The Second Marriage Chance

Bronn

Emily Carter… the woman who lingered in my thoughts long after we last saw each other. Her natural scent, plump lips with a touch of mayonnaise, dark coffee-colored hair, tiny waist, and even the curve of her breast beneath a thick top-all of her simplicity haunted my mind like a persistent virus.

Perhaps I was a werewolf in a past life.

“Bronn, I know my granddaughter is still too young for you, but it’s fine. Sarah is a nice young woman. She’s working hard on different things,” Grandpa Mitchell interrupted, his weathered face creasing with a knowing smile. As my longtime mentor in finance and stock market strategy, his words held significant influence.

“Bronn is doing really well, too. He’s made a name for himself in the tech industry. You don’t need to worry about either of them,” my mom said, smiling nicely.

“Thank you for accepting us, Grandpa Mitchell,” I simply said.

“I will send a thoughtful gift to Sarah,” my dad added.

Sarah was just sixteen, a detail that everyone else seemed to overlook. She was still in high school, after all! The thought of any romantic involvement was not just improbable but entirely out of the question. I had no interest in her that way, and I was sure any advances would only make her uncomfortable at family events.

Maybe if she became older?

This wasn’t new. Parents always have a say in their children’s marital prospects, often under the guise of protecting family interests. Sarah’s mind seemed to be conditioned early that the two of us would marry someday.

But sixteen? Damn it! It also meant that I would have to wait several more years before anything could even be considered appropriate.

On the private jet back to Henderson, Robert, my secretary, handed me his iPad. “Boss, here is the list of applicants for the BM Technologies educational program from Summit Valley.”

Taking it with a frown, my eyes going straight to a name I didn’t expect. I even put on my glasses to ensure I wasn’t seeing things.

I reviewed Emily Carter’s profile. She is a nineteen-year-old business course student. I also examined her grades and cover letter, which explains why she needs the scholarship in full.

“Please investigate more about Emily Carter,” I instructed Robert.

“Understood.”

***

Emily

As I stepped into the imposing lobby of BM Technologies, a tall, well-dressed man approached me with a professional smile. “Miss Carter? I’m Robert, Mr. Martin’s executive assistant. Please follow me.”

Robert guided me through a series of sleek, modern corridors. Most of the office spaces we passed were divided by mirrored panels, giving the illusion of vastness. Eventually, we reached a room with solid walls, a rare sight in this glass-dominated environment.

As I walked in, my attention was instantly drawn to a plate on the main table. Four neatly cut triangles of clubhouse sandwiches sat there, incredibly tempting. Seeing them brought back a clear memory-this was definitely the same sandwich I had eaten when Mr. Martin visited our school.

‘No, Emily! This has to be a trap!’

Mr. Bronn Martin entered confidently, filling the room with his presence. As I stood up, our eyes locked, and I felt a lump in my throat. I couldn’t deny it-this man exuded an overpowering presence.

“My apologies for being late; I just came from another meeting,” he said.

“It’s… fine.” Was I really going to complain about a three-minute wait with the head of BM Technologies?

Mr. Martin’s gaze flicked to the untouched food.

“Please, help yourself,” he encouraged, gesturing to the sandwiches.

“I-I-It’s fine!” I stammered, convinced this must be some test. But then my stomach betrayed me with a loud rumble.

His expression soured. “I’m serious. Please finish the sandwich,” he insisted, taking a seat on the couch.

I quickly grabbed a slice and ate it nervously. He watched me without speaking, as though my purpose here was to be fed.

My cheeks flushed as I finished eating, acutely conscious of each bite and swallow.

“You can also finish that coffee,” he remarked.

Obediently, I drank it all, feeling his eyes on me.

The silence between us grew thick and tense. Time slipped away as I was in an unusual staring match with one of the country’s most influential men. Robert abruptly broke the moment, delivering a stack of papers to Mr. Martin and quietly exiting as he had entered.

Gathering my courage, I spoke up. “M-Mr. Martin, I was under the impression this was an interview…”

“I understand this is unusual,” he began. “But I invited you here for a different purpose.”

He held out the papers Robert had just delivered.

My mind was consumed with thoughts of the role in his company’s prestigious educational program, but the shocking contents of the document shattered my excitement.

I was horrified when the contract said I would be his mistress until I finished university.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t what it seems, Mr. Martin! I’m not a prostitute!” I exclaimed, my voice quivering with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Is this inappropriate?

Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? The way he looks at me, it feels like there could be something more brewing between us.

I value my education, but not like this. My body trembles with dismay. I used to view this man as wealthy yet respectable.

Yet all he said was, “I understand. I apologize.”

His response gave me pause. In reality, he hadn’t crossed any lines with me. No inappropriate touches, no harassment-it’s all in my head.

“Wh-why? Why are you making me this offer, Mr. Martin?” I asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

“Because I want to fuck you…” he said calmly, with sincerity in his voice, yet restrained, his dark blue eyes locking onto mine.

My heart raced as I absorbed his words.

How should a woman react to such remarks from Mr. Bronn Martin?

Ever since our last encounter, I have delved into his background, and his profile initially portrayed him in a positive light. According to my research, he had three previous girlfriends, all rumored to have been primarily interested in his wealth. He has been unattached for the past year.

‘I want to fuck you…’

Mr. Martin’s words echoed in my ears, sending me an unexpected shiver. Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, a rush of conflicting emotions coursed through my body.

“I…” I stammered.

“I’m really sorry if I offended you,” he winced. “This is actually the first time I’ve proposed this kind of agreement. I realize now I was so focused on protecting myself that I didn’t consider how it might affect you.”

Protecting himself? It might have something to do with his ex-girlfriends. I felt sorry for Bronn, wondering why he had to resort to this.

Mr. Martin stood up and headed towards the large table in the distance. “Please don’t worry about your scholarship application. The finalists will still be announced as scheduled.”

“Are you seeing someone, Mr. Martin?” I asked, curiosity burning inside me.

Once again, he stared at me for a long moment, probably trying to figure out why I brought up such a question.

“If I were seeing someone, Miss Carter, you wouldn’t have received this offer.”

Does this mean he’s safe? Still, it was followed quickly by a wave of panic. This situation was utterly unfamiliar and terrifying to me.

Feeling overwhelmed, I collected my things and made my way to the door. I couldn’t muster the words to bid him farewell. Stepping out of the BM Technologies building, I suddenly noticed I was still holding onto the contract tightly in my arms.

My thoughts were disturbed by a call from Los Angeles. It was the hospital where my mother was admitted.

My heart rate, which had just begun to slow, immediately spiked again.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.