I need a wife
1348 Words
“Beeeepppppp!”
The continuous sound of the heart monitor filled a VIP hospital room as the founder of the largest and wealthiest company in the country took his last breath.
“Time of death 12:03 a.m, on this day…”
The rest of the doctor’s words blurred for Killian, replaced by the ringing sound of denial. He stood beside his grandfather’s bed, watching his mother and grandmother weep over the unmoving body but he remained silent, his eyes red from holding back.
This scene was too familiar. He had been there when his father gave up the ghost. And just like then, his uncle Victor was within sight… watching like a predator.
Their eyes locked like two ice walls colliding.
It was an open secret that the fight for succession between Victor and Killian was inevitable, especially now that Mr. Laurent was gone.
Killian took one last look at his grandfather, the man who raised him in place of his father, the man he respected most in the world. But death was inevitable. They had fought, and they had lost.
Without a word, he stepped out of the ward. His right-hand man, Marcel, stepped forward in his tailored suit.
Killian spoke. “Not a word leaves this room. News of this mustn’t spread.”
Marcel nodded and followed quietly behind Killian to his parked Maybach.
Usually, Marcel was the talkative type, but even he knew when to shut the hell up. Mr. Laurent’s death wasn’t just the end of an era, it was the opening act of a corporate bloodbath.
The minute the press got wind of it, competitors would swarm like hyenas. Or worse, journalists.
The fight for succession might as well be trending by noon.
“I need a wife,” Killian suddenly announced.
Marcel nearly choked on his own tongue. Even the chauffeur twitched, and the Maybach gave a tiny, startled jerk.
“I…what—are you…” Marcel sputtered, eyes darting like he’d been personally electrocuted.
He adjusted his rimless glasses, composing himself like a man trying to stay calm in the middle of a tsunami. “Have you… been taking your meds?”
It was meant as a gentle question, but judging by the arctic blast that followed, he might as well have handed Killian a straitjacket and a juice box.
Killian turned to him with the kind of look that could defrost frozen steak from fifty feet. “If you treat me like a nutcase, you might be the one in need of a doctor, preferably one who’s good with broken noses.”
A bead of sweat formed instantly at Marcel’s temple. That was the thing about Killian, he didn’t yell. He didn’t throw tantrums. He simply delivered death threats like breakfast orders. Calm, precise, and non-negotiable.
Marcel instinctively touched his nose, a national treasure in the modeling world of his mind. Women loved his face. He loved his face. He wasn’t about to let Killian ruin his career amongst women.
“Noted,” he said quickly. “Miss Claudia is out of town. I’ll have her flown in before tomorrow’s family meeting.”
“I won’t be marrying Claudia.”
Marcel blinked slowly, “I see. So you’re just going to marry a stranger? A random woman off the street? Because I’m going to need to emotionally prepare if this is what today is.”
Killian offered him a faint, dangerous smile. “Exactly.”
Marcel inhaled deeply but it didn’t help.“Okay, cool. Random woman. No problem. It’s not like the will reading is tomorrow or anything…oh wait, IT IS!”
Killian said nothing, much to Marcel’s horror.
Marcel began muttering under his breath, “Okay, just breathe. This is fine. I’m definitely not about to develop an ulcer before thirty…”
Killian’s hazel eyes gleamed. “You’re panicking.”
“I am not panicking.” Marcel straightened his tie with all the dignity of a man watching his own funeral procession. “I’m simply… reacting to chaos in real-time.”
“Notice how shocked you were when I said that?” Killian asked, voice level. “I need to see Mr. Hale’s reaction.”
Marcel paused, his scattered neurons slowly reassembling. “You suspect Mr. Hale? But he was your grandfather’s most trusted man.”
Killian gave a look that could peel paint. “Loyalty can be bought. Especially when your daughter is betrothed to the heir.”
Marcel swallowed. “So when you show up with someone else, you want to see if he stays loyal… or turns into Cujo.”
“Exactly.”
“And you think this spontaneous marriage to some random woman is the best way to draw him out?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. No, I don’t.” Marcel threw up his hands. “I think this is the best way to give me a heart attack!”
Killian looked amused. Marcel was not.
“Do you still think Hale had something to do with Isabel’s disappearance?” Marcel finally asked.
The air in the car seemed to shift.
Killian’s smile vanished. The mere mention of that name made his eyes darken.
“I’ll have to see about that. I will never stop searching for Isabel,” he said quietly. “But if I have to marry someone else… it’s going to be fake. on my terms and with my rules. Something disposable.”
Marcel sighed, a mix of sympathy and dread. He knew Killian’s heart was buried with the girl who vanished years ago. His grandfather had tried everything to force him into moving on even arranged a betrothal. But Killian was like a Rubik’s cube dipped in concrete, complicated and immovable.
And now he was planning to rent a bride.
Marcel could already see the headlines. “Billionaire CEO Marries Total Stranger: World Waits for Divorce, Bloodshed, or Both.”
He massaged his temples. “Look, I get your plan, but picking a random woman is risky. The Laurent family has enemies. She’ll be a sitting duck. Even worse if she’s… the wild type.”
Killian smirked. “How wild could she possibly be? You think I can’t handle a woman?”
“Oh, I know you can’t.” Marcel rolled his eyes. “You’ve never even dated. Do you know what the tabloids say about you?”
Killian turned slowly, eyes narrowed. “What do they say?”
Marcel blinked contemplated risking his life for a moment of satisfaction. In the end he threw caution to the wind,
Idiot, his brain screamed but he didn’t care.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing major. Just that you might be a celibate vampire who treats emotional attachment like it’s a contagious disease.”
Killian’s expression didn’t change. “Try again.”
Marcel looked out the window, visibly sweating. “They also say… you’re either secretly married to your business or emotionally married to spreadsheets.”
Killian raised an eyebrow.
“And that you’ve never been seen with a woman because you once crushed a model’s ego so hard she retired and moved to a goat farm in Italy.”
Killian chuckled under his breath, a low sound that made Marcel deeply regret being alive. “You’re worried I won’t be able to handle a woman willing to sell herself for money?”
“Exactly!” Marcel pointed. “She’s not going to be easy. She’ll be stubborn, chaotic, emotionally unhinged—”
“Sounds fun.”
“No. No, it does not sound fun,” Marcel said. “It sounds like a lifetime movie. And I’ll be the assistant who dies in the first ten minutes.”
Killian leaned back in his seat, looking smug. “You worry too much.”
“I worry the perfect amount for someone who works for a man nicknamed the Silent Guillotine, thank you very much.”
Marcel stared ahead, defeated, praying for a miracle or at least a stomach ulcer that could get him out of tomorrow’s meeting.
Because whoever this poor woman was…
She’s the one who really needs the prayers!
- Writer
