I Married a Janitor to Spite My Wealthy Dad — When My Dad Came to Speak with My Husband, He Fell to His Knees at His Words

My father always saw me as a business asset, planning to marry me off to his wealthy friend’s son.

One day, I snapped. I proposed to a quiet man sweeping leaves. “I need a husband. Today.”

“Name’s Ethan. Deal,” he said. That afternoon, we married — no flowers, no fuss.

When Dad met Ethan, he froze. “Ethan? Is it really you?”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Twenty years ago, you hit a boy with your car. That boy… was me.”

The room went silent. My father begged forgiveness. Ethan’s voice was calm, chilling: “I don’t want your money. I want you to feel helpless — the way you made me.”

Weeks later, at a shareholder meeting, Ethan revealed the cover-up. In minutes, my father was voted out of his own company.

Months later, he tried to make amends. Ethan handed him court papers instead: his new project was on land Ethan now owned.

My father went pale. Ethan whispered, “Justice, not revenge.”

For the first time, I realized: Dad hadn’t just lost his empire. He’d lost control over me.