Emma, a lone mother, sat despondent in a corner of a wedding reception, the object of whispered ridicule. A sharpdressed crime boss drifted toward her and said, Pretend youre my wife and dance with me.
Laughter swirled louder than the band.
Emma perched alone at the far end of the ballroom, her hands clenched in her lap, eyes fixed on an untouched glass of champagne. Her borrowed, fading floral dress barely concealed the fatigue in her gaze. Across the room, couples glided beneath gilded chandeliers while murmurs circled their tables like hawks.
Isnt she a single mum? sneered the bridesmaid. Her husband left her. No wonder shes alone, giggled another.
Emma swallowed hard. She had promised herself she wouldnt crynot today, not at her cousins wedding. Yet when she saw a father and daughter twirl together, something inside her cracked. She thought of her son, Oliver, asleep at home with the nanny, and of the countless nights she pretended everything was fine.
A deep, gentle voice rose from behind her. Dance with me.
She turned and found herself facetoface with a man in an immaculate black suit. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, an aura that seemed to dim the room. He was Victor Black, rumored to be a powerful entrepreneur from London, though whispers called him something else entirelya syndicate leader.
I I dont even know him, Emma stammered.
Then lets pretend, he whispered, extending his hand. Pretend youre my wife. Just for a dance.
The crowd fell silent as she hesitated, her fingers trembling in his grip. A ripple of astonishment swept through the hall when Victor led her onto the centre of the dance floor. The band switched to a slow, aching melody.
As they moved together, Emma noticed the teasing had ceased. No one dared to mutter any more. For the first time in years she no longer felt invisible; she felt seen, protected.
When Victor leaned close, his voice barely above a whisper, he said, Dont look back. Just smile.
The music faded, but the room remained hushed. Every eye was on the mysterious gentleman and the lone mother who now seemed like a queen. Victors hand rested lightly on her waist, his gaze sweeping the crowd with razor precision.
When the song ended, he escorted her off the floor. You did well, he murmured.
Emma blinked. What just happened?
Lets just say, Victor replied with a halfsmile, we needed a distraction.
They slipped to a corner table, her heart still racing. He poured her a drink, each motion deliberate and calm. Those people wont bother you again, he said, glancing at the gossiping guests. Theyre scared of what they cant understand.
He studied herher jawline, the thin scar beside her ear, the way she could appear both dangerous and gentle. I shouldnt have helped you, he admitted. Someone in that room wanted to make a fool of me. You turned the tables.
Emma frowned. So I was just a cover?
Perhaps, he said, his expression softening. But I didnt expect you to look at me the way you did, as if I were human.
Before she could answer, two men in dark suits approached, whispering in low tones. Victors face hardened. He rose abruptly. Stay here, he ordered, his tone authoritative.
Curiosity tugged Emma forward. She followed him outside, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
Near the valet, she saw Victor speaking to another man, a pistol tucked under his coat. The conversation was terse, edged with threat. The stranger slipped away in a black car, and Victor turned, spotting her lingering.
You werent supposed to see that, he said, moving closer. I didnt plan this He stopped, then added, Youre brave or foolish.
His eyes locked onto hers. Now that youve seen me, you cant just disappear from my life, Emma.
The night breeze carried the scent of roses and tension.
For the first time, Emma realised she had stepped into something far bigger than herself.
Two days later, Victor knocked on the door of their modest flat. Oliver was building Lego towers in the living room when he looked up and asked, Mum, is that the man from the wedding?
Victor gave a faint smile. Something like that.
Emmas stomach knotted. You shouldnt be here.
I know, Victor replied, stepping inside. But I hate leaving things unfinished.
He noticed the peeling wallpaper, the secondhand furniture, the quiet strength in Emmas eyes. Youve been fighting alone far too long, he said. You dont have to anymore.
Emma crossed her arms. You dont even know me.
I know what its like to be judged by everyone, Victor said softly. To be cast as the villain in everyones story.
Silence settled over the tiny room. Oliver crept out from behind the sofa, holding a toy car. Victor knelt. Nice wheels, he said. Olivers rare, genuine smile warmed Emmas heart.
Weeks turned into months. Victor visited oftensometimes bringing groceries, other times fixing the jammed lock on the front door. Occasionally he said nothing at all, simply sitting while Emma read bedtime stories to Oliver.
Rumours about his power, danger, and blood persisted, but none of that mattered when he was in the kitchen, helping Oliver with maths. He wasnt the monster the town whispered about; he was just Victor.
One stormy night, as rain hammered the windows, Emma finally asked, Why me?
He looked at her with calm intensity. Because when everyone else turned away, you didnt. You faced me.
She wasnt sure she could ever trust him completely, but for the first time in years she no longer feared the future. The woman once mocked and pitied had reclaimed her strengthnot through a fairytale rescue, but through something raw, imperfect, and alive.
As they watched the rain from the window, Victor whispered, Maybe pretending wasnt such a bad idea after all.
Emma smiled. Maybe it wasnt.
In the end, Emma learned that courage isnt about playing a part for someone else; its about standing up when the world looks away, and discovering that even in the darkest shadows, a single honest heart can light the way.
