Stealing My Foolish Brother's Beautiful Bride

Hayley POV:

The handle of the designer shopping bag cut into my fingers, but I barely noticed.

Inside were the limited-edition sneakers for my fiancé, Kennedy Ferguson, before his big game.

I wanted to surprise him, so I slipped into his hotel suite's walk-in closet, waiting for him to return.

Minutes passed. Then the door clicked open.

I peered through the narrow gap between the closet doors-and my blood ran cold.

On the bed, two naked bodies writhed together. The man on top was Kennedy. The woman beneath him, moaning with abandon, was my best friend, Bree Santiago.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. I forced myself to watch every degrading second.

Their rhythm slowed. Bree curled into Kennedy's arms, her voice saccharine with false worry. "You're about to get engaged to her, and you're still sleeping with me?"

Kennedy lit a cigarette, exhaling with a sneer. "She won't even let me touch her. Too much work, always playing hard to get. Boring." He blew smoke at Bree. "You? You're a wildcat."

Bree giggled, tracing lazy circles on his chest. "But what about me when you marry her?"

Kennedy crushed the cigarette against the ashtray, flipped her onto her stomach, and growled, "Marry her? That's just for show. You're the one I truly want. And this is how I'll make you feel it."

Their moans resumed-louder, filthier, punctuated by dirty words that carved into my soul.

I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling, and recorded everything-their faces, their words, their betrayals. When they finally stumbled into the bathroom for round two, I slid out of the closet, my feet silent on the carpet, and fled the suite.

I stumbled through the hallway, the betrayal searing my chest. I didn't care where I was going.I just needed to drown it all.

The next thing I knew, I was collapsing onto a stool at the first‑floor bar.

I ordered the strongest whiskey, one after another. Everything blurred. The lights, the sounds, the faces. I just wanted to get drunk. I wanted to forget.

A tall figure sat down on the stool next to me, bringing with him the faint scent of cedarwood and tobacco. I didn't look up.

"Another," I mumbled to the bartender.

The man beside me said nothing, but a fresh glass of whiskey appeared in front of me. I grabbed it and downed it in one go.

His voice was a low, magnetic rumble next to my ear. "Drinking alone. Are we celebrating or forgetting?"

I turned my head. Through my drunken haze, I saw a blurred but sharp, imposing jawline. I let out a cold laugh. "Killing the past."

He chuckled, a sound that cut through the bar's noise. He took the empty glass from my hand and gestured to the bartender. "Get her the same. On my tab."

The alcohol made me bold, reckless. I leaned in close, my lips almost brushing his ear. "You look like you have stories, too. Want to... trade a night to forget them all?"

The man's body tensed for a fraction of a second. Then, I felt a large, scorching hand on the small of my back. His voice was a whisper only I could hear. "As you wish."

The rest of the night was a blur of fragmented memories.

Being swept off my feet. The weightless feeling of an elevator rising. The click of a hotel room door opening and closing. The dizzying sensation of being tossed onto a soft, massive bed.

He came over me, his body a wall of heat.

His mouth found my throat, teeth grazing my pulse, while his fingers worked the buttons of my blouse with impatient precision.

I arched into him, my own hands clawing at his shirt, desperate for skin.

He growled low in his chest as he pushed the fabric aside, his palm sliding up my ribs.

I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulled back just enough to look at me.Those deep-set blue eyes burning with something feral,and then his lips crashed down on mine again, harder, hungrier.

His knee parted my thighs, and his hand trailed lower, tracing the waistband of my skirt.

I felt his breath hot against my ear, a rough whisper of "You asked for this."

And then-the world dissolved into a blur of tangled limbs, ragged breaths, and the raw, punishing rhythm of two strangers using each other to erase everything.

When the final shudder came, I let the darkness take me.

The next morning, harsh sunlight woke me. My head throbbed, and my entire body ached as if it had been run over by a truck.

