Narrator's POV
Sophie's foot pressed the brake as her car came to a slow stop across from Ethan Petrov's mansion, its sleek silhouette visible through the tinted glass.
She reached into a packet, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of her lighter.
The flame caught instantly, and with a long inhale, she sent a spiral of smoke curling upward toward the car's roof.
"What's really going on in that house?" She thought.
Two days of digging—files, surveillance, casual tails—and she had found absolutely nothing.
Ethan Petrov was clean. Too clean.
A perfectionist. Disciplined. Charismatic.
Everyone knew that.
But Sophie was supposed to find what no one else knew.
And so far?
Nothing.
"Maybe this job isn't going to be as easy as I thought," she mused.
But instead of frustration, a grin tugged at her lips.
Harder meant more interesting.
Harder also meant more pay.
Her eyes swept over the property again. There had to be something. But getting inside? That was the real problem.
The place was a fortress. High-end security, around-the-clock guards, cameras with facial tracking.
Hacking the system could get her in—but she'd have limited time inside, and Sophie didn't like rushing.
More importantly, she never worked with a team.
She was a solo act, always.
Taking one last drag, she leaned forward and stubbed the cigarette on the edge of the steering wheel. Then she rolled down the window and flicked the butt into the night.
She opened the file where she had kept all the information on Ethan.
Going through it one detail after another, her eyes suddenly landed on something.
Ethan was single—and had never been seen romantically with any woman, which was strange for a man like him.
Sophie glanced at his photo attached to the file.
He was good-looking, the true definition of the most eligible bachelor—or rather, still 'over' eligible.
She thought that staying out in front of his home might help her devise a plan.
Just then, her phone buzzed with another mission.
"Maybe I should hold on for a while," she said, starting the car and driving off toward her client.
***
Ethan came down the stairs, his leather shoes making sharp thuds. He glanced at the mirror and adjusted a strand of his jet-black hair from his face.
"Here's your coffee, sir," the maid stretched out her hand.
Ethan picked the cup from the saucer and took a sip.
His face reddened as he spewed the coffee out.
The maid's mouth widened in surprise and fear.
"Do you want to burn my mouth?" Ethan roared.
The maid's face fell and she began pleading, her voice shaky.
"I'm so sorry, sir... I didn't realize—"
"How many degrees is it?" Ethan asked.
The maid's eyes darted around in confusion as she fidgeted with her apron.
Ethan grew annoyed at her silence.
"Laurie!" he called, the housekeeper.
"Sir," Laurie, a woman in her mid-forties, responded, rushing to the scene.
"Who's this clueless young woman?" he asked, his irritation growing every minute.
"This is Patricia, she's a new hire. She—"
Before she could continue, Ethan cut her off.
"How the fuck would you let a new hire serve my morning coffee?"
Silence.
Ethan moved closer to Laurie. "You know I hate silly mistakes. My coffee should be neither less nor more than exactly the 67.4 degree," he said, dropping the cup on the saucer, still in the maid's hands with a sharp clank.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll make sure to teach her how to do it right."
"You won't do that. You'll be the one taking care of my coffee from now on. Hope I'm clear?"
"Yes, sir," Laurie replied.
Ethan turned and started to walk, his eyes dropping to the spilled coffee in disgust. Laurie exchanged a glance with Patricia, who rushed to get a mop.
"Fucking annoying," Ethan huffed, picking up his bag and leaving the sitting room.
Everyone let out a sigh.
Outside, he saw his driver waiting at the porch.
"Good morning, sir."
Ethan replied with a nod.
"Where's Mr. Parker?" Ethan asked.
The driver opened his mouth to speak, but just then Mr. Parker, his personal assistant, came rushing towards them.
"Good morning, sir," he greeted, heart pounding against his chest. He knew Ethan hated tardiness, no matter how small.
Ethan shot him a glare as he handed over his bag.
"This should never happen again," Ethan said harshly and walked past Parker before he could apologize. They hurried to keep up with his pace.
"Ethan," a fragile but high-pitched voice called from behind.
