Chapter 2 Nobody Touches My Wife

Michael POV

"Bro, how was my improvisation back there? Pretty smooth, right?" Once we were safely out of sight, Chris shot me a cocky grin.

I watched Sarah's figure disappear in the distance. "Barely passable."

"Okay, now spill," Chris said, curiosity getting the better of him. "What's the deal with that woman? Why did you want me to say I was your colleague?"

I kept my eyes fixed ahead, voice completely level. "I just married her."

"WHAT?!" Chris slammed the brakes so hard the car behind us laid on their horn. "Sorry, sorry... wait, did you just say married? Like, marriage certificate married?"

"Should I find you a doctor to check your hearing?"

"Seriously, bro? You don't even have a proper girlfriend, and suddenly you're married? I mean, I believe in love at first sight and all, but this is insane. Even for a Vegas wedding, this would be—"

I narrowed my eyes, threat clear in my voice. "What, you don't trust your big brother's judgment? Keep running your mouth, and you'll find yourself counting inventory in our Siberian warehouse. I hear the wifi's terrible there."

"Of course I trust you!" Chris quickly backpedaled. "I'm just shocked, that's all. Mom's gonna lose her mind with joy when she finds out! So what's her deal? She seemed pretty... normal." He paused, a sly glint in his eye. "She's not like you, is she? Another rich kid playing dress-up as a regular person?"

He wasn't wrong about the dress-up part. I am exactly what people would call a trust fund baby, though I've never been one to flaunt it. I'm the CEO of Pinnacle Industries Group, not some business development manager. When Dad died of a sudden heart attack four years ago, the entire company fell on Chris and my shoulders. Under my leadership, Pinnacle has become one of Star City's top corporations, with interests spanning real estate, tech, luxury goods, and more.

But success came with a price—Mom's relentless obsession with my love life. For years now, she's been setting me up with socialite daughters from elite families. But I didn't like them. They only saw me as an investment opportunity.

What made it worse was last month. Mom threatened to temporarily hand the CEO position over to Chris if I didn't find someone suitable to marry soon, so I could "focus on settling down."

"Bro? Earth to Michael?" Chris's voice snapped me back to reality.

I refocused on him as we stopped at a red light. "Sarah's just a server at some restaurant. She mistook me for someone else."

"Mistook you?" Chris raised an eyebrow.

"She thought I was some guy her mother set her up with," I explained matter-of-factly. "From what I could gather, she's desperate to get married to appease her nagging mother. That kind of motivation is far more innocent than those gold-diggers who come after my money."

"So you just went with it?"

"Exactly." There was a hint of satisfaction in my voice. "She believes my parents are dead and that I need to get married for tax benefits and homebuying advantages."

"But aren't you going to tell her the truth?" Chris asked as the light turned green.

"Not yet. I need to observe her true motivations first. Without the temptation of wealth, I want to see if genuine feelings can develop." I also need to confirm whether she really doesn't recognize me, or if this is some elaborate scheme to get close to me.

Chris chuckled. "Interesting. So I've been demoted from baby brother to colleague. I don't mind playing along. But what about Mom? She's been on your case about marriage forever."

"Keep it quiet for now," I said firmly.

To move my plan forward, I continued issuing instructions. "I need you to set up an apartment for me at Skyline Heights immediately. Make it look like something a regular business development manager could afford. And get me a Honda Accord. An ordinary one."

Chris almost burst out laughing. "You want to play poor? I mean, Skyline Heights is technically one of our properties, but those units are designed for middle-income families. You sure you can handle living without a private gym, wine cellar, or even a jacuzzi tub..."

My voice turned ice-cold instantly. "One more smart comment and I'll personally book your flight to Siberia. One year minimum."

Chris immediately wiped the grin off his face and changed the subject. "Got it, I'll handle it right away. So about this client we're supposed to meet... honestly, it's not that big a deal, just this German investor being difficult. I wasn't sure I could handle him alone, and when I happened to see you, I figured I'd drag you along..."

The business meeting took place in a five-star hotel's penthouse suite. I switched back into CEO mode. The German client eventually caved, signing a multi-million dollar deal. After dinner obligations, it was past midnight when everything wrapped up.

I pulled out my phone and saw a text from Sarah from several hours ago: [My mom is asking when she can meet you.]

Too late to reply now. She's probably asleep. The next day, I quickly texted her back: [Sorry, been swamped with work these days. I'll come to see you once things settle down.]

Her reply came within minutes: [Okay.]

But the next few days were consumed by a critical deal. It wasn't until four days later, when this crucial transaction finally settled, that I could breathe again. The first thought that jumped into my mind was Sarah. My new marriage needed careful nurturing.

And that's when Chris called.

"Bro, the apartment's ready," Chris reported over the phone. "Fully furnished. I followed your instructions—bought everything from IKEA, even swapped out the TV for a basic 40-inch model. Oh, and I got you that Honda Accord, too. Totally fits your middle-class persona."

I checked my phone—still just those two brief exchanges from days ago.

Good. She's not clingy. That suggests she really doesn't know my true identity and isn't the type to get possessive. This kind of woman is worth further observation.

I decided to check on Sarah's work situation. When I arrived at Bella Vista Restaurant in my Honda Accord, the evening was settling in.

I parked across the street and observed through the glass windows. The restaurant had only one occupied table—four middle-aged men who looked like they'd been drinking heavily. Sarah was holding a tray, serving the table.

Should I go in and show concern, or continue observing her work performance? I was weighing my options when suddenly I saw one of the men grab Sarah's wrist, trying to pull her down onto his lap. The other men started jeering, their leering expressions and disgusting gestures visible even from across the street.

Sarah was clearly panicked, struggling to break free, but the man's grip was tight. Fear and anger were written all over her face.

These fucking idiots dare to touch my wife!

My blood boiled instantly. Forget the identity charade—nobody was going to treat my woman like that. I slammed the car door and stormed into the restaurant.

"Get your hands off her!"