Married by mistake, loved by fate

---

The hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on Emily Torres' pale face. She sat stiffly on the edge of a cracked vinyl bench in the corridor outside the ICU, wringing her hands as the faint beep of a heart monitor echoed through the closed doors.

Her younger brother, Ethan, barely twenty, was fighting for his life inside. The doctors said it was a hit-and-run-multiple fractures, internal bleeding, and a dangerously fragile spine. But all Emily could hear was the number: five million naira for the surgery. Five million she didn't have.

"Miss Torres," said the surgeon, stepping out, his face grim but calm. "We can only wait a few more hours before it's too late. I suggest you make arrangements immediately."

He didn't wait for her to answer. He'd already said it all.

Emily blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. She had sold everything-her car, her tiny apartment, even her mother's antique ring. And still, it wasn't enough. She had no one else. Their parents were long gone, and Ethan was all she had left in the world.

Her phone vibrated in her purse.

A message.

Unknown Number: "If you want to save your brother, come to Westwood Towers. 30th floor. Midnight. Come alone."

Her pulse thundered. Who was this?

She read it twice before glancing at the ICU doors again.

What choice did she have?

---

The lobby of Westwood Towers was marble and glass, guarded by security men in suits with earpieces and cold stares. Emily's heels echoed too loudly as she stepped out of the elevator and walked the long corridor to the 30th floor.

She had no idea what she was walking into.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she was met with silence. A private office, dimly lit. And then, a man rose from the leather chair behind the desk.

Liam Westwood.

She'd seen his name in headlines, whispered through scandal columns, splashed across magazines. Billionaire. CEO. Ruthless. Dangerous. Too young to be that powerful. Too handsome to be that cold.

His eyes fixed on her, unreadable. "Emily Torres."

"Yes," she said cautiously, stepping inside.

"I'm the reason your brother is alive," he said, walking around the desk and leaning against it. "I covered the initial medical bill. The surgery is scheduled in the morning."

Her heart lurched. "Why?"

He studied her for a moment. "Because I need a wife."

Emily blinked. "What?"

"A fake wife. For six months," he said simply, like it was a business deal. "In exchange, your brother lives. His bills, therapy, everything-covered."

She stared at him. "You want to... marry me?"

"On paper, yes. I need a woman by my side for an upcoming deal. Investors are more trusting when a man looks stable. I need that image. You need the money. We're both desperate."

Emily's mind raced. This was madness. She didn't know him. This was insane. But so was watching her brother die when a solution was standing right here in a custom suit, offering salvation with conditions.

"What's the catch?" she asked.

Liam gave a cool smile. "You follow my rules. You smile when needed. You don't ask questions about my business. And you disappear when the contract ends."

Her hands shook. Her instincts screamed to run.

But her heart whispered Ethan's name.

She lifted her chin. "Where do I sign?"

---

They were married in a private courthouse the next morning. No rings, no vows. Just papers. Liam Westwood's name beside hers on the dotted line.

And just like that, Emily became Mrs. Westwood-by mistake, by design, by necessity.

Liam's mansion was a cold, cavernous place with glass walls and silent staff. He gave her a room-far from his-and a list of appearances to prepare for: fundraisers, press events, charity dinners.

"You're to wear what my stylist gives you," he instructed as they sat across from each other at breakfast, not touching the food. "And speak only when spoken to. You're here to play the role."

Emily met his eyes, feeling the sting in her throat. "I'm not stupid."

"No," he said after a pause. "You're just desperate."

That cut deep.

But she let it. Because he wasn't wrong.

---

Three weeks passed.

Photos of them holding hands on red carpets surfaced. "The mysterious wife of reclusive billionaire Liam Westwood!" the headlines screamed. Social media fell in love with her smile, with his hand on her lower back, with the illusion.

But behind closed doors, Liam was distant. Controlled. Mechanical.

And Emily was lonely.

Only once had he cracked-when they returned from a gala and she'd asked him why he chose her.

He'd poured himself a drink, stared at the fireplace, and murmured, "Because you looked like someone who had already lost everything."

She had no answer to that.

---

One night, she wandered into the hallway outside his office. She wasn't snooping-she just couldn't sleep. But the door was ajar, and Liam was shouting into the phone.

"I said I don't care if Victor threatens me again. I'm done playing nice. If he comes near her-"

Her?

Emily's breath caught.

Who was Victor? And why was he threatening Liam?

Before she could back away, the floorboard creaked.

Liam turned, and the fury in his eyes chilled her.

"You heard that?" he asked, stepping out.

She nodded slowly.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "You weren't supposed to."

"Who's Victor?" she asked, voice barely a whisper.

"My half-brother," he said. "And a monster."

That was all he said before retreating into silence again.

---

The next morning, she found Liam already dressed, staring at the window like he hadn't slept. He looked haunted.

"I'm taking you somewhere tonight," he said. "Don't ask why. Just trust me."

She hesitated. "I don't know if I can."

He looked at her then-really looked.

"I never asked you to," he said. "But maybe you should start."

---

The car ride was tense. Black SUV. Tinted windows. Liam beside her, silent. The city flew past in flashes of neon and shadow.

They arrived at a penthouse high above the skyline. Not Liam's.

Inside, three men sat around a table, weapons visible, tension thick.

Victor Westwood stood up.

His smile was poison.

"Ah. So this is the pretty little wife," he said. "How tragic. She doesn't know anything, does she?"

Emily stiffened.

Liam stepped in front of her. "Leave her out of this."

Victor's smile widened. "You know how this ends, brother. You can't buy safety."

"You don't scare me anymore," Liam said coldly.

"You should," Victor replied. "Because I don't lose."

---

Back in the car, Emily was shaking.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Liam didn't answer.

But she saw it in his eyes-he wasn't just a cold businessman. He was a man walking a razor-thin line between power and danger.

And now, she was entangled in it.

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

Ethan was recovering, but now her own life felt like it was hanging by a thread. The marriage, the lies, the enemies she never asked for.

And Liam.

Why did he look at her like he wanted to protect her-but refused to let her in?

She stood by the window, staring at the skyline.

And whispered into the dark, "What have I done?"

---