I groaned and forced my eyes open. The first thing I saw was an unfamiliar, luxurious hotel room. The wild memories of last night flooded back.

I shot up in bed. The sheet slid off my body, revealing a canvas of dark marks and bruises across my skin. My eyes darted to the space beside me in horror.

A man was there, his back to me. His bare torso was a landscape of broad shoulders and solid, powerful muscle.

He must have felt me move, because he slowly turned around.

When I saw his face, I felt every drop of blood in my body freeze solid.

Deep-set blue eyes, a high-bridged nose, and a handsome, arrogant face I'd seen on countless sports magazine covers.

He was Blake Ferguson.

The infamous "living devil" of Chicago's pro hockey team. The legendary captain.

And... my goddamn fiancé's older brother.

A playful smirk played on Blake Ferguson's lips, his hawk-like eyes locking onto me, as if he could see right through me. His voice, raspy with sleep, wrapped around words that sealed my fate.

"Morning, sister‑in‑law."

Hayley POV:

Blake's words-"sister‑in‑law"-crashed over me like a tidal wave. I instinctively clutched the sheets, pulling them up to my chin to cover my nakedness. Shame and panic clawed at my throat.

I forced myself to sound calm. "You... you know who I am?"

Blake swung his legs out of bed. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled back the curtains. The morning light sculpted his model-perfect body, a raw display of masculine power that filled the room.

He lit a cigarette, the tip glowing red. He turned, his deep blue eyes even more inscrutable behind the veil of smoke.

"Hayley Brown. Twenty-two. Kinesiology major. My little brother Kennedy's fiancée. Am I right?"

He knew everything about me. A chill ran down my spine. This man was far more dangerous than I had imagined.

I had to get out of here. Now.

Ignoring the ache in my body, I threw back the covers and scrambled to find my clothes.

My dress was in shreds on the floor, a tattered reminder of last night's frenzy. All I could find was my underwear.

As I frantically tried to put them on, Blake suddenly crushed his cigarette in an ashtray and strode towards me.

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron, impossible to break. He pushed me back against the wall, his tall frame trapping me completely.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was soft, but it held the unyielding weight of a command.

I had to crane my neck to look up at him, a storm of anger and fear raging inside me. "Let me go! Last night was a mistake. We should both just forget it."

Blake let out a low laugh, as if I'd just told the funniest joke in the world. He used his other hand to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "A mistake? No. That was the best night I've had in years."

His thumb traced the outline of my lips, his eyes burning with a predatory fire. "And I never forget something I want."

I shivered at his words, at his nakedly possessive stare. I tried to struggle, but he was an immovable wall of muscle.

"You're insane! I'm your brother's fiancée!" I tried to use our twisted connection to appeal to some sense of decency he might have.

"So?" he said, his tone dismissive. "A waste of space who can't even keep his own woman isn't worthy of having you."

His contempt for Kennedy struck a strange, twisted chord of validation deep within my humiliation.

I changed my tactics, softening my voice. "Please, Blake. Just let me go. "

He studied my face, his eyes flickering for a moment. I thought my display of weakness had worked.

I was wrong.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. "From the moment you walked into that bar, you were already mine. No one takes what's mine. Not even my idiot brother."

Despair seized me. I had escaped one fire only to leap into a raging inferno.

He finally released me, taking a step back to admire my disheveled state. He gestured towards the bathroom with his chin. "Go take a shower. There are clothes for you in the closet."

Clothes for me? When did he... My mind was a chaotic mess.

I didn't dare defy him. I walked to the bathroom like a puppet on a string.

The hot water sluiced over my body, offering a small measure of clarity to my jumbled thoughts. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the marks that littered my skin.

After my shower, I stepped into the walk-in closet. Just as he'd said, a full rack of new women's clothing was waiting. Dresses, casual wear, even lingerie, all in my exact size.

The man's possessiveness, his meticulous planning, was terrifying. I grabbed a simple black dress and quickly put it on.

