WELCOME TO HELL

"I'll do it."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Alexander's face didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Relief? Satisfaction? I couldn't tell.

"Smart choice," he said, reaching for his phone. "Marcus, bring the contracts up. Now."

Contracts. Plural. My stomach twisted.

Within minutes, a tall man in an expensive suit walked in carrying a briefcase. He didn't look at me, just spread papers across the coffee table like he was dealing cards.

"Standard marriage contract," Alexander said casually, like we were discussing the weather. "Sign where marked."

I picked up the first page with shaking hands. Legal words blurred together, but some things jumped out at me. "Alexander Richie, father of three children..."

My blood went cold. "You have kids?"

"Is that a problem?" His voice was sharp now, dangerous.

I stared at the contract. Three children. What kind of woman was I becoming stepmother to? What kind of father was Alexander? But Violet's pale face flashed in my mind, and I grabbed the pen.

"No," I whispered. "No problem."

I signed my name on every marked line, each signature feeling like I was signing away another piece of my soul. Emily Carter. Emily Carter. Emily Carter. Soon it would be Emily Richie. The thought made me sick.

"Excellent," Alexander said, collecting the papers. "Marcus, call Dr. Martinez. Tell her to expect full payment within the hour."

He turned to me, his expression softer now. "Let's go save your daughter."

The next few hours passed in a blur. Alexander walked into the hospital like he owned it, which maybe he did. He handed over a check that made Dr. Martinez's eyes widen.

"We can begin surgery immediately," she said, her whole attitude changed. Money really did make everything different.

I held Violet's hand until they wheeled her away. "Mama loves you, baby girl," I whispered. "Everything's going to be okay now."

But nothing felt okay. I'd just married a stranger. A stranger with three children I knew nothing about.

******

Three days later, Violet was sitting up in bed, color back in her cheeks, giggling at cartoons on the hospital TV. The surgery had been a success. My baby was going to live.

"Ready to go home?" Alexander asked from the doorway. He'd visited every day, bringing flowers and expensive toys for Violet. She already called him "Uncle Alex."

Home. But it wasn't my home anymore.

A black Mercedes waited outside the hospital. The driver, a stone-faced man named James, loaded our few belongings into the trunk. Everything I owned fit in two garbage bags. It was embarrassing.

The drive to Alexander's house took thirty minutes, each mile taking us further from everything I knew. When we finally stopped, I couldn't breathe.

It wasn't a house. It was a mansion. Three stories of white stone and glass windows, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens. A fountain sat in the circular driveway. It looked like something from a magazine.

"Holy shit," I whispered, then covered my mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean.."

"Language," Alexander said, but he was smiling. "You'll get used to it."

James carried our bags to the front door, which was bigger than my old apartment. Alexander opened it with a key, and we stepped into the most beautiful place I'd ever seen.

Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a staircase that curved like something from a fairy tale. But fairy tales were supposed to have happy endings.

"Well, well, well."

The voice was ice cold. I turned to see a woman descending the staircase like a queen coming to pass judgment. She was probably in her sixties, with silver hair pulled into a perfect bun and diamonds glittering at her throat. Her eyes were the same storm gray as Alexander's, but where his could be warm, hers were frozen solid.

"Mother," Alexander said, his voice suddenly tense. "This is Emily. My wife."

The woman's gaze raked over me from head to toe, taking in my cheap jeans, my worn sneakers, my discount store top. Her lip curled in disgust.

"This is what you've brought into our home?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "This... creature?"

"Mother, please.."

"Don't 'mother please' me, Alexander." She stepped closer to me, and I could smell her expensive perfume. "I know exactly what you are, girl. A gold-digging whore who trapped my son with some sob story about a sick child."

The words hit me like physical blows. "That's not.."

"Don't you dare speak to me," she snapped. "I know girls like you. Trash from the gutter who think they can climb their way up by spreading their legs."

Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of this woman.

"Catherine, that's enough," Alexander said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?" She laughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "Do you know where I found information about your precious wife, Alexander? She works at a strip club. A common whore who sells her body for money."

The slap came out of nowhere. Her hand cracked across my cheek so hard I stumbled backward, tasting blood.

"That's for bringing shame into this house," she hissed.

I pressed my hand to my burning cheek, tears finally spilling over. Alexander stood there doing nothing, just watching his mother destroy me.

"Mom! Mom! You're back!"

Three voices echoed from upstairs, followed by the thunder of feet on stairs. Alexander's children appeared at the top of the staircase - two boys and a girl, all beautiful, all staring at me with open curiosity.

"Kids," Alexander said, clearing his throat. "I want you to meet someone. This is Emily, my... wife. And this is Violet, her daughter."

The oldest boy, maybe sixteen, looked me up and down just like his grandmother had. "This is the gold digger Dad married?"

"Jason!" Alexander's voice was sharp, but the damage was done.

The girl, around fourteen, wrinkled her nose. "She looks poor. And why is she crying? How pathetic."

"Is she going to live here now?" the youngest boy asked, maybe twelve. "Do we have to call her mom?"

"God, no," Jason laughed. "I'm not calling some stripper mom."

"How do you.." I started, but Catherine cut me off.

"I made sure they knew exactly what kind of woman their father brought home," she said with satisfaction. "They have a right to know their new stepmother is a prostitute."

"I'm not.." The words died in my throat. What was the point? They'd already decided who I was.

Violet pressed closer to my leg, sensing the hostility in the room. At least my baby was safe. That's all that mattered.

"Your rooms are on the third floor," Alexander said quietly. "James will show you up."

"The servant's quarters," Catherine added with a cold smile. "How appropriate."

As we climbed the stairs, I could hear them talking about me like I wasn't even there. Whore. Gold digger. Trash. The words followed us up two flights of stairs to a small room at the very top of the house.

It was nice enough - clean, with a window overlooking the gardens. But it felt like a prison.

I sat on the bed and finally let myself cry. Violet climbed into my lap, her little arms around my neck.

"Mama, why are they being mean to you?" she asked in her sweet voice.

"Some people are just mean, baby," I whispered, holding her tight. "But we're safe now. You're going to be okay."

But as I held my daughter in that beautiful house full of ugly people, I realized I'd traded one hell for another.

And this one might be worse…