Chapter-4

After dinner, I followed Grandpa and Dad into the study.

The warm amber glow of the old lamp softened the shadows, casting a golden tint across the shelves lined with worn books and dark polished wood. It looked peaceful but the air felt different. Still. Heavy. Like something was about to shift.

Grandpa moved slowly toward the couch, his movements slower these days, but his presence—unshaken. As firm as ever.

“Sit, Rowan,” he said, motioning to the space beside him. His voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. I sat, perching on the edge. Dad settled into the chair opposite us.

Both of them were quiet for a second too long. Their eyes were on me not harsh, not pressing but with something else.

Expectation.

Grandpa finally cleared his throat.

“It’s time, Rowan. You should start thinking about settling down. You’ve already said no to too many proposals.”

I knew it was coming. It always came. But still, the words hit with a chill. I could already feel the irritation beginning to climb under my skin.

“Grandpa, I’ve told you before-"

He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t argue. Just lifted a hand, stopping me with nothing more than a look.

“Just hear me out,” he said quietly.

“You’ve worked hard. Built something big. I’m proud of that. But all of it everything you’ve achieved won’t mean much if, in the end, you’ve got no one to share it with.”

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep myself in check.

“I’m not made for that kind of thing,” I said, probably a little too sharp. “Marriage isn’t what it used to be. I’ve seen what it does to people. I’ve seen it ruin men who once had it all figured out. One of my closest friends in New York lost everything after his divorce. It wrecked him.”

Dad shifted, rubbing his thumb against his jaw, eyes thoughtful. But Grandpa just sat there, unmoved.

“Ro,” Dad said after a moment. His voice was gentler

. “Marriage doesn’t have to be about love. Sometimes it’s about partnership. About knowing someone’s in your corner. About quiet strength.”

He paused. Then said,

“There’s a proposal. From Winslow Industries. It’s not just about business, though of course it’s a strong alliance. But the girl… she’s different. She’s smart. A doctor. Kind, steady, level-headed. You might actually like her, she is a perfect match for you my dear"

The mention of Winslow Industries pulled something tight in my chest. I understood the implications. The power behind such a union. Still, the idea of marriage it felt like a collar around my neck.

“I don’t need any of it,” I said, a little sharper now.

“I have everything I want my company, my life you guys and that should be enough.”

Dad didn’t back off this time.

“You’re not happy with how things are, Rowan. You brush off every setup, avoid every meeting. Maybe it’s not about liking the idea maybe it’s just about giving it one honest shot.”

He wasn’t wrong. Every dinner they’d arranged had been painfully awkward. Seven-minute conversations stretched into eternity. Some women were too much, others too little. And truthfully, the thought of letting someone in? It felt… dangerous. Like surrendering control, and i hated it when I'm not in control

But then, another thought slid in. A different angle.

What if this wasn’t about falling in love? What if this was the exit I’d been waiting for?

A solution.

If I agreed to this marriage - chose someone they picked i could finally end the endless parade of setups, questions, and societal pressure, rhe endless questions of whom I'm dating with, whom I'm sleeping with, my bodycount, and many fuckung things.

She didn’t have to mean anything to me. She just had to look the part. Sit beside me when needed. Smile when expected. We’d live in the same house, maybe, but lead entirely separate lives.

She’d be the answer everyone wanted while I stayed exactly as I was.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even companionship. It was… peace.

And for once, I felt like I could breathe.

“I’ll marry her,” I said quietly.

The words hung in the space between us, carrying more weight than I expected.

But somehow, they felt right.

Not because I believed in love.

But because, for once, I could control the narrative.

And that—that—I could live with.

she'll be just a show piece for me.