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.

She stumbled across the parking lot, her heels sinking into the gravel. The cold air cut through her ruined gown, slicing through the haze of champagne and adrenaline. The thin silk offered nothing. Humiliation washed over her, sharp and bitter, followed by a wave of panicked confusion. What had she done?

Headlights flared, pinning her in their glare. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes. A car door slammed.

"I thought a Reynolds girl would at least have some decency." The voice cut through the night, cold as ice. "It seems I overestimated your father's upbringing."

Patricia Edwards stepped into the light. Carter's mother. Her face was frozen fury. Her eyes crawled over Kayden's wrinkled dress, her smeared makeup, her wild hair. The judgment in that stare hit like a slap.

"Patricia, I-" Kayden started.

The older woman cut her off.

Other guests were leaving the party. Their laughter died as they took in the scene. Patricia raised her voice.

"To behave so shamelessly at your own engagement party! Flaunting yourself like common trash. You've brought nothing but disgrace to my son and our family name."

Each word landed like a public blow. Kayden stood frozen, her face burning, her lips trembling too hard to form a response. The onlookers stared. Their whispers hissed.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch. She fumbled for it, desperate for anything to focus on. The screen read: Irina Kowalski. Her mother's caregiver.

She answered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Irina?"

"Kayden, thank God." Irina's voice was frantic. "It's your father. I just got a call from the prison. A fight broke out. Mark's been put in solitary."

Kayden's blood went cold. "What? Is he okay?"

"I don't know. They're transferring him to a maximum‑security facility upstate. And Kayden... they've suspended all his visitation rights. Indefinitely."

The world tilted. The last thread holding her together snapped. Her father. The one person she was fighting for.

She ignored Patricia's continuing tirade and broke into a run, stumbling toward the main road. She flagged down a yellow cab. The screech of its tires was a welcome sound.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked.

She gave him her address, her voice cracking. Inside the cab, she called her father's old lawyer. Voicemail. She tried a former business associate. He picked up, but his voice was cool, distant, full of vague excuses. The message was clear. Since her father's conviction, the doors that once opened for her were now firmly shut. She was alone.

The taxi pulled up to her apartment building. She paid with trembling hands and bolted inside.

The apartment was quiet. Her mother, Susan Reynolds, sat on the living room sofa, staring at the dark TV. Irina stood in the kitchen doorway, her face tight with worry.

"She heard about Mark," Irina whispered, wringing her hands. "She hasn't said a word since."

Kayden walked slowly toward the sofa. "Mom?" she said softly. "Mom, it's going to be okay. I'll fix this."

Susan's head snapped up. Her eyes, usually blank with a quiet sadness, now burned with a wild, terrifying energy. She launched herself off the sofa, moving faster than Kayden thought possible.

"You!" Susan shrieked. Her fingers clawed at Kayden's hair, yanking hard. "You're a curse! None of this would have happened if it weren't for you!"

Pain exploded across Kayden's scalp. She tried to pull away, but her mother's grip was iron. Susan's fists beat against her shoulders and back in a frantic rhythm of rage. One wild swing caught Kayden across the cheek-a sharp, stunning crack that sent stars across her vision and left her cheek throbbing with a deep, immediate ache.

"Why couldn't you have been Megan?" Susan screamed, her voice raw with years of resentment. "If Megan were my daughter, none of this would be happening! Mark would be safe!"

The words twisted in Kayden's chest, worse than any blow. Irina rushed forward, struggling to separate them. It took all her strength to pull Susan back.

Kayden stumbled away. Her arms and face stung with fresh scratches, and a dull throb pulsed from her cheek where her mother's fist had landed. But the pain was distant compared to the wound those words had opened. She looked at her mother, now sobbing in the caregiver's arms. She looked around the apartment that was supposed to be home. Just another battlefield.

Her fiancé's betrayal. Her future mother‑in‑law's public shaming. Her father in danger. Her own mother's violent hatred. It had all crashed down in a single night.

A crushing loneliness settled over her. But beneath the pain, something cold and hard began to form. They could take her dignity, her future, her family's love. But they wouldn't take her father. She had to get his visitation rights back. It was the only thing left.

The bathroom light was harsh. Kayden pressed a bag of frozen peas against the swelling on her cheek and stared at her reflection. A stranger stared back. Wild eyes. Bruised face. Scratches down her arms. This was the bride-to-be.

She pulled out her phone. Her thumb hovered over the contacts before landing on one name. Quinn Sullivan. Her best friend.

"Kayden? What's wrong? You sound awful." Quinn's voice sharpened with concern.

The dam broke. A choked sob escaped. "Quinn, I need you."

"I'm on my way."

Twenty minutes later, Quinn bustled into the apartment, her lawyer's briefcase still in hand. She took one look at Kayden's face and her expression hardened. "Who did this to you?"

Kayden couldn't bring herself to admit the full truth. The shame of what happened with Brook was too raw. She told Quinn about her father, about Patricia's public attack, about her mother's breakdown. She painted it as chaos, not a targeted assault.

Quinn listened, her jaw tight. When Kayden finished, Quinn paced the small living room.

"Your father's case is complicated, Kay," she said. "A transfer to max security, visitation revoked... that's not how a prison scuffle gets handled. Someone with real power is pulling strings. A normal appeal could take months. Years."

Despair washed over Kayden. "So what do I do?"

Quinn stopped pacing and looked at her. "You can't fight power with procedure. You need more power. Someone who can break the rules, not just work around them."

She hesitated, then said the name that made Kayden's stomach drop.

"Brook Edwards. In this city, if he wants something done, it gets done. No questions."

The memory flooded back. The car. His hands. His cool, assessing eyes. Heat rushed to Kayden's face.

"No," she said too quickly. "Absolutely not. I don't even know him."

"I know it's a long shot," Quinn sighed. "But he might be your only shot."

After Quinn left, Kayden sat in the silence, a war raging inside her. Her pride screamed at her to find another way. But her father's face kept flashing in her mind. Bruised. Worried. He was her responsibility. He was her only real family.

The decision settled in her chest, heavy as a stone. She would do whatever it took.

She opened her laptop and searched for Brook Edwards's public schedule. His company, Edwards Capital, was holding a press conference for a new acquisition that afternoon in Midtown. Her only chance.

She showered, the hot water stinging her scratches. She carefully covered the bruise on her cheek with concealer and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. She chose a simple dark pantsuit. Armor for the fight ahead.

As she stepped out of her apartment building, two figures blocked her path.

Carter and Megan.

"Kayden! There you are!" Megan rushed forward, her face a perfect mask of worry, her eyes already glistening. "We were so worried. You just disappeared last night. Your mother was frantic."

Nausea surged. Kayden yanked her arm out of Megan's grip. "Don't touch me."

Carter stepped in front of Megan, playing the protective fiancé. "What the hell is wrong with you? Megan's just trying to be nice."

Kayden looked at him, her eyes cold. "My attitude? You should be asking yourself about yours, Carter."

A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before rage replaced it. "Don't think I don't know what you were up to last night. You embarrassed our entire family."

Passersby slowed, glancing their way. Kayden had no intention of making a scene. She tried to walk around them.

Carter grabbed her arm. "Where are you going? To meet some other man?"

"Carter, stop it," Megan pleaded from behind him. "I'm sure she has a good reason."

Their act was suffocating. It was the final push.

Kayden stopped and turned. Her gaze was ice. "Yes," she said, her voice low and clear. "I'm going to meet another man. A man a hundred times better than you'll ever be. Satisfied?"

She didn't wait for their reactions. She pulled her arm free and walked toward the parking garage, her resolve now forged in steel. She was going to find Brook Edwards.