Transmigrated: The Bankrupt CEO's Unexpected Wife

Emma walked into the grand lobby carrying the cheap plastic bags. The night shift security guard stared at her. His mouth hung open. He was used to seeing the snobby socialite carry nothing but designer clutches. Emma gave him a polite nod and a small smile. The guard scrambled to his feet and pressed the elevator button for her. The elevator doors slid open on the penthouse floor. Emma walked quietly down the hall and punched the code into the door. The master bedroom door was shut tight. No light spilled from underneath it. She figured Alek was asleep. She walked softly into the kitchen. She loaded the groceries into the empty refrigerator. Seeing the shelves hold actual food made her chest feel a little lighter. She patted her hands together and went to the guest room. The next morning, bright sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Emma woke up early. She tied a mismatched haute couture silk scarf around her waist to use as an apron. She pulled the eggs and bacon from the fridge. She poured a small amount of olive oil into a skillet. She dropped the bacon into the hot pan. It sizzled loudly. The rich, salty smell of frying meat quickly filled the cold apartment. In the master bedroom, the smell reached Alek's nose. His eyebrows pulled together. His eyes snapped open. He sat up fast. His first thought was that an intruder had broken in. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a heavy stun gun. He stepped barefoot onto the hardwood floor. He moved silently toward the bedroom door. He peeked through the small crack. He saw Emma standing at the stove. She was wearing her loungewear and the silk scarf. She expertly flipped a frying egg with a spatula. Alek froze. The hand holding the stun gun slowly dropped to his side. Disbelief washed over his face. Emma turned off the burner. She slid the perfect sunny-side-up eggs and crispy bacon onto a plate. She turned around to grab a fork. She nearly dropped the plate. Alek was standing in the shadows of the hallway. Her heart jumped into her throat. Alek quickly hid the stun gun behind his back. He stepped out of the shadows. His face was a mask of cold anger. "What are you doing?" he demanded. Emma forced her breathing to slow down. She carried the plate to the dining table. "Making an American breakfast," she said lightly. Alek pulled out a chair and sat down. He stared at the perfectly cooked food. "You couldn't even boil water before. When did you learn to cook?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. Emma's stomach did a flip. She knew she had hit a blind spot in the original owner's identity. Her brain scrambled for an excuse. She avoided his sharp gaze. She poured milk into a glass. "We had maids before, so I didn't need to. But I watched a lot of cooking videos," she lied. Alek let out a cold laugh. He clearly didn't buy the terrible excuse. But he picked up his fork. He needed to taste this suspicious meal. He cut a piece of bacon and put it in his mouth. The crunch was perfect. The heat was managed flawlessly. This was not the work of someone who just watched videos. He chewed slowly. He looked up and stared hard at Emma. The suspicion in his chest grew heavier. Emma felt her palms start to sweat under his intense stare. She rubbed her wrist. "I need to go organize the closet," she blurted out. She turned and practically ran out of the dining room. Alek watched her run away. He swallowed the food. He quickly finished the rest of the food on the plate. He hated to admit it, but it was the best meal he had eaten in months. He stood up, his mind racing with unsettling theories, and walked down the hall to step into his study. Locking the heavy mahogany door behind him, he stood in the secure silence of the room. He pulled out his phone and typed an encrypted message to his head of security, Dale. The message read: Check if Emma suffered any recent trauma or contacted anyone unusual. He hit send. Emma locked herself in the massive walk-in closet. She leaned back against the heavy wooden door and exhaled a long breath. She had barely survived that interrogation. She turned around. An entire wall of Hermes and Chanel bags stared back at her. Her eyes lit up. She reached out and grabbed a Himalayan Birkin. She didn't see leather; she saw stacks of hundred-dollar bills. A plan formed in her mind.