WALKING down the aisle, I knew deep in my heart I wasn’t marrying for love, but for money.

I cared for Andrew*, but it was his wealth I was passionate about, and the lifestyle it gave me, not him.

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Seven years on from that day, I’m a forty one year old divorcee, having learned the painful way that a truly happy relationship can never be built on another person’s bank balance.

Watching The Perfect Couple on Netflix this month, and the toxicity that is brewed when money is the motivating factor in a marriage, I felt relief to no longer be mired in a dynamic like that.

I grew up the only child of a single mother, and although we weren’t ‘poor’, Mum worked incredibly hard as a secretary just so we could get by. I suppose that’s where my craving to be well off came from. When you grow up without money, it’s easy to believe it’s the key to a happier life.

In 2015, when I was thirty-two, I met Andrew*.

I was working as an EA at a bank and he was a client of my boss. 

Ten years older than me, balding and with a bit of a belly, I wasn’t physically attracted to him, but he was charming, funny and when I looked at his files, I was stunned at how well off he was despite only being in his early forties. 

He’d taken over his family’s successful property development business, as well as investing in a portfolio of rental flats.

He’d come in for meetings – his Porsche parked outside, wearing a well-cut suit and a designer watch – and we’d flirt, until one day he asked me out.

On our second date, he presented me with a Chloe handbag and on our month anniversary he arranged a surprise weekend away to New York. 

Money was no object to him, and I was enthralled. I’d never experienced a lifestyle like this, and although he liked to talk about himself a lot, and our sex life wasn’t that satisfying, I told myself I didn’t care, he was rich, generous and wanted to be with me.

Within six months I’d moved into his luxury apartment, and on holiday in Dubai for our one year anniversary, he proposed with an enormous diamond ring.

He paid for our wedding in summer 2017 and whatever I wanted – from the celebrity florist to the fireworks display at the 5* venue, and my gown that cost thousands of pounds – I had it. I was like a kid in a candy shop, with his credit card.

I feel ashamed now I exchanged vows with Andrew knowing I wasn’t in love with him, but I was blinded by the excitement of being rich, and greedy for the life he could give me.

For the first few years, things were good. 

I gave up work within a year of us marrying – I hated my job and Andrew insisted he earned more than enough to support us.

I suppose I was a ‘trad wife’ long before it was a TikTok trend.

And I threw myself into supervising the renovations of a second home we – Andrew – had bought in the countryside, along with going to the gym, shopping and preparing meals for him. Gifts of expensive jewellery, ski holidays and designer clothes became my norm.

Friends would joke I’d become like one of ITV’s Rich Housewives, but I told myself they were just jealous, having married guys with ordinary jobs and modest bank balances. Sure, they were madly in love, but I had a lifestyle to die for.

There were days I felt aimless, bored and a bit embarrassed about being a ‘kept woman’ in my thirties, but I pushed those feelings aside.

It was the pandemic that would expose the shaky foundations my marriage was built on. 

Both stuck at home all day, with no lux holidays, shopping trips or spa breaks to enjoy, we only had each other’s company, and I began to realise that without all the distractions and excitement of his wealth, a lot of the time Andrew bored and irritated me.

Also, with his business interests under pressure because of the impact of lockdown, for the first time ever, he began to question items on the credit card bill or the cost of things I had delivered to the house. 

I felt humiliated when he told me my spending was out of control, and that I needed to rein it in and run big purchases past him. During one row, he said it was his money and I should be more grateful to him than I was.

It hit me he didn’t see me as his equal, because I contributed nothing. He had the money, and so he had the power in our relationship, and that was never going to change.

Once those cracks had appeared, I couldn’t ignore them or keep papering over them with his money.

Even when life began to return to normal, and he whisked us away to Portugal and insisted everything was fine now financially, I should just carry on as normal, the voice in my head kept growing louder that I’d made a mistake. 

In late 2021, I told Andrew I’d fallen for his wealth, and I had let him believe I loved him.

I’d married for the wrong reasons, I didn’t love this man and it was never going to be a marriage of equals. 

Even if I went back to work, financially there would always be a huge imbalance and having experienced that being used against me emotionally in the pandemic, I knew it would happen again.

In late 2021, I told Andrew I was leaving him. I admitted I’d fallen for his wealth, and the fault lay with me for letting him believe I loved him.

He was shocked, devastated, angry and begged me to reconsider, but I told him it was the best thing for both of us. 

We divorced in 2022 and all I asked for was the house in the countryside in the divorce settlement, so I had somewhere to live, although I would’ve been entitled to more. I wanted to start afresh, away from his money.

I went back to work as an EA and it felt good to be financially independent again, and today I live a very ordinary life, without all the expensive trappings I had during my marriage. Do I miss them? Sometimes. But am I happier? Definitely.

I’d love to meet someone else but it’s not easy dating as a divorcee, and I can hardly explain to guys that I married for money not love, and that’s why it all fell apart.

Perhaps one day I’ll meet someone and when I do, I have learned to be led by my heart, and not his bank balance.