Chapter 5 A wife by deadline.

MICHAEL'S POV

I sat in the quiet of the sitting room, the newspaper open in my hands. Around me, everything reeked of luxury, the velvet armchair I sank into, the golden light streaming through tall windows, the soft scent of fresh roses placed carefully on the marble table. It was elegant here, timeless, like the room itself had forgotten how to rush.

But even in all this beauty, I felt hollow. I finally understood the saying "the rich also cry." No one would've guessed, looking at my designer suit and billion-dollar view, that I was drowning in heartbreak.

Natasha, she had torn me apart.

She'd ended our engagement without warning, without reason. Just... vanished from my life like we had meant nothing.

I met her back in college. She had reminded me so much of a girl I once knew, the same delicate features, the same nervous smile. The only difference was the color of her eyes and the texture of her hair.

But the aura? It was all wrong. I ignored it. I had fallen fast and hard.

She was a freshman, and I was nearing my final year. I'd never loved any woman before her. I had always been indifferent to emotions, detached.

But Natasha broke through that indifference like sunlight shattering a closed window. Her father was Judge Henry Dunlop, powerful, respected. I thought I was building something real.

We dated for almost a year. I proposed. She said yes.

And a year later, she broke me.

Two years passed before I could leave India and our booming business behind. I moved to New York hoping the distance would help me heal. But it hadn't.

I returned home recently, hoping to find peace. Instead, I found myself more irritable, angry, withdrawn. I couldn't even enjoy the nightlife anymore. I felt... wrong.

I had developed a new habit, flipping the newspaper with unnecessary force, like each crumple could drown out the ache. The headlines didn't interest me, but the ritual gave me a strange comfort.

As I flipped another page, I looked up and saw them.

My parents stood in front of me.

I knew that look. The soft smiles. The silent exchange of glances. That's how it always started.

They wanted to talk.

Again.

I sighed and dropped the paper on the table as a reluctant sign of respect. "Bodyguards, out," I said without looking. Ethan gave me a nod before leading them away.

My parents sat close, too close.

"Michael," my dad began, still holding my mother's hand like she was a new bride. "We'd like to talk to you."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Here we go again. Their aged love was beginning to feel like a personal attack on my misery.

"Son," my mum said gently, "It's been three years since Natasha. Don't you think it's time you moved on and..."

"....Got married," I finished bitterly. "That again?"

She pressed her lips together, clearly choosing her words. "We just want to see you happy."

I snapped.

"Mum, you and dad have been chanting this same thing since I got back. 'Get married. Move on.' Do you think I wanted this pain? Do you think I asked to fall for someone who left me like trash?!"

My voice rose, filled with the frustration I'd been choking on for years. "You two pushed and pushed until she felt smothered! Maybe if you'd just stayed out of it, she'd still be here!"

That was when Dad stood.

"Enough!" His voice boomed like a gunshot, shaking the calm from the room. I blinked in shock.

"I give you one week," he said coldly. "One week to bring a woman home. Or you lose the company. Every single part of it."

And just like that, he stormed out.

Even Mum looked stunned. "Michael," she whispered, reaching for my hands. "I know you loved her. But this bitterness is consuming you."

I clenched my jaw, trying not to look away.

She leaned closer, her voice softer now. "It's not just about feelings. Love is a choice, son. A decision to stay, when it's easy and especially when it's not. Even the Bible says, he who finds a wife finds a good thing. Your father... he doesn't make threats he won't keep."

That line. That one line. Love is a choice.

It hit me harder than anything they'd ever said. For the first time in all their nagging, it didn't sound like pressure. It sounded like... truth.

I stood up, suddenly resolved. "Ethan!" I called out.

He appeared almost instantly. "Yes, boss?" His deep voice always had a calming effect, and his cheerful smile was oddly out of place in this tense house.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Sign me up with the best matchmaking agency in New York."

He blinked, surprised. "Now?"

I nodded. "And set a deadline. Two weeks. I don't care what it costs."

"As you wish." He turned to leave.

"Wait," I added. "Make sure they know, I'm not looking for love. I just need a wife."

He gave a silent nod and walked off.

I sat back down, the room heavy with decisions. I wasn't doing this for love, not anymore. I didn't trust love.

I'd make this marriage an arrangement, cold, calculated, just like Natasha made my heart feel when she left. Let the next woman know: she wasn't walking into a romance.

She was walking into a test.

The next two weeks passed in a blur of floral-scented resumes and airbrushed portraits. Hundreds of top-tier women flooded my inbox. Models. Heiresses. CEOs. But none of them stirred anything in me. They were polished, flawless and utterly boring.

Just as I was about to shut my laptop in frustration, another notification popped up. One last application.

I opened it lazily.

Her name was Alessa Harter.

I frowned. That name... it stirred something in the back of my mind.

And at the end of her application, she'd written:

"If he accepts me, I'll be anything he wants, but I come with my conditions."

I sat up straighter.

Interesting.

For the first time in weeks, my curiosity was alive.

"Set the date," I said aloud. "Tomorrow."

And just like that, the game began.