Mistakenly became Mr. Alexander's wife

Emma Hart leaned against the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her third glass of whiskey, her vision blurring as the lights of the upscale lounge danced in soft, golden hues. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses filled the air, but it barely registered in her mind. All she could think about was the ring-the one now wrapped around Michelle Thompson's finger.

Her ex-boyfriend, Derek Mason, had gotten engaged. To Michelle. Her rival since college. The perfect, blonde, doe-eyed woman who had always managed to make Emma feel less than enough. And now, Derek had chosen her. Announced it to the world in the most extravagant way possible, splashed across every social media platform. The final dagger.

Emma's fingers tightened around the glass. She could still hear Derek's voice in her head from the night he had broken up with her six months ago, as clear as if it were happening now.

"It's not you, Emma. It's me. I need something... more stable. Something easier."

Easier. That word had stung more than anything. Was that what she was to him? A complication? An inconvenience?

She downed the whiskey in one gulp, the burn barely registering as it slid down her throat. She wasn't the type to get drunk and wallow, but tonight-tonight, she needed to forget. She needed the whiskey to burn away the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal that was still raw and bleeding inside her.

"Another one?" The bartender's voice cut through her haze, a soft inquiry she barely heard.

Emma nodded without meeting his eyes. "Yeah, make it a double this time."

As he moved to refill her glass, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored shelves behind the bar. Her dark brown hair, usually sleek and perfectly styled, hung in loose waves around her face. Her makeup, done meticulously earlier in the evening, was starting to smudge around her eyes, making her look more tired than she felt. The pale blue dress she wore clung to her curves in all the right places, but tonight, it felt like a disguise-something to hide the broken woman underneath.

"To new beginnings," she muttered to herself, raising the glass as the bartender slid it toward her.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," a deep voice beside her remarked.

Emma blinked, turning her head slightly. A man had taken the seat next to her-broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that screamed money. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortless, but his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes told her he was anything but casual. There was something about him-something commanding, almost dangerous-that made her sit up a little straighter.

She forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not here to be convincing."

The man's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he gave a small nod, as if accepting her answer. He gestured toward the bartender. "Scotch. Neat."

Emma glanced at him again, curious despite herself. "Celebrating something?"

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent an odd shiver down her spine. "Not exactly. Just... passing the time."

"Isn't that what we're all doing?" she murmured, more to herself than to him.

His drink arrived, and he took a slow sip before turning his full attention back to her. "What about you? What's got you knocking back whiskey like it's water?"

Emma sighed, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Let's just say my ex-boyfriend got engaged today. To my college nemesis."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That sounds like a story."

She laughed, though it was bitter. "Oh, it's a story all right. One I'd rather forget."

He leaned in slightly, the intensity in his eyes unsettling. "Funny thing about trying to forget-it never works the way you want it to."

Emma met his gaze, feeling a strange pull toward him, as if he understood the darkness swirling inside her. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the need to not feel so damn alone tonight, but she found herself talking.

"We dated for two years," she began, her voice soft. "Everything was great, or at least I thought it was. And then, out of nowhere, he says he needs something easier, someone more... stable. Next thing I know, he's engaged to Michelle Thompson-who has apparently been 'stable' enough for him all along."

The man's lips curved into a half-smile, but it wasn't one of amusement. "Sounds like you dodged a bullet."

Emma snorted. "Doesn't feel like it."

"You're better off," he said simply, his voice firm in a way that almost convinced her.

She wanted to believe him. But right now, all she felt was anger-anger at Derek, anger at Michelle, anger at herself for caring so damn much. She lifted her glass to her lips again, but this time, her hand trembled, and the whiskey sloshed onto the bar.

"Damn it," she muttered, reaching for a napkin.

Before she could, the man leaned forward and took the glass from her hand, setting it down carefully. His fingers brushed against hers, just for a moment, and it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

"Maybe you should slow down," he suggested, his tone softening.

Emma glanced up at him, meeting his gaze once more. Those piercing blue eyes of his seemed to see straight through her, and for a moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected.

"Why do you care?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, as if weighing his words carefully. "Let's just say I know what it's like to want to forget."

There was something in his voice-something almost haunted. It caught her off guard, and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself asking, "What are you trying to forget?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly, but then he leaned back in his chair and gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "That's a conversation for another night."

Emma frowned, feeling a strange sense of disappointment. There was a story there, something dark and painful, and part of her wanted to know more. But before she could press him, her phone buzzed on the bar beside her.

She glanced down at the screen, and her stomach twisted. It was her mother.

With a heavy sigh, she picked up the phone and swiped to answer. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Her mother's voice was shaky on the other end of the line, and Emma's heart sank. "It's your father, Emma. He's been arrested."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. "What? Why? What happened?"

"They're saying he's been involved in some kind of financial fraud. But Emma, you know your father-he wouldn't do something like this!"

Emma's mind raced, her pulse quickening. "Who's behind this? Who..."

Her mother's voice cracked, and she could hear the tears in it. "It's Derek, Emma. He's the one who had your father arrested."

Emma's blood ran cold, and her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. Derek. Of course. The pieces started to fall into place-the sudden breakup, the engagement to Michelle, and now this. Derek had set her father up. He had used her, discarded her, and now he was trying to ruin her family.

She felt the rage build inside her, hot and fierce, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. She braced herself against the bar, trying to steady her breathing.

"Emma?" her mother's voice was small, pleading. "What are we going to do?"

Emma swallowed hard, her voice low and dangerous. "I'll handle it, Mom. I promise."

