Flash Marriage To The Secret Tycoon

Kathern sat on the edge of the narrow mattress in the cramped guest room. She kept her head down, her fingers meticulously threading a complex pattern of glass beads onto a wire. The air in the room was stale, heavy with the smell of old carpet and the underlying tension that always suffocated this apartment.

The wooden door suddenly flew open. It slammed against the drywall with a massive bang that made Kathern's shoulders flinch.

Glenwood marched into the room. His face was flushed red, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. He slapped a crumpled piece of paper down onto her small work table. The force of his hand sent a dozen tiny glass beads scattering across the floor.

"Look at this," Glenwood demanded.

Kathern stared at the paper. It was the monthly electric bill.

"You sit in here all day, burning up the lights, eating our food, and contributing absolutely nothing," Glenwood shouted, his voice echoing off the thin walls.

Footsteps hurried down the hallway. Gussie rushed into the room, balancing her two-year-old son, Cody, on her left hip. Her eyes were wide with panic.

"Glenwood, please, keep your voice down," Gussie pleaded. She reached out with her free hand to grab his forearm.

Glenwood let out a harsh sound of disgust. He violently yanked his arm away. The sudden force threw Gussie off balance. She stumbled backward, her ankle twisting awkwardly on the edge of the rug.

Kathern dropped her wire. She shot up from the mattress and grabbed Gussie's elbow, steadying her sister before she could hit the floor. Cody began to whimper.

Kathern turned her head. She locked her eyes onto Glenwood. Her spine snapped completely straight.

"If you want to keep living under my roof," Glenwood sneered, stepping closer, "you pay half the rent and half the groceries starting today. Or you get out."

Gussie's eyes filled with tears. She clutched the fabric of Glenwood's shirt.

"Don't do this," Gussie cried, her voice cracking. "She's my sister. Please don't be so hard on her."

Kathern looked at her older sister. Seeing Gussie shrink herself down, begging a man who treated her like dirt, sent a sharp, physical ache straight through Kathern's chest. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Kathern took a deep breath. The air burned her lungs.

"I'm moving out today," Kathern said loudly.

Glenwood let out a dry, mocking laugh.

"Suit yourself," he said. He turned around and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

The sound made Gussie flinch. She immediately broke down. She wrapped her free arm around Kathern's neck, sobbing into her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Gussie wept. "I'm a useless sister. I'm so sorry."

Kathern raised her hand and gently patted the middle of Gussie's back.

"It's okay," Kathern said softly. "I already have a place to go."

She waited until Gussie's breathing slowed down. Once her sister left the room to put Cody in his crib, Kathern walked over to her bed and picked up her phone. She opened a text message she had received earlier this morning.

It was from Eleanor, an elderly woman Kathern had helped on the street a few weeks ago. The message was straightforward. Eleanor asked if Kathern would be willing to enter a paper marriage with her grandson in exchange for a free, independent apartment.

Kathern stared at the glowing words on the screen. She bit the soft inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She tapped her thumb against the glass keyboard.

"I agree."

She hit send. Three seconds later, a new message popped up at the top of her screen. It contained an address for City Hall and a time: 2:00 PM.

Kathern turned around. She pulled a faded canvas backpack out from under her bed. She shoved three pairs of jeans, a few shirts, and her essential documents inside. She zipped it shut and threw it over her shoulder.

She walked out into the living room. Glenwood was sitting on the sofa, staring at his phone. Kathern ignored him completely. She walked over to Cody's playpen and pressed a kiss to the toddler's warm cheek.

Kathern pushed the front door open and walked rapidly down the three flights of stairs. She stepped out onto the concrete sidewalk and walked over to a mint green scooter parked by the curb.

She strapped her helmet onto her head. She twisted the throttle. The small engine sputtered to life, and she merged into the busy September traffic of the New York streets.

Twenty minutes later, Kathern pulled into the public parking zone outside the City Hall plaza. She kicked the stand down and turned off the engine.

She pulled off her helmet. She ran her fingers through her wind-tangled hair and pulled out her phone to check the physical description Eleanor had provided.

