I Married My Ex To Save My Family

A sharp sting in her eyes jolted Amaris Mason awake, snapping her into focus.

From outside the bathroom door, Roger Blake kept knocking with that cocky arrogance, like he already knew he’d won. “Amaris, quit hiding,” he chided, his voice scraping her nerves raw. Just the sound of his voice made her stomach turn.

Amaris ran through her escape options fast. Calum Jordan was too far out to help on short notice, and calling the cops could blow up into a scandal that would trash Mason Group’s name. In the heat of the moment, hitting up Emiliano, who was staying at a hotel nearby, felt like the smartest move.

“Hey, Noah? I'm trapped in the bathroom—Roger Blake,” she whispered urgently into her phone.

The knocking turned to pounding, and soon Roger was kicking the door in. That flimsy bathroom lock wasn’t gonna hold much longer.

Amaris grabbed a bottle of eucalyptus oil and smashed it, drenching her hands.

With a loud crash, the door burst open, and Roger stumbled in, drunk, blocking her only way out with a nasty grin.

Amaris had just thrown up—her hair wet, face damp, eyes red. But to Roger, she looked like some fragile flower, just watered, all rare and tempting.

“Amaris, you’re exactly my type,” he bragged, dropping all pretenses. “Stick with me and you can have whatever you want.”

Her stomach lurched with disgust. Playing along, she said, “Really? But this place is way too cramped. It’s hard to breathe.”

Roger’s throat went dry. He loosened his tie, his bulky body trembling with anticipation. “Don’t need big. Just exciting.”

As he lunged, Amaris whipped her hands up and smeared the sharp-scented stuff all over his face.

Roger blinked, confused. “What the hell is this?”

He wiped his face on instinct, only for his eyes to explode with burning pain—a sharp, cool scent flooding his nose.

“What’d you put on my face?” he roared, lunging at her blind.

Amaris didn’t miss a beat. She slapped him across the face over and over with her slick, oily hands.

There wasn’t much oil in his eyes, and the sting eased as tears poured, but Roger managed to crack open one eye. He snatched her wrist and smacked her back, hard.

The blow knocked Amaris flat on the floor, blood trickling from her lip. Dizzy, bright spots dancing in her vision, she still managed to twist free—her wrists too slippery to hold—and she scrambled into the hallway.

Of course, everyone outside had conveniently disappeared, and the door to the private room was locked solid.

Rage and lust warred on Roger’s face as he squinted at his prey, eyes red, cheeks still burning.

“You’re way feistier than I figured,” he taunted, closing in, peeling off his shirt to show a heaving mound of flesh. “You’re wild, exciting—I like it.”

Amaris choked back tears, twisting the door handle with no luck, her voice climbing with desperation. “Open the door! Mr. Patel, Mr. Smith—you even thought about what happens when you help a crime? Open this door!”

Roger lunged, ripping her blazer clean off.

Realizing no one was coming, Amaris forced herself to stay calm. As Roger sniffed her jacket like a creep, she drove her knee straight into his groin.

He doubled over, face flushing a sick shade of purple as he cursed, “You crazy—”

Without missing a beat, Amaris went for his eyes again, her hands still slick with burning eucalyptus.

Roger screamed, clawing at his own face and only making it worse.

Then, out of nowhere, the lock clicked. Someone was opening it from the outside.

Amaris bolted for the door without a second thought.

The door flew open, and there was Emiliano Mason, face to face with her. He’d come to save her, and for a beat, they both froze.

Without a word, Emiliano draped his jacket over her shoulders, his eyes sweeping the scene behind her—Roger on the floor, shirtless, writhing in pain like the pathetic, humiliated mess he was.

“Everyone, get in here!” Emiliano barked, his voice thick with fury and command, one hand steady on Amaris’s shoulder as he guided her out.

The tension drained from her body, and she sagged against Emiliano, letting him hold her up.

Out in the hallway, a few department heads and two of Amaris’s female colleagues stood awkwardly, clearly tipsy and swaying on their feet.

“What are you all standing around for? Get in there!” Emiliano’s tone left zero room for argument.

Feeling Amaris go limp, he tightened his arm around her waist and lifted her like she weighed nothing.

After snapping out the order to lock the door, Emiliano carried Amaris straight to the elevator, ignoring the hotel manager’s frantic apologies—the guy was terrified of ending up on Mason Group’s blacklist.

In the luxury suite, Emiliano kicked the door shut in the middle of the manager’s rambling, then strode over to lay Amaris on the bed.

For the first time, he really looked at her. Cheeks swollen and bruised. Lip split. Eyes bloodshot. Wrists marked with handprints. And her skin smelled like alcohol and eucalyptus—a sharp, jolting mix.

“Did he drug you?” Emiliano guessed, his voice laced with violence. “I’ll make that bastard pay!”

Amaris grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back. “Don’t do anything stupid... I didn’t let him take advantage.”

“This doesn’t count as being taken advantage of?” Emiliano shot back.

“Just my waist,” she admitted, trying to downplay it.

Emiliano blurted out, “I haven’t even touched your waist and he went and did it first!”

Amaris stilled at his words, but she was too drained to dig into what he meant.

“Did Noah call you? Did it mess up your dinner meeting?”

Emiliano’s anger flared right back up. “You’d call Noah for help before me? So I’m less than a stranger to you now?”

“No, I—”

“I know you didn’t want this,” Emiliano cut in, his words razor-sharp with frustration. “You think I wanted to marry you?”