His Second Wife

Chapter 1

~Christopher’s POV~

It was my poison, looking out my office window over San Diego’s gorgeous streets while drinking Dalmore Decades. I’ve been thinking about my grandfather, who is constantly nagging me to remarry. The strain and headache that had been looming over me for years suddenly arrived, throbbing down in the foundation of my brain. My grandfather’s remarks make me shake my head. While admiring the magnificent streets, I kept my sight fixed on the glass. Mark, my closest buddy, entered. He got himself a drink and came over to stand with me.

“You know, the old guy is right. You can’t pay for pussy forever.” That’s my friend Mark. The man has no filter, not that I have one myself. While Mark and I were conversing, an idea immediately sprung to mind. All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Mark, I’ll see you when I return. Wish me luck.”

“Can you tell me where you’re going?”

“I’m getting married.”

Mark’s eyes immediately widened, but I didn’t care. I summoned my driver. A black Rolls-Royce Phantom VII came to a stop in front of Grayston Group.

I proceeded to the rear once the valet unlocked the door, loosening the two buttons on my shirt over my chest and reclining against the leather seat.

” To the Civil Affairs Bureau, please.”

My driver cast a glance my way, with a puzzled expression, he knew not to ask questions, so he simply drove.

Upon arrival at the Civil Affairs Bureau, I scrutinized all the females around me, my gaze landed on a pensive, terrified girl. She seemed to be between the ages of 21 and 22, quite young, she’s a beauty.

Even if it’s only a wife to get my grandpa off my back, she needs to be stunning, and that girl fits the bill perfectly.

As I approached the girl. I watched as she paled considerably, beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead, and her whole body started to quiver violently. I reached out and grabbed her hand as she was ready to flee.

~Camila’s POV~

I went to over 15 interviews in the last four months and had no success since I wasn’t a resident of San Diego. To be a resident in San Diego, you must marry a San Diego native. I didn’t know until the security guard from my last interview informed me, and after some considerable research and investigation into the matter, I discovered that it was in fact true. Me not being a resident is why I have been unable to get employment. I was afraid when I arrived at the Civil Affairs Bureau. What type of spouse would I have? I just brushed it off and waited. The waiting had begun to take its toll on me. I was shivering and sweating profusely. I glanced at my hands and realized I wouldn’t be able to stand here for another minute. When I turned to walk away, a warm and comforting hand brushed against mine. It was way too comforting for some reason, and I felt like I could entrust the hand. When I turned around, I was presented with the million-dollar question.

“Excuse me, will you please marry me?”

I was dragged out of my anguish by a clear voice. I lifted my head in surprise at what I saw, a towering guy with features that might absorb a single soul. His brows were well-defined, and he had a chiseled face. His visage seemed to have been captured on a Sunday morning when God was not in a rush to do anything. He was just stunning. He seemed to be a faultless masterpiece. He looked incredible in all

black, and the design highlighted his slender yet muscular physique. He had a noble and dignified demeanor. Yet he comes across as distant and unapproachable. I didn’t wake up until the guy asked the same question again.

“I’m sorry. What exactly did you say?”