She hung up the phone and sat there for a moment, her mind spinning. Everything was falling apart. And the worst part was, she had no idea how to fix it.

"You okay?" The man's voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find him watching her, concern etched on his face.

Emma shook her head slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on her. "No. Not even close."

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in slightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For some reason, the kindness in his voice-the offer of help-was the final straw. Emma's composure cracked, and she found herself spilling everything.

"My father's been arrested," she said, her voice shaky. "Derek-my ex-he's the one behind it. He framed him for something he didn't do."

The man's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "That bastard."

Emma let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. That about sums it up."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were considering something. Then, without warning, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the bar to her.

"If you're serious about taking him down," he said, his voice low and serious, "I know someone who can help."

Emma stared at the card, her heart pounding. She didn't know this man, didn't even know his name, but something in his eyes told her he wasn't offering lightly.

She picked up the card, her fingers trembling slightly as she read the name on it. "Alexander Mason," she murmured, looking up at him with a frown. "Who are you?"

Alexander leaned back, his expression unreadable, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth-a smile that never fully formed. "I think you already know the answer to that," he said, his voice steady, controlled.

Emma's mind reeled, the name sinking in like a slow burn. Alexander Mason. Mason. Mason. Derek's last name.

Her eyes widened as the pieces came together. She had heard whispers of him before, Derek's elusive, older half-brother who rarely made public appearances but was known for controlling an empire much larger than Derek's. He wasn't just rich; he was powerful. Ruthless. A man who commanded respect in every room he entered. And now, here he was, offering his help.

"You're Derek's brother," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't a question.

"Half-brother," he corrected smoothly, his tone almost dismissive, as if the distinction mattered. "And let's just say we don't exactly see eye to eye."

Emma blinked, her pulse racing. "Why are you helping me?"

Alexander's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because I have my reasons." He leaned in closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "And because I know what it feels like to be betrayed by Derek. You're not the first, and you certainly won't be the last."

Emma swallowed, trying to wrap her head around the situation. She wanted to trust him-God, did she want to believe there was someone on her side for once-but something about Alexander made her uneasy. He was too calm, too calculated, and she knew better than to believe a man like him would offer help without expecting something in return.

"What's the catch?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Alexander's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Smart girl." He took a long sip of his scotch before setting the glass down and meeting her eyes again. "Let's just say I'm willing to help you, but it's going to cost you."

Emma's stomach twisted. Of course. There was always a price with men like him. "And what exactly are you asking for?"

His gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second before returning to her eyes, and the air between them seemed to thicken with something unspoken, something dangerous. "You want your father out of prison, right? You want Derek to pay for what he's done?"

Emma nodded, though her throat felt tight, her breath shallow.

"Then marry me," Alexander said, his voice as smooth and cold as the ice in his glass.

Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked, sure she had misheard. "What?"

"You heard me." He didn't flinch, didn't waver. His tone was as matter-of-fact as if he were asking her for a simple business deal. "Marry me, and I'll make sure your father is released. I'll destroy Derek. But in exchange, I need something from you."

Emma stared at him, speechless. This was his price? Marriage? To him?

"Why would you want to marry me?" she asked, disbelief coloring her words.

Alexander's smile was slow, deliberate. "Let's just say I need someone in my corner. Someone who isn't afraid to stand by me in public, to help smooth over some... complications. You do that, and in return, I'll take care of everything for you."

Emma shook her head, her mind spinning. This was insane. She didn't even know this man, and now he was asking her to marry him? To get involved in whatever twisted game he was playing with his family?

"Why me?" she asked again, her voice trembling.

"Because you have something I need," Alexander replied, his gaze unwavering. "And I have something you want. It's as simple as that."

Emma's chest tightened. Simple? There was nothing simple about this. She opened her mouth to say something-anything-but before she could, her phone buzzed again.

She glanced down, and her heart sank as she saw a text from her mother: "We need you, Emma. Please come home."

Her father. God, her father. He was sitting in a jail cell right now, because of Derek. Because of the man she had once loved, the man who had torn her life apart. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing.

She turned her gaze back to Alexander, her mind racing. Could she really do this? Could she marry a man like him, even if it meant saving her father? What would her life look like if she agreed? The thought of being tied to Alexander Mason, of stepping into his world, was terrifying.

But the alternative? Letting Derek win, letting her father rot in prison? That was unbearable.

"What happens if I say no?" she asked quietly.

Alexander's eyes darkened, his expression turning cold. "Then you walk out of here, and your father stays where he is. Derek continues his life, unscathed, and you... well, you'll have to figure out your next move on your own."

It was a warning. A reminder that without his help, she had no other options.

Emma's hand trembled as she placed the business card on the bar, her decision looming over her like a storm cloud. She could feel the weight of Alexander's gaze on her, waiting, watching.

She didn't want this. She didn't want to be trapped in a marriage born out of blackmail, tied to a man who saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his game. But she had no choice. Not if she wanted to save her father.

Taking a deep breath, Emma lifted her chin and met Alexander's gaze head-on. "Fine," she said, her voice steady despite the fear twisting in her gut. "I'll marry you."

Alexander's smile was slow, predatory, as if he had just won a game only he knew they were playing. He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with a practiced, effortless motion.

"Good," he said softly, leaning in close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. "I'll have my lawyers draft the papers. We'll do this on my terms, but rest assured, Emma-you'll get what you want."

She shivered under the intensity of his gaze, but she held her ground. She had made her choice, and there was no turning back now.

As Alexander walked away, disappearing into the crowd, Emma sat there, staring at the card in her hand, her mind numb.

What had she just agreed to?