CHAPTER 17: FINDING ABOUT MY WIFE

Aiden’s POV:

The Black brothers and I drove in tense silence to one of my secluded properties—a private rooftop lounge overlooking the city. It was a space I often used for meetings that required absolute discretion. As we stepped out, the faint hum of the city below provided the only background noise.

"Alright," Lucas said, flopping onto a couch as though he owned the place. "What’s with the cloak-and-dagger act, Aiden? Are you joining the mafia or something?"

I shot him a cold glare. "If you’re done being an idiot, I’ll explain."

Henry grabbed a drink from the bar, smirking. "You called us, buddy. We’re just here for the show."

I sighed and stood at the center of the room, folding my arms. "This isn’t a joke. I need a wife. A real one. Within two weeks."

Mike choked on the water he’d just taken a sip of, spraying a fine mist across the table. "I’m sorry, what?!"

Lucas was practically howling with laughter, clutching his stomach. "Oh, man! Aiden Stark, the I-don’t-need-anyone bachelor, needs a wife? Is this a prank? Where’s the hidden camera?"

"It’s not a prank," I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. "And I don’t need your idiocy right now. This is serious."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Why the rush? You accidentally knock someone up, or is this some corporate takeover nonsense?"

"It’s about my mother’s inheritance," I said curtly. "Her shares, her assets. She left everything to me—but only on the condition that I’m married within two weeks. Otherwise, the assets go to my father."

The room went silent for a moment, the humor draining from their faces.

Lucas finally broke the silence, still grinning but with less mockery. "Okay, that’s... ridiculous. Who writes conditions like that?"

"My mother," I replied coolly. "And she had her reasons. Now, I don’t need a lecture about her decisions. What I need is a solution."

"Alright, alright," Mike said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "What kind of wife are we talking about here? Do you have a checklist or something?"

"Actually, I do," I said, pulling out my phone and opening a note. "No attention-seeking socialites, no fragile damsels who’ll cry over spilled milk, and absolutely no people pleasers."

Henry whistled. "So, basically, someone who can survive a war zone."

"Exactly," I said with a nod. "She needs to stand her ground, be unshakable, and, most importantly, not interfere with my business or expect some fairy-tale romance."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "So... a robot?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" I shot back.

Mike leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know," he began, dragging out his words like he was savoring them, "that demented waitress from the diner kind of fits your description."

My face froze. "You’re joking."

"I’m not," he said, his grin widening. "Think about it—she didn’t give a damn about who you are, she stood her ground, and she practically breathed fire at us. That’s your perfect wife, Aiden."

Lucas cackled. "Wait, wait, wait. The girl who dumped ice at Mr Cold ice feet and nearly scorched us with coffee? That’s the one?"

"Absolutely not," I said firmly, pacing the room. "She’s rude, obnoxious, and has no respect for authority."

Henry smirked. "Sounds like you just described your dream woman again."

"I don’t need this nonsense," I snapped. But even as I spoke, the truth of Mike’s words began to settle uncomfortably in my mind. She did fit the description. And the fact that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by me was... intriguing.

After a long pause, I muttered under my breath, "Fine. I’ll consider it."

Mike fist-pumped the air. "I knew it! You’re totally smitten."

"Don’t push it," I warned, giving him my coldest glare. "And I’m not ’smitten.’ I’m practical. If she’s the best option, I’ll investigate."

Lucas grinned. "This is gonna be good."

I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. "I need a background check on someone," I said, my tone brisk. "The waitress from O’Hara’s. She mentioned her name was Alexia and claimed to be a princess. Verify the Alexia part and debunk the princess nonsense. I want her full profile on my desk ASAP."

As I hung up, the brothers erupted into laughter again.

"Aiden Stark, chasing after a self-proclaimed princess waitress," Lucas said, wiping away a tear. "This is gold."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Remind me why I tolerate you idiots?"

"Because we make your life interesting," Mike said with a smirk.

I didn’t respond, but the nagging thought wouldn’t leave my mind. That waitress—Alexia—was a puzzle. And whether or not she was the solution to my problem, I was going to figure her out.

After spending a few more hours with the four idiots I call friends, I finally called it a day. The ridiculous banter had run its course, and I had bigger fish to fry. Tomorrow, the profile on that obnoxious waitress would be on my desk, and I’d have everything I needed to figure out my next move.

The next morning, I stepped into my office, coffee in hand, eager to dive into the details my assistant had gathered. There it was—her file, small and neatly arranged. I sat down, loosened my tie, and started flipping through.

The first page already had me raising an eyebrow.

Alexia... 20 years old. Just out of her teens. Well, that explained some of her immaturity. She’d finished high school with surprisingly good grades but hadn’t gone to college. Odd. With those grades, she could have easily pursued something better. Instead, she’d been bouncing from one odd job to another.

"Huh," I muttered, leaning back in my chair. "Clever, but doesn’t look or act the part. Guess I misjudged that."

The next few pages were like peeling back the layers of a sad joke. One parent—her mother, a drunk who seemed to have more of a relationship with bottles than her own daughter. No knowledge of her father. They lived in a rundown apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. The kind of place you’d expect to see in a grim documentary about broken systems.

"Well," I said to no one in particular, tossing the file onto my desk, "this is tragic."

The more I thought about it, though, the more it all made sense. The fiery attitude, the walls she put up, the apparent indifference to everything and everyone. A defense mechanism, no doubt. Life had clearly done a number on her, and this was her way of punching back.

Not that it excused her rudeness to me, of course.

Still, if she was swimming in this much poverty, money was going to do all the talking. Someone like her—young, no prospects, stuck in a dead-end cycle—was bound to jump at the chance to escape. All I had to do was dangle the right amount in front of her, and she’d take the bait.

And that ridiculous claim of being a princess? Laughable. A delusion, probably. Something she told herself to cope with her miserable reality.

"She’ll do it," I said aloud, a smirk playing on my lips. "She’d be desperate not to."

I leaned back, hands clasped behind my head, already strategizing how I’d approach her. This was going to be easy. After all, no one ever said no to me.

And Alexia? She wasn’t going to be the first.