Chapter 3- Get myself a Wife

Under the dim lights of the Nightowls Club, three men sat around a poker table in a private

room. The music and laughter from the main floor filtered through the walls, but in here, the

mood was tense.

The reason? An ultimatum.

"Do they really think they can get away with this? It's ridiculous," one of the men snapped,

slamming his drink onto the table.

The second man sighed and shook his head. "It's not ridiculous if it works. They're using the

private life excuse. If they vote him out over this, there's not much we can do to stop it."

Both men glanced at the figure sitting quietly in the shadows. He was the reason for their

frustration. While they sat there stewing over the situation, he looked completely calm, like he

didn't have a care in the world.

Spencer "Scandal" Riley, one of the two, groaned as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand

through his dark hair. "Sin, do you have any plan to get out of this mess? Because if you don't,

then I'm telling you right now—you'd better start looking for a wife. Fast."

Mike Sinclair, the man in question, remained silent, his head tilted back, eyes closed, as if he

were meditating instead of facing the possible collapse of his empire. Okay not collapse but

slipping of the empire from his hands, which was just as worrisome. His indifference only served

to fuel his friends' frustration further.

Justine "Angel" Dawo, the other man at the table, let out a loud groan and banged his head

lightly against the surface of the table, his dark curls bouncing with the motion. "You know what?

I've got an idea," Angel said, lifting his head and straightening in his chair. "We can help Sin find

a woman and get married."

Scandal turned to him with an incredulous look, arching an eyebrow. "Did you secretly start a

matchmaking business without telling me?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot. Hear me out." He leaned forward, his voice dropping

conspiratorially. "Recently, my team negotiated a prenup for a celebrity couple. Get this—the

terms were so airtight, they might as well have been strangers before and after the marriage.

Totally transactional. No strings, no drama, no messy entanglements. If we can find someone

who's willing to sign a deal like that, discreetly, we could solve this problem before it even

becomes one."

Scandal let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Sure, because women just love to sign up

for that kind of arrangement," he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "What are you going

to do? Put out an ad that says, 'Wanted: Wife of convenience. Must be willing to tolerate

scandal, family politics, keep her mouth shut, and disappear after the contract ends'? Yeah,

that'll go over well."

Angel ignored the sarcasm, "It's about solving the problem. We just need someone practical

who's okay with the terms. It's not impossible."

Scandal snorted. "Oh, sure. And where do you suggest we find this magical woman? It's not like

there's a line of people waiting to marry a guy like Sin."

Once again, his friends turned to look at the man whose piercing eyes were now fixed on his

phone.

Mike Sinclair, better known as Sin to those closest to him, had a presence that was hard to

ignore. He wasn't just handsome; he was the kind of man whose looks demanded attention. His

light-colored eyes held an intensity that women found irresistible, according to what their past

girlfriends had told them, that is.

His features were sharp and well-defined, his jawline strong, and his posture

commanding—traits that reflected his past as an ex-military officer. His physical fitness was

undeniable, the result of years of rigorous training and discipline, making him look like someone

who could take on the world without breaking a sweat.

But despite everything he had going for him, Sin had two problems that kept him from getting

close to anyone, let alone finding a wife or a girlfriend.

The first was his silence. Sin hardly ever spoke. In fact, it wasn't uncommon for people meeting

him for the first time to wonder if he was mute. He preferred to let his actions speak for him and when he did speak, it was usually brief and to the point. Conversations with him were a

one-sided affair more often than not which would intimidate anyone.

The second reason, however, was far more complicated and, to some, unsettling. It was the

scar. The thick, jagged mark that ran from the right side of his brow, cutting diagonally across

his face, and ending near the edge of his cheekbone. It wasn't just a scar; it was a reminder of a

violent past, a mark that turned his otherwise strikingly handsome face into something almost

menacing. To strangers, it gave him a dangerous, almost villainous air that made them keep

their distance.

Sighing like two old women with a grandson to marry off, the two friends returned to their

discussion,"We'll keep it discreet. Ask around, see if there's anyone looking for

stability—someone lowkey, maybe a small-time model. Someone who needs a break but knows

how to keep her mouth shut."

Scandal laughed dryly. "A small-time model? What are we running here, a talent agency? You

make it sound so easy."

Angel shrugged. "It's not impossible. Plenty of women out there would jump at the chance if we

spin it right. With Sin's identity, this would actually be an easy job. The problem would be vetting

the person later."

Before Scandal could respond, a knock sounded on the door. Both men immediately went quiet

as the door opened, and a waitress stepped in, balancing a tray of appetizers.

"Your snacks," she said with a polite smile, placing the tray on the side table. The men nodded

in silence, watching her as she worked, waiting for her to leave so that they could finish their

discussion.

However, as the waiteress left, closing the door behind her, Sin stood up in a single motion.

"Where are you going?" Scandal asked with a frown but the man received no reply as Sin

continued to walk away.

Unexpectedly, Sin stopped at the door," Getting my wife."