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.
