Chapter two

Alexander's Pov 

I sat in my penthouse, the city shining beneath me, but inside the room was pure chaos.

 Charles, my head of PR, was pacing around like someone that was mentally while Mia, my personal secretary, clicked furiously at her tablet, her face had no smile at all.

“This is a nightmare,” Charles said, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Your reputation is shattered, Mr. MaCarro. The slap has gone viral. Everyone is talking about it—news outlets, gossip sites, influencers. You’ve been humiliated in public."

Mia looked up from her screen. “Investors are already nervous. If this continues, the company will suffer a great loss."

I leaned back on the sofa, a whiskey glass in my hand, and watched them going crazy. Personally, I didn’t see the big deal. It was just a slap. I’d been through worse. But for the corporate world, appearances mattered. My late father had  taught me this since i was just a kid. 

Charles stopped pacing and looked at me. “Sir, you need to say something. Show the world that you’re not the reckless, untouchable playboy they think you are. You need stability.”

I looked at him from head to toe. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Marriage. If you were married, Alexander, people would see you differently. They'll say you are very Responsible and that you're a family man." 

I nearly choked on my drink. “Marriage?” I  laughed. “Do I look like the kind of man who ties himself to one woman? Absolutely not.”

Was that not the whole reason behind my Playboy character?

Mia leaned forward, her voice calm but firm. “This isn’t about what you want, Mr Alexander. It’s about what you need. You know the terms of your father’s will. You must be married before your thirtieth birthday if you want to inherit his properties."

Her words sank in like ice water. I hated being reminded of my late father’s conditions, but she was right. Even after he died, my late father still found a way to make life hell for him. He said I could only inherit his properties when i was married.

Charles crossed his arm. “A contract marriage solves everything. You don’t have to love her. You don’t even have to care. Just find someone willing to play the role until your inheritance is secured.”

I set my glass down. The idea was ridiculous—and yet, strangely perfect.

Mia spoke again.  “We could find someone that is perfect for his job. It's better than letting these gossipers spoil your image." 

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then I smirked. “Fine. A contract marriage. But I’ll choose the woman.”

Charles raised a brow. “And who exactly do you have in mind?” It was as if he knew who I wanted to choose.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I turned toward the window, watching the city. One face came instantly to mind. Valda.

Fiery, stubborn, beautiful Valda. The woman who had slapped me in public not once, but twice. She was reckless enough to stand up to me and desperate enough to accept an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her action had put both of us in trouble— she needed money, I needed a wife. We could save each other.

A slow smile tugged at my lips. “Call Valda,” I said finally. “Tell her we’re interested in sponsoring her fashion line.”

Charles looked at me, stunned. “Valda? The same woman who slapped you? Twice?”

“Exactly,” I said, leaning back. “She owes me. And she’ll be perfect.”

Thirty minutes later, the door to my penthouse opened, and in she walked. Valda.

Her eyes looked around the room, holding her purse nervously, but the moment she saw me, her entire body stiffened. Anger flashed across her face. “You?” she shook her head. “Forget it. I’m not doing this.”

I smirked, leaning casually against the arm of the sofa. “Sit down, Valda.”

“No,” she snapped as she headed for the door.

“Twenty million dollars,” I said smoothly.

She froze. Slowly, she turned to face me, her expression unreadable.

“What did you just say?” she asked, her voice low.

I walked toward her, closing the distance between us. “Twenty million dollars. That’s what I’ll pay you if you become my wife. Contract only. No emotions, no strings, no messy attachments. Just a deal that benefits us both.”

Her lips parted, shock written all over her face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Think about it. Your fashion line is in ruins. Sponsors are running from you like you have leprosy." I turned walking back to my seat 

"But if I'm by your side, everything will change. They'll know you as the woman who tamed Alexander MaCarro, the city’s most powerful bachelor. You’ll have the platform and the money to build your empire.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “And what do you get out of it?”

I smirked. “ Just Stability, and my inheritance. That's all."

Valda shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re insane. You think I’d tie myself to you—the man who ruined my life five years ago—for money?” She glared at me, her facial expressions were killing me. I wanted to laugh, but that would be a wrong thing to do in such a serious time.

I leaned in closer. “You don’t have a choice, Valda. Not anymore. You need me. And I’m offering you twenty million dollars to play the part of my perfect wife. All you have to do is smile for the cameras and keep your temper under control.”

Her eyes were filled with anger, but I could see the desperation behind them. Like they said, desperate things calls for desperate measures.

She looked at me and I held her gaze, giving her time to think about what I had just said and give me an answer.

I pulled back, letting my words sink in. “So, what’s it going to be? Keep drowning—or take my hand and rise again?”