Nathan Burns groaned as sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse apartment, slicing through the pounding in his skull like a knife. He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow in a futile attempt to block out the light.
His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like regret, and the faint scent of whiskey lingered in the air—a stark reminder of last night's indulgence. He couldn't remember how many glasses of scotch he'd downed after his meeting with an investor went south, but judging by the dull ache in his temples, it had been too many.
Dragging himself out of bed, Nathan staggered to the kitchen, scratching the back of his neck. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one go, then leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing at the blinking red light on his phone.
Five missed calls.
"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed again. The caller ID flashed: Mom.
Nathan considered ignoring it, but he knew better. His mother didn't take kindly to being ignored, especially on a Saturday morning.
He sighed, pressing the phone to his ear. "Good morning, Mother."
"Morning?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through his haze. "It's almost noon, Nathan. Are you still in bed?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm up now. What's so urgent?"
"Your grandfather has called a family lunch. One o'clock at the estate. Don't be late."
Nathan groaned inwardly. Family lunches were rarely about food; they were an excuse for his mother and grandfather to interrogate him about his life choices—or lack thereof.
"Do I have a choice?" he asked dryly.
"No," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And, Nathan? Dress appropriately. We're not hosting one of your business associates."
The line went dead before he could respond.
"Perfect," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the counter.
Nathan arrived at the Burns family estate fifteen minutes late, intentionally so. He liked to think of it as a subtle act of rebellion, though it did little to faze his mother or grandfather.
The estate was as grand and imposing as ever, with its manicured lawns, towering oak trees, and the sprawling mansion that had been in the family for generations.
The dining room was already buzzing when Nathan stepped inside. His mother, Clara Burns, sat at the head of the table, her icy demeanor as polished as the pearls around her neck. Beside her was his grandfather, Edward Burns, the patriarch of the family, whose sharp eyes zeroed in on Nathan the moment he walked in.
"Nathan," Clara said, her tone clipped. "How nice of you to join us."
"I wouldn't miss it," Nathan replied smoothly, sliding into an empty seat.
The table was filled with extended family—cousins, uncles, and aunts—all of whom were quick to turn their attention to him.
"So," his grandfather began, his voice as commanding as ever. "How's the business?"
"Thriving," Nathan said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We've secured new partnerships this quarter and—"
"Cut the business talk," Edward interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "You know why we're here."
Nathan tensed, though he kept his expression neutral. "Enlighten me."
Clara leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "Your behavior, Nathan. The tabloids are having a field day with your latest escapades."
"Ah, yes. My playboy lifestyle," Nathan drawled, leaning back in his chair. "How scandalous."
"This isn't a joke," his grandfather snapped, his tone sharp. "Your actions reflect on this family. We've spent decades building a legacy, and I won't have you tarnishing it with your… frivolities."
Nathan's jaw tightened. He knew exactly what they were getting at, but he wasn't about to make it easy for them.
"What would you have me do?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "Join a monastery?"
Clara sighed, her frustration evident. "You're thirty-two, Nathan. It's time you settled down. Found a wife. Built a family."
"And saved the family image," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
His mother's lips thinned. "This isn't just about image. It's about stability. Responsibility. You're the head of Burns Enterprises, Nathan. People look to you as a leader."
"Not to mention," Edward chimed in, "your reckless behavior is scaring off potential investors. They don't want to align themselves with someone who's constantly in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons."
Nathan clenched his fists under the table. He hated this—being treated like a child who needed to be lectured. He'd built Burns Enterprises into the powerhouse it was today, yet that never seemed to matter.
"And what exactly do you propose?" he asked, his voice icy.
"Settle down," Clara said simply. "Find someone respectable. Get married. Show the world you're more than just a playboy."
Nathan laughed, a bitter sound. "So, you want me to find a wife just to keep the investors happy? That's rich."
"It's not just for the investors," Edward said firmly. "It's for the family. For the future."
Nathan's stomach churned. He'd spent years avoiding the traps of marriage and commitment, and now they were trying to force him into it.
"I'll consider it," he said finally, though he had no intention of doing so.
Clara arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "See that you do. This family won't tolerate any more scandals."
The rest of the lunch passed in tense silence, with Nathan barely touching his food. As soon as it was socially acceptable, he excused himself, claiming he had work to attend to.
As he drove back to his penthouse, his mother's words echoed in his mind. Settle down. Find someone respectable.
It wasn't the first time they'd pressured him about marriage, but this time felt different. They weren't just hinting; they were demanding.
Nathan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He wouldn't let them dictate his life. But he couldn't deny the truth in their accusations. His reputation was becoming a liability, and if he didn't do something soon, it could cost him more than just his pride.
Back at his penthouse, Nathan poured himself a drink, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his shoulders. His gaze drifted to the skyline, the city lights twinkling like stars.
Find a wife, he thought bitterly, downing the whiskey in one gulp.
His mind wandered to his new assistant, Eva Blackwell. She was a far cry from the usual women in his life—quiet, efficient, and entirely uninterested in his charm.
An idea began to form, one that was both ridiculous and brilliant.
What if…
Nathan shook his head, dismissing the thought. But as the night wore on, the idea refused to leave.