Another Mistake?

Emma

“Do you, Emma Ramirez, take Zane Mendoza as your lawfully wedded husband?”  

As the words sliced through the stillness of the chapel, my lips parted, but no sound came. I stood there, frozen, feeling the weight of my wedding dress suffocating me as my heart beat wildly in my chest. 

How the hell had I ended up here again?  

My gaze drifted to the man standing before me, tall and commanding in his custom black suit. Zane Mendoza. The man who once held my heart in the palm of his hand only to crush it five years ago. His dark, cold eyes bored into mine. He looked as infuriatingly handsome as ever with a sharp jawline, perfectly tousled dark wilt cut hair, and lips that had once whispered promises I was naive enough to believe.  

I couldn’t decide what was worse —the fact that I was marrying the same man who had handed me a divorce paper five years ago or the fact that he knew exactly how trapped I felt and seemed to be enjoying it.  

Back to the first time I had stood across from Zane like this.  

I had been nineteen then and blinded by dumb love. Zane had been the bad boy, the reckless charmer who had swept me off my feet with his crooked smile and devil-may-care attitude. I had gone against my parents’ advice and eloped with him and gotten married in a cheap chapel on the outskirts of town.  

But the honeymoon phase hadn’t lasted long. Two months later, the cracks had started to show. I had caught him sneaking off in the middle of the night, his phone buzzing incessantly with messages from women whose names I didn’t know but whose intentions were painfully clear. A couple of times, I had stalked him, only to see him walking into hotel rooms with different women.

The final blow had come when one day, he had slid the divorce papers across the table, his expression so indifferent as if he was handing me a grocery list.  

“I made a mistake.” He had said. “I’m not cut out for marriage or commitment, Emma. I’m not ready for this. I’m tired of hurting you. I want to give you back your freedom.”

Heartbroken and hurt, I had packed my things that same night and walked out of his house without a word. What he didn’t know, what he still didn’t know, was that I had been pregnant.  

My parents had taken me back, but their forgiveness came with conditions. No one could know the truth. When my daughter was born, they insisted the world believe she was adopted. With no choice of my own, I had gone along with it. Then they had shipped me off to Boston, to start over.

And I had. Until now.  

When my parents had called me a month ago, I had thought it was just another check-in. Instead, they asked me to return to the city and when I did, they dropped the bombshell. Their business was bankrupt and their debts was spiraling out of control. The only solution was an arranged marriage with Zane Mendoza, the man who now owned their debts —and, apparently, me.  

I hadn’t known until then just how far Zane’s reach extended. That the man I had married as a reckless nineteen-year-old wasn’t just a playboy but the heir to a secret mafia dynasty. Now, he was the mafia don himself, a man whose power and influence were as terrifying as they were undeniable.  

And I had walked right into his trap for the second time.

I had tried to argue with my parents, to disagree with them and make them see reasons why this marriage could not hold. But they were adamant and wouldn’t listen to me.

“You will marry Zane Mendoza, and that is final!” My father had yelled at me, his eyes wide and terrifying. And my mother had supported him.

“We have done so much for you even when you almost ruined your life and tried to bring shame to this family. And yet, this is how you pay us back? By going against our commands? How can you be so ungrateful!”

And then, my father had added. “If you go against us, then we will have no choice but to disown you. You are not worthy of being called our daughter!”

“Emma Ramirez.” The priest’s voice pulled me back to the present moment as he repeated himself again. “Do you take Zane Mendoza as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

Zane’s eyes didn’t waver from mine. If anything, they seemed to darken, daring me to say no, daring me to defy him in front of everyone.  

I wanted to. God, I wanted to scream that this wasn’t fair, that he didn’t get to walk back into my life and take everything from me again. But my parents’ angry and desperate faces flashed in my mind and my chest tightened. 

For them, I had to. At least, to pay them back for all that they had done for me. 

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and my heart heavy. I could feel the entire room holding its breath.

Zane smirked now, just enough to make my blood boil.  

I hated him. I hated his arrogance, his audacity, his ability to make me feel like I was still that naive nineteen-year-old who had thought love could conquer anything.  

But I hated myself more for still feeling the tiniest flicker of something when I looked at him. And what I hated the most was that I had no other choice. 

“Yes.” My voice seemed to break the tension in the room and I could see the smiles of relief on my parents face from where they were seated. 

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” 

As the priest’s words rolled out of his tongue, I kept my eyes locked with Zane, wondering if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.