Kathern lifted her head. Her eyes scanned the crowded sidewalk. She finally locked onto a beat-up, rust-spotted Ford commercial van parked illegally across the street.

A massive man was leaning against the hood of the van. He held a thick blue folder in his right hand.

He wore a dark gray suit that looked stiff and cheap. The fabric pulled tightly across his broad shoulders. He looked down at his wristwatch, his eyebrows pulled together in a deep, impatient scowl.

Kathern stepped off the curb and walked across the crosswalk toward him. As the distance between them closed, the sharp, sculpted lines of his jaw and cheekbones came into clear focus.

The man heard her footsteps. He snapped his head up. His eyes, sharp and predatory like a hawk, locked directly onto her face.

The raw suspicion and heavy guard in his gaze felt like a physical push against Kathern's chest. Her boots faltered for a fraction of a second. She swallowed hard, forced her spine straight, and kept walking right into his line of sight.

Kathern stopped exactly three feet away from the man.

"Are you Eleanor's grandson?" Kathern asked. "Bronson?"

Bronson's eyes dragged slowly from the scuffed toes of her boots up to the messy bun on her head. He let out a low, dismissive scoff from the back of his throat.

The sheer arrogance rolling off him made the back of Kathern's neck prickle with heat. She pressed her lips together and swallowed the sharp remark sitting on her tongue.

Bronson didn't say a word. He simply shoved the blue folder forward, stopping inches from her chest.

"Read it," Bronson said. His voice was flat and hard. "Make your decision."

Kathern took the folder. The cardboard felt stiff in her hands. She flipped it open. Inside was a thick stack of legal papers titled 'Prenuptial Agreement'.

She scanned the dense paragraphs. The terms were brutally clear. Complete financial independence. No interference in each other's personal lives.

She flipped to the second page. The most prominent clause stated the marriage would last exactly six months. Upon termination, the husband would transfer the deed of one apartment to the wife as compensation.

Bronson stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cheap trousers.

"If you want to back out, turn around and walk away right now," Bronson said coldly.

Kathern lifted her head. She looked straight into his dark eyes. She reached into the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a cheap ballpoint pen.

Bronson's jaw tightened slightly as he watched her. Kathern flipped to the very last page of the document. She pressed the pen hard against the paper and signed her name on the dotted line.

She snapped the folder shut. She slapped it flat against the center of Bronson's chest.

"I just need a place to sleep," Kathern said, her voice completely steady. "I don't care about your money."

A flicker of deep suspicion crossed Bronson's eyes. He grabbed the folder, turned his back to her, and walked toward the massive glass doors of City Hall with long, aggressive strides.

Kathern adjusted her backpack straps and hurried to keep up. They walked through the revolving doors and stepped into the chaotic, echoing lobby.

They found the marriage registration line. The space around them was filled with couples holding hands, giggling, and pressing kisses to each other's cheeks.

Kathern and Bronson stood in line. There was a solid two feet of empty space between them. They stood as rigidly as two strangers waiting to testify against each other in court.

The line moved forward. They finally reached the counter. A balding clerk named Walter looked up at them. He took in their stiff postures and blank faces.

"Are you both entering into this marriage voluntarily?" Walter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Bronson said. The word dropped from his mouth like a block of ice.

Kathern didn't want the clerk asking any more questions. She took a steadying breath, kept her expression perfectly neutral, and said "Yes" in a clear, unwavering voice, avoiding the clerk's inquisitive gaze.

Walter shrugged his shoulders. He slid a stack of forms across the laminate counter.

"Fill these out," Walter said.

Kathern picked up a pen. She filled in her basic details. Under the occupation box, she wrote 'Handmade Shop Owner'. She glanced over her shoulder. Bronson was writing 'Vaughan Group' in the employer section.

Kathern looked away. So he was a corporate drone at a massive company. That explained the miserable attitude.

They pushed the forms back across the counter. Walter typed aggressively on his keyboard. The printer behind him whirred to life, spitting out two official marriage certificates.

"Raise your right hands," Walter instructed.

Kathern raised her hand. She repeated the standard vows, keeping her voice even and clear.