Ethan wanted to ignore it, but the call repeated. He stopped and closed his eyes in frustration. He was already running late, and there was his grandmother—who he thought and hoped was asleep—calling him for reasons he could bet his ass on.
"Hold on, I'll come meet you," she yelled.
Ethan turned around, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground while waiting for her. She finally came down and approached him.
"You both wait for me in the car," Ethan ordered.
"Nana, you should be resting," Ethan said as soon as she got close to him.
"I can only rest properly if you get a wife," she replied.
"Oh, I anticipated this," Ethan groaned.
"Then why don't you bring your girlfriend here and marry her? What's the problem?" she pressed.
"Nana, this is the wrong time and place to talk about this."
"No time is ever right with you."
"Alright. Have a splendid day—I'm off," Ethan said, giving her a peck on the forehead before turning to leave.
"Ethan... have this," she said.
Ethan arched a brow, collecting the envelope he hadn't realized she was holding.
His eyes widened as he read through the paper.
"That's the doctor's report. I have little time left on earth. I might drop dead and die tomorrow, or the next day... or maybe even today."
"Don't say that," Ethan said, his resolve now broken.
"I can only rest in peace if I see you with a beautiful and lovely woman," she said with a wrinkled smile.
"Bring your girlfriend over, Ethan."
Ethan was speechless. He didn't know how to react to the fact that his grandmother's days on earth—and with him—were now numbered.
He would do anything to grant her wish. But he didn't have a girlfriend. He had only told her that to stop her from always asking about his love life.
Ethan composed himself.
"Don't worry, Nana," he said, leaving without looking back, trying to control his emotions.
He just couldn't imagine his grandmother's death.
After his mother left him and his dad for a richer man—when things were very rough for them—Ethan's father died soon after, leaving him to face the harsh reality of life alone. That was when his Nana stepped in and became both his mother and father.
The thought of her leaving him now shattered his heart into pieces.
Ethan kept a straight face, as if nothing had happened, and walked to his car.
His driver started the engine, and soon they arrived at Petrov Innova.
Ethan walked briskly to the elevator, heading straight to the boardroom.
Every worker he passed bowed in respect. This was the life he had built for himself—the life of power and wealth. It was all he had ever wanted and strived for since the moment he realized his mother would never come back for him. A life where Nana wouldn't have to overwork to provide for him. A life where she could stay at home and enjoy all the luxuries in the world, like the queen she truly was.
On getting into the boardroom, Ethan found that the members were already seated, murmuring among themselves. Tension was in the air. This meeting was crucial—it was to discuss how they could secure the government contract.
As Ethan entered, all conversation ceased. He took his seat at the head of the long glass table, his presence commanding attention.
"Let's get started," he said.
One of the senior board members, Mr. Collins, cleared his throat. "We've reviewed the requirements and political climate surrounding this bid, and there's something we need to address—something beyond technical qualifications or financial capacity."
Ethan raised a brow. "Go on."
Another executive, Mrs. Grant, leaned forward. "The current administration has been pushing strong family values as part of their agenda. They're more inclined to partner with firms that reflect that image—stable, family-oriented leadership."
Ethan's gaze hardened. "Are you suggesting my personal life is a liability?"
"No, sir," Collins said quickly. "What we're saying is… it would help if you appeared more family-rooted. You're the face of the company. To them, that matters just as much as our track record."
Mrs. Grant nodded. "They want a company they feel aligns with their vision for the country. A CEO with a visible, grounded family life could be the tipping point."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, silent. He didn't need anyone to tell him what this meant. The dots connected painfully: his Nana's wish, his lie about having a girlfriend, and now—this.
"So what?" he asked, arching his brow. "You want me to find a wife overnight?"
"Or at least present someone serious," Collins said. "A committed relationship. Engagement. Something."
Ethan looked down, jaw clenched. There was no escaping it now. If he wanted that contract—and he did—he'd have to play along.
H
e gave a sharp nod. "Fine. I'll handle it."
No one dared to question him further. Ethan rose and left the room without another word.
"Seems like I really do need a wife." Ethan breathed out.