Planning His Wedding, Sleeping In His Bed

Kayden Reynolds tugged at the strap of her white silk gown. The fabric sat cold against her skin. She kept a smile pinned to her face, holding it there for the guests scattered across the Long Island Country Club terrace.

"Congratulations, Kayden! You look stunning."

"Carter is a lucky man."

The words slid past her. She nodded, smiled, her cheek muscles aching from the effort. Her fiancé, Carter Edwards, stood a few yards away, working a group of investors with his easy laugh. When his gaze flicked to hers, a chill ran down her spine. Something wasn't right. She told herself it was just nerves.

Her stepsister, Megan Reynolds, slipped an arm through hers, fingers digging in harder than necessary. "You're practically glowing, sis," Megan murmured, her voice sugar-sweet. "Who would've thought a felon's daughter could land an Edwards? You must be so proud."

The jab landed clean. The terrace air thickened. Kayden's stomach twisted. "Excuse me," she said, pulling free. "I need a minute."

She fled the crowd, heading for the restrooms, chasing a moment of quiet. Halfway down a dim hallway, a man with a slick grin and drifting eyes stepped into her path. "There's the beautiful bride-to-be," he slurred, reeking of expensive scotch.

Panic spiked. She dodged him, her hand fumbling for a doorknob. It turned. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her without a sound. A small, dark lounge. She leaned against the door, chest heaving, trying to steady her breathing.

Then the voices seeped through the wall from the next room. Voices she knew.

"Carter, I just feel so awful for you." Megan's voice dripped with fake sympathy. "Having to marry a criminal's daughter. It's so... degrading."

Kayden's hand flew to her mouth.

"Baby, just be patient." Carter's low murmur came through the wall. "Once we're married, the pre-marital trust kicks in. Joint control of her fund. It's the only way I get the capital to prove myself to my father."

The blood drained from Kayden's face. Her fingers went numb. It wasn't love. It was a deal.

"And the baby?" Megan's voice sharpened. "Are you really going to let her give you an heir?"

Carter let out a cold laugh. "Of course not. There's a clause about medical decisions in the trust. After the wedding, her doctor will 'advise' that she's emotionally unstable and unfit. We'll have the baby taken away after birth. You, my love, can raise it as your own. You can give me the real heir later."

Nausea hit Kayden in a wave. It wasn't just her money. It was her body. Her womb. Something to be used and thrown away. The betrayal was so complete, so ugly, that it burned the tears away before they could form. The grief in her chest hardened into a cold knot of rage.

She didn't make a sound. She backed away from the wall, each movement silent, careful. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but not from pain. A plan was already taking shape in her head, sharp and brutal.

She cracked the door open and scanned the terrace. Her eyes moved past the smiling faces, the meaningless chatter, and landed on a figure standing alone in the far corner.

Brook Edwards.

Carter's older cousin. The real power behind the Edwards empire, the name people whispered on Wall Street with a mix of fear and respect. The one man Carter both worshipped and resented. The perfect weapon.

Kayden straightened her dress. The white silk felt like a costume now. She took a breath, walked to the bar, and picked up two flutes of champagne. Her hand didn't shake.

She crossed the terrace with deliberate steps. She stopped in front of him.

"I think I need something stronger than champagne." Her voice wavered, but her eyes held steady as she offered him the glass.

Brook Edwards looked up. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and they seemed to cut straight through the mask she wore. He took the glass without a word.

Kayden downed her own champagne in one long swallow. The bubbles burned her throat. She leaned in close, her lips nearly touching his ear.

"Get me out of here," she whispered. "Anywhere."

Before he could answer, she pressed her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, furious, a reckless challenge. She felt his flicker of surprise, a split-second stillness. Then his hand gripped the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, and he kissed her back. He took control, pressing her against the cool stone wall of the clubhouse, trapping her between the rough surface and the heat of his body. The distant party music played on, a thin soundtrack to her self-destruction.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "Are you sure?" His voice was a low rumble.

She couldn't speak. She just nodded.

He led her through a side exit, his hand firm on the small of her back. A black sedan waited, sleek and silent. The driver opened the door, his face blank.

Inside the dark, leather-scented backseat, everything spun out of control. A frantic, punishing collision of bodies, driven by her rage and his silent, focused intensity. No softness. Just the raw, sharp thrill of revenge.

When it ended, a cold clarity crashed over her. The weight of what she'd done settled in her chest. She was breathing hard. Her dress was a wrinkled mess. The man beside her was a stranger.

She scrambled to fix her clothes, her fingers trembling. Brook sat beside her, unnervingly calm, his breathing even.

"Forget this ever happened." The words scraped her throat, tasting like ash.

He turned to look at her. His expression stayed unreadable in the dim light. "Are you sure?" he asked again. Something flickered in his voice. She couldn't tell if it was amusement or contempt.

"Why? Give me one reason." The words were quiet, but they cut through the air, demanding an answer she didn't have.

She couldn't meet his eyes. She just needed to run.

Kayden shoved the car door open and stumbled into the night air. She ran without looking back, desperate to escape the car, the man, the ruin she'd just made. She didn't see the look in Brook's eyes as he watched her vanish into the dark.