📖 Chapter Two: Her First Day as Alexander's Wife
Emma stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom of the Wolfe penthouse, wearing a cream silk dress that had arrived in a sleek black garment bag. It came with a handwritten note from Alexander's assistant:
"You'll be expected at brunch. Dress appropriately."
The woman in the mirror looked like someone else—polished, graceful, composed. But beneath the silk and pearls, she still felt like the same Emma Blake who barely had $200 to her name and a mother fighting for her life in a hospital bed.
The penthouse was silent, the kind of silence that felt too big. She hadn't seen Alexander all morning, though she could sense his presence in every clean line and expensive detail of the apartment.
Then she heard footsteps—measured, crisp.
"You're ready," Alexander said as he appeared at the doorway, eyeing her like an item being evaluated, not admired.
Emma turned. "Is this okay?"
His eyes flicked over her. "It'll do."
The ride to the Wolfe estate was quiet. The city blurred past the tinted car windows, but Emma barely saw it. Her thoughts spun—about the media waiting, about pretending to be the wife of a man she barely knew.
She could feel Alexander's presence beside her, silent and unreadable, scrolling through emails like nothing about today mattered.
"You'll be expected to smile," he said without looking up. "No emotion. No surprises. Just stay close and speak as little as possible."
Emma nodded.
"And if anyone asks about us?"
"We're in love," she said quietly.
He finally looked at her then. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. "Good."
As they pulled into the estate, camera flashes burst through the morning haze.
The driver opened the door, and Alexander stepped out first. Then he turned and offered his hand to Emma.
She took it.
It was warm. Steady. Rehearsed.
For the cameras, they were the perfect couple.
The Wolfe family brunch was less about food and more about power. Everyone in the room carried a name, a legacy, or a secret agenda. Emma felt their eyes, their judgment, their disbelief.
At the center of it all sat Catherine Wolfe, Alexander's mother, who gave Emma a once-over that could freeze fire.
"You must be Emma," she said, voice like ice under pressure. "I hope you understand the weight of the name you now carry."
Emma held her gaze. "I do."
Catherine didn't smile. "We'll see."
Emma kept to herself for most of the brunch. She smiled when required. She held Alexander's hand. She answered a few shallow questions from strangers who wanted to hear the love story.
There wasn't one.
At least not yet.
She eventually found herself outside, standing alone near a marble fountain in the garden. The cold breeze was a relief against the pressure in her chest.
"You did well today."
Emma turned to see Alexander standing behind her, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.
"For someone pretending," he added.
She met his eyes. "I've had practice."
His brows lifted slightly. He didn't ask what she meant.
"Let's get one thing clear," he said, stepping closer. "This is not a game. Our deal may be legal, but it's fragile. Don't do anything to embarrass me."
"I don't intend to," Emma replied calmly.
He looked at her for a moment—longer than usual.
Then he nodded once and turned away.
As she stood there, staring after him, a strange thought crept into Emma's mind.
She wasn't just pretending anymore. She was stepping into a life that could either save her… or destroy her.
And she wasn't sure which one scared her more.