When I walked out, Blake was fully dressed in an expensive, custom-tailored suit. He looked every bit the untouchable hockey superstar again.

He slid a black credit card across the table towards me. "Take it. The PIN is your birthday."

I stared at the card as if it were a venomous snake. "I don't want it."

Blake arched an eyebrow. "That wasn't a request. It's an order. From now on, I pay for everything."

Was he trying to buy me? I trembled with rage. "What gives you the right?"

He walked over to me, cupping my chin again, his touch a little gentler this time. He looked directly into my eyes, his voice low and deliberate. "Last night gives me the right. The fact that you are now my woman gives me the right. Those are the rules. My rules."

Hayley POV:

I slapped his hand away, my chest heaving with fury. "I am not your woman, and I'm definitely not some whore you can buy!"

Blake's eyes went cold. The temperature in the room seemed to drop with his mood. He didn't speak, just watched me, his gaze that of a predator cornering its prey. There was nowhere for me to run.

Under his silent scrutiny, I held his gaze, chin held high. It was the last shred of dignity I had.

Then he let out a slow breath, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Feisty. I've always liked that about you."

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. I instinctively backed away until my back hit the cold wall. He lifted one hand and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Did you really think," he said, his voice low and rough, "that refusing my money would make me want you any less?"

I turned my face away, refusing to look at him. He didn't force my jaw. He waited, patient, until my gaze reluctantly returned to his.

His mouth crashed down on mine again. It wasn't wild like last night, but it was punishing, a clear declaration of his ownership. His hand cradled the back of my head, softening the pressure. I struggled, my fists beating against his solid chest, but he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

"Stop fighting me," he murmured. "I'm not your enemy."

Slowly, my resistance faded into weak, futile pushing. I felt the tremor in his hands, the unspoken plea behind his grip, and my fight lost its fire.

He scooped me up into his arms. I cried out in surprise as he strode back towards the bedroom and laid me down gently onto the messy king-sized bed, as if I were something fragile.

Blake loomed over me. He took my wrists gently and rested them above my head, without squeezing. "I told you," he said, his voice a low rasp, "I can't let you go."

This time, I was completely sober as I felt him enter me.

His movements were slow, almost reverent, and his eyes kept searching mine for any sign of pain.

Shame washed over me in a suffocating wave, but beneath it, something else stirred, something I refused to name.

"Hayley," he whispered, his voice thick with regret, "look at me. Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't answer.

Seconds that felt like hours-then slowly withdrew, gathering me into his arms and pulling the sheet over both of us. He held me, saying nothing, his chin resting on my head.

I don't know how much time passed before I fell into an exhausted, broken sleep.

When I woke up again, I was alone. Blake was gone.

On the nightstand, the black credit card sat like a silent, mocking trophy.

My phone was next to it. I grabbed it and turned it on.

The screen lit up with a flood of missed calls and messages, mostly from Kennedy and Bree.

I swiped away all of Kennedy's notifications and opened the messages from Bree.

The latest one had been sent half an hour ago: "Hayley, honey, where did you go? Everyone was so worried last night. I booked us a table at your favorite spot on Michigan Ave. Let's go shopping and have lunch?"

Her hypocrisy made my stomach turn. She was still playing the part, still treating me like an idiot.

I stared at the screen, a plan slowly crystallizing in my mind.

Shopping? Perfect. That was exactly what I needed. I needed an opportunity, a chance to get my hands on her phone.A chance to obtain more evidence that the two of them had betrayed me.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the hatred, and typed a reply with trembling fingers: "Okay. See you at 2 PM at our usual spot."

Her reply was almost instantaneous: "Great! See you there, sweetie!"

I looked at her message and a smile, the first in two days, spread across my face. It was cold, devoid of any warmth.

Bree, the show is just getting started.

I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and swollen, my lips slightly bruised, but my gaze was sharp and determined.

Revenge. The word filled me with a strength I didn't know I had.

I would make Kennedy and Bree pay the highest price for what they did.