Bronson recited the words at a rapid, clipped pace. There was zero inflection in his tone. He sounded like he was reading a quarterly expense report.

"Congratulations," Walter said, sliding the papers toward them. "You're married."

Kathern picked up the thin piece of paper. She stared at her name printed next to a man she didn't know. A hollow, absurd feeling washed over her stomach.

Bronson didn't even look at the paper. He grabbed it, folded it in half with a sharp crease, and shoved it into the inside breast pocket of his suit.

"Let's go outside," Bronson ordered, his tone strictly business. "We need to discuss the living arrangements."

Kathern nodded. They turned away from the counter and walked back through the crowded lobby toward the exit.

They pushed through the heavy doors. A sharp gust of September wind hit them instantly. Kathern shivered, her shoulders pulling inward against the cold. Bronson didn't even blink. He kept walking straight down the concrete steps.

Bronson stopped at the bottom of the steps. He turned around and looked up at Kathern as she walked down to meet him.

He reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a silver keyring and a white plastic access card. He held them out in the space between them.

"Maplewood Complex," Bronson said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Building B, Apartment 802. It's on the edge of Queens."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. He extracted a silver credit card and held it out next to the keys.

"This is a secondary card," Bronson stated. "Use it for the household expenses."

Kathern looked at the piece of plastic. Her eyebrows pulled together. She kept her hands firmly at her sides.

"We can split the living expenses fifty-fifty," Kathern said, looking directly into his eyes. "I don't need your card."

Bronson's arm froze in mid-air. A flash of genuine surprise broke through his cold exterior, quickly replaced by a thicker layer of guarded suspicion.

He let out a short, harsh breath through his nose. He pulled the credit card back and shoved it into his wallet.

"Suit yourself," Bronson said. "Just don't cause any trouble."

Kathern reached out and took the keys and the access card from his hand. She unzipped the small front pocket of her backpack and carefully dropped them inside.

Bronson lifted his left arm and stared at his watch.

"I have an important business meeting back at the company," Bronson said, dropping his arm. "Do not tell anyone about this marriage. Especially not anyone from my office."

Kathern rolled her eyes. As if she would ever meet a single person from his boring corporate job. But she nodded her head anyway.

Bronson didn't waste another second. He turned on his heel and walked straight to the rusted Ford van.

Kathern stood on the sidewalk. She watched him pull the heavy door open and slide roughly into the driver's seat.

The van's engine roared to life with a violent shudder. A thick cloud of dark exhaust shot out from the tailpipe as the van sped away from the curb.

The smoke hit Kathern's face. She coughed twice, waving her hand rapidly in front of her nose to clear the foul air.

She walked back to her mint green scooter. She put her helmet on, started the engine, and merged into the traffic.

She followed the street signs, riding across the city until she reached the address Bronson had given her. The Maplewood Complex was a standard, slightly worn residential area.

Kathern parked her scooter in the designated area. She swiped the white card against the scanner at Building B and walked into the elevator.

She pressed the button for the eighth floor. The doors opened. She walked down the hallway and found the door marked 802. She slid the key into the lock and turned it.

The lock clicked loudly. Kathern pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air inside the apartment was completely dead. It smelled like stale dust and closed windows. Tiny particles of dirt floated visibly in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the blinds.

Kathern looked around. It was a standard two-bedroom apartment. The layout was decent, but the living room was completely barren except for two cheap sofas and a glass coffee table.

She walked into the master bedroom. A massive, unmade bed sat in the center of the room. There was no wardrobe. No nightstands.

She walked back out and pushed the door to the guest room open. It was completely empty. Just bare wooden floorboards.

Kathern walked into the kitchen. She pulled the cabinet doors open one by one. Nothing. Not a single plate, fork, or glass.

Kathern let out a long, heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped. The man had literally just bought a concrete box to shut his grandmother up.

She dropped her backpack onto the kitchen counter. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, walked over to the living room window, and pushed the glass pane up as hard as she could. The fresh breeze rushed in.

She looked down at the layer of grime on the floorboards. She needed to go back to Gussie's house to get her large suitcase and buy a massive amount of cleaning supplies.