with a laugh. "We're getting married and you're still being polite? Is this some kind of artistic thing? Or are you just shy?"

He looked even more uncomfortable and wrote another note:

I don't talk much.

"That's perfect! I talk constantly, we totally balance each other out!" I excitedly spun around the room. "So hubby, the lighting in this loft is incredible. When should we shoot engagement photos? I'm already looking forward to our wedding! What do you think about a beach wedding?"

His expression grew more panicked. He wrote a third note:

I need some space.

"Space? The house is huge, there's tons of space!" I completely misunderstood, continuing on my own. "You're an artist, right? This loft is amazing! What's your style? We could collaborate—I could help promote your work!"

He looked ready to break down, hurriedly gathering his things, wanting to escape.

"Hey, hubby don't leave!" I followed closely. "We just met! Tell me about yourself! Besides painting, what else do you like doing? We can find stuff we both enjoy!"

I followed him through the living room, down the hallway, all the way to a door.

He tremblingly held up a note:

Please don't follow me.

"Why not? This is technically my home now too, right?" I said righteously. "Plus we're engaged, there shouldn't be secrets between us! The more mysterious you are, the more curious I get!"

While he wasn't looking, I pushed the door open.

Instantly, the whole world went quiet.

The room before me was practically a private gallery, walls covered with paintings in various styles: abstract, realistic, impressionistic... each radiating stunning talent and emotional depth. Most striking was the enormous canvas in the corner, depicting a lonely silhouette with a heartbreaking color palette.

"Holy shit..." I gasped. "These paintings... absolutely stunning! Hubby, did you paint these?"

I moved closer to examine them. The bottom right corner of each painting bore the same signature: E.R.

"E.R..." I stared at the signature, a strong sense of déjà vu washing over me. "This signature... I feel like I've seen it somewhere?"

Seeing me staring blankly at the signature, his face instantly turned deathly pale. He frantically grabbed the sketches from the table and quickly scrawled a note, throwing it at me:

GET OUT! NOW!

"Wait! Let me just..."

"SLAM!"

The studio door shut in my face, followed by the sound of a lock clicking.

I stood outside the door, that E.R. signature haunting my mind.

"E.R... where have I seen it before?" I scratched my head and pulled out my phone to search.