The Billionaire’s Perfect Wife

CHAPTER TWO

MARCUS' POV

They say money can’t buy peace...clearly, they’ve never tried, because it buys silence, distance, obedience.

And for me? That’s close enough.

I grew up with enough chaos to last several lifetimes—screaming matches that turned into shattered glass, blood on the walls, and one final choke of silence that ended my mother’s life.

My father went to prison, and I went to Evelyne Miller....

My grandmother—the only person I have ever considered worth a damn or two.

She raised me like a soldier, not a grandson, with iron discipline and a silk scarf always neatly tied around her throat. People feared her, I watched grown men sweat in her presence....God I wanted to be just like her.

She molded me, told me emotions were for the weak, that trust was a luxury, and love was a liability. And she sure as hell was right.

Now she’s old, still terrifying, but softer in strange ways. Keeps calling me to talk about legacies and children. Says her "bones know time is running out." Dramatic, as always, but when she said she was coming to visit, I knew there’d be no dodging this one.

So I gave her what she wanted—on paper. A wife, a smile, a lie wrapped in a bow.

Dina Sterling.

I expected some quiet, obedient porcelain doll, but what I got was fire and daggers dressed in torn jeans. She looked at me like I was the dirt beneath her shoes, it was almost funny...almost.

Her uncle practically threw her at me, called her a burden, a debt to be settled, no hesitation...just tossed her name across my desk like a used receipt. Pathetic.

She was no different from any other pawn in this world. Just prettier and a little louder, but she’s mine now—contractually bound. And if she thinks glaring at me will change her fate, she’s got another thing coming.

I don’t do interest....i do control.

People fear me, not because I yell. I don’t raise my voice—I never need to.

It’s the silence. The kind that makes men sweat and women second-guess every word before it leaves their lips, I walk into a room, and eyes shift, backs straighten. They say I remind them of Evelyne Miller.

They're wrong.

I’m worse.

She ruled with presence and I rule with results. I don’t need charm or manipulation. I have power and I don’t waste it on emotions.

My so-called acquaintances? Mostly men who orbit me for business or status. They nod when I speak and pretend to laugh when I say something remotely close to humor. I don’t keep friends but I keep useful people.

Clubs? I go, parties? Occasionally and women? Of course.

But here’s the thing: I never once lied about what they were....brief, disposable, replaceable.

They came with fluttery eyelashes and empty ambitions, all wanting that delusional "forever" ending—diamond rings, luxury homes, matching i********: bios. I gave them nights, maybe weekends but nothing more.

If a woman wants to stay around me, she better bring something to the table other than a pout and a Pinterest wedding board.

But women today—they want fairy tales with wolves...they think they can tame men like me.

They can’t.

They don’t even get close.

Which is why Dina Sterling’s presence irritates me more than it should.

She doesn’t want me, that’s clear. But she doesn’t fear me either....not the way most people do. She glares, she bites back, she calls me out and then folds her arms like she’s daring me to try harder.

It’s... irritating.

Still, she’ll fall in line...they all do eventually.

One year.

Just long enough for Evelyne to smile, believe the fantasy, and die happy.

She drops the contract onto my desk like it’s laced with anthrax.

"Signed" she snaps. "Happy?"

I don’t look up right away, let her wait....I finish my note and then casually flip through the contract she’s so dramatic about.

Everything’s in order, name, date and signature.

"Good" I say, setting it aside.

She stares like she expected a drumroll, or an applause.

"No blood seal? Finger prick? Maybe a dramatic lightning strike?" she scoffs, arms crossed. "You’re surprisingly underwhelming for someone who just bought a wife."

I meet her eyes, slow and deliberate. "You’ll get used to disappointment. Welcome to marriage."

Her nostrils flare, leaning back in my chair. "The maids will bring you fresh clothes...have them throw out the old ones."

She blinks, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"They’re rather... embarrassing." I glance at her outfit, grimace. "Unless you plan to greet Evelyne looking like a before photo in a charity brochure."

That one lands, she flinches, then looks away. Shame or pride I can’t tell, both are equally exhausting.

"Try not to look so hurt" I add, voice dry. "It’s not personal...you just happen to have poor taste."

She squares her shoulders like she’s ready for a fight.

"You’re unbelievable" she says.

"So I’ve been told."

I stand, the conversation over. She should take the cue and leave. But then I pause remembering something vital.

"Oh—one more thing" I say. "You’ll move into my room.”

Silence, then she scoffs. "What? Why? You’ve got like ten guest rooms."

"Yes, and you’re not a guest. You’re my wife."

I don’t even bother adding warmth to the word.

"We’re keeping up appearances, remember?" I add.

"For who? The walls?"

"For Evelyne" I snap. "She notices everything."

She grits her teeth. "You really expect me to sleep in the same room as you?"

I glance over my shoulder. "I expect you to sleep on the left side and not touch my things. Beyond that, I don’t care where you rest your tragic little head.”

I check my watch. "Two days, that’s how long you have before she arrives. I suggest you start rehearsing, Dina."

She walks away...let her hate me.

Hatred is easy, predictable. It never asks to be held.

I lean back and stare at the ceiling. Two days...just two more days until Evelyne walks through the door. The only woman I’ve ever respected, the only human I’d ever lie to.

What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.

I rise from my chair and make my way toward the hallway. As I pass the east wing, I see Dina standing in the middle of the room like a statue, the maid is holding up a designer dress.

"Those are yours now" I say without stopping. "Try not to spill anything on them."

She doesn’t answer

I have no interest in coddling her, she was sold. She signed. She’s mine—at least until Evelyne leaves. Then? She goes back to wherever she came from, bitter and used. I’m not here to make her dreams come true.

She’s not special, just slightly more defiant than the usual disposable pretty face.

I’ll break that too....eventually.

The maid had already folded her old clothes into a garbage bag.

"Those aren’t being donated, by the way" I say casually. "No one needs to suffer that level of fashion trauma twice."

She turns sharply. "They were mine"

“And now they’re gone, let it go."

She glares at me furiously, humiliated… maybe scared. I can’t tell, don’t really care either.

She looks like she wants to hit me, or cry, or both.

Before she can speak, I cut in. "I'll remind you again, my grandmother arrives in two days, she thinks I’m happily married. You’ll act like it, be convincing, smile, say yes ma’am, laugh at her terrible jokes. Do not screw this up."

She folds her arms. "And if I do?"

I smirk. "Then I’ll make sure you regret it."

I turn to leave but pause at the door. "And Dina… work on your posture. You slouch when you’re angry, it’s unflattering."

Then I’m gone.

This isn’t a fairytale, it’s damage control. And she’s just another pretty mask in my arsenal.

Two days...let the show begin.