My Groom Planned My Fake Kidnapping to Win My Trust

I stared at my phone for what felt like hours, Lincoln's advice echoing in my mind: "Catch them committing a federal crime." The best way to do that was to lure them into a trap of their own making.

Taking a deep breath, I dialed Colton's number, my finger hovering over the call button for a moment before I pressed it. Three rings, then his voice—smooth, confident, and utterly false.

"Magnolia," he said, as if we were still engaged. "I was just about to call you."

I forced a tremor into my voice. "Colton, I... I've been thinking about everything that's happened."

"Have you?" His tone shifted subtly, interest piqued by what he perceived as weakness.

"I've been under so much stress lately," I continued, channeling every acting skill I possessed. "The hormones, the wedding planning... I wasn't thinking clearly."

Silence stretched between us, and I could almost see him calculating his next move.

"Maggie," he finally said, his voice softening into the gentle persuasion that had once made me feel cherished. "I understand. We all make mistakes when we're overwhelmed."

"I want to make it right," I whispered, hating myself for the lie but knowing it was necessary. "I want to resume our wedding plans."

I heard his sharp intake of breath—surprise quickly masked by triumph.

"Really?" he asked, though I could hear the smile in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Completely," I replied, my grip tightening on the phone. "But I want it to be quick. In the Hamptons, next month."

"The Hamptons?" His voice rose slightly. "But that's only four weeks away."

"I know," I said, injecting desperation into my tone. "I just want this behind us. I want to start our life together properly."

I could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind—the Ross fortune, the Hamptons estate, the social connections all within his grasp again.

"Of course, darling," he agreed, his voice dripping with false concern. "Whatever makes you happy."

---

"Try this one," the bridal consultant said, holding up a slinky silk dress that would never be appropriate for a bridesmaid.

Skyla stood in the center of the boutique's private fitting room, surrounded by mirrors that reflected her pale face from every angle. Her eyes darted nervously to the door where my bodyguard waited.

"Just the two of us," I assured her, dismissing the consultant with a wave. "I need to speak with you privately."

The moment we were alone, I locked the door and turned to face her.

"Why did you really take the money?" I asked, holding up my phone with the Venmo screenshot displayed.

Skyla's carefully constructed facade crumbled instantly. Her hands began to shake as she reached for the dress rack to steady herself.

"You wanted me to get angry, didn't you?" I continued, stepping closer. "You wanted to force a confrontation."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she remained silent.

"Because you couldn't bear to see another woman destroyed by that family," I finished for her.

Something broke in her then—a dam of fear and pain that had been holding back years of abuse. She collapsed onto the small velvet bench, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

"He starts with them when they're fourteen," she whispered between gasping breaths. "Just like he did with me."

My blood ran cold as she continued, revealing the grooming, the threats, the years of systematic abuse that had begun when she was just a child.

"He told me he'd do the same to you," she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. "The same cycle—isolate you, control you, take everything from you."

"Why didn't you run?" I asked gently.

"Where would I go?" She laughed bitterly. "They'd find me. They always do."

---

The night air was crisp as Lincoln and I sat in his study, surrounded by laptops and external drives. Skyla's cloud storage account was open on the main screen, revealing years of meticulously organized files.

"Play this one," Lincoln suggested, pointing to a dated folder labeled "Carjacking."

I clicked the file, and Colton's voice filled the room:

"Make sure the timing is perfect," he instructed someone. "I need to be the hero when it happens."

Another voice responded: "We'll be ready with the weapons—props, of course. You'll come in just as she's about to be forced into the car."

"That's when I'll save her," Colton confirmed. "She'll be so grateful, she'll never question anything I do."

My stomach churned as the recording continued, detailing how they'd staged my kidnapping three years ago—the one that had first brought Colton into my life.

"There's more," Skyla had told me before leaving. "Much more."

And she was right. As we scrolled through the files, each one revealed another layer of the Turner family's corruption—Mr. Turner planning the staged carjacking, Colton admitting to paying the actors, both parents discussing how to manipulate me into marriage.

"They've been planning this for years," Lincoln murmured, his expression grim as he copied another file to our secure server.

I nodded, a cold determination settling over me. "Then we'll need to be ready for whatever they try next."