Ch. 3 - First Crack

KAITLYN

A constant ringing fills my head, and the sun's rays act against my eyes. I try to steady myself as I get off the bed in search of something to turn it all off. My hands grab a pack of aspirin, removing two pieces from it. As the headache leaves, glimpses of last night come crashing in, and I notice that I'm still wearing my dress from last night, but it looks wrinkled now. Eight missed calls from Ari, and I remember that I left her last night at the club; she must've been worried sick about me. "Ari, I'm so sorry for not telling you when I was leaving." I say as she picks up the call, leaving no room for confrontation. "Yeah, right. I saw you getting in the car with Miles Howard. One night stand?" She asks in a quieter tone than her usual squeaky one, like she's saying a secret. "No! You know it's not like that, and before you say something like 'It's Miles, he could've changed you'. No, he couldn't, and he didn't." I reply with a smile in my tone, "I barely even remember what happened last night." "So, Chanel suit today? That screams 'I need to crush men under my heels.'" She says after I tell her about my meeting. "Exactly." "Including Miles Howard." I reply, the events of last night filling my head. "Oh my god, you like him." She squeals."Goodbye, Ari.". I snap at her and end the call. I already have enough going on at work, and I hope she understands I don't have time for back-and-forth. I get dressed in head-to-toe Chanel for a meeting I have with potential investors, before I leave, I take a good look at myself and straighten up. Doubt has never helped anyone.

I walk into the conference room with my head held high, lips red, black shades on, and my assistant three steps behind me. I scan the room and I see a lot of familiar faces and one other that stands out way too much. It's him. I take off my glasses to be sure I'm not seeing things, and it is him. Miles Howard. 

"What are you doing here?" I ask with my eyes glaring at him.

"Good morning to you too, Miss Rhodes." He replies with his lips curving upwards. It's the first time seen him smile. Ever. I guess taunting me brings him joy. 

"Great! You too know each other." My investor announces. I wouldn't say we know each other; we only just met yesterday, but let's leave it there.

The meeting becomes an unending chess match; it rattles me, my hands grip my pen tighter by the second, making my knuckles as white as snow. There's nothing I hate more than when a man thinks just because he's speaking, it means I should be silent. Welcome to the 21st century, Miles. To every question, I have an answer for it, and at some point, my answers got him thinking. "Miss Rhodes, these numbers feel unrealistic." The investor says. "Unrealistic is what men call it when a woman refuses to think small." I reply. "Or when someone refuses to think rationally." Miles adds. "Rationality never built empires. Risk did." I explain, locking eyes with him.

The meeting concludes, lights dim slightly as the projector hums to life. The investors shift in their seats - murmurs, coughs, glances at each other. My assistant drops her pen or tries to shut the laptop too late.

A video starts playing.

It's THE video, the same grainy clip Ari showed me two nights ago, the whispers, the scandal, which claims that my designs were stolen from some girl named Ruth, who I've never heard of by the way, until she made the video

As the video blacks out, a voice fills the conference room, "We're sorry, Miss Rhodes, but I don't think this is the direction we're trying to move to." At least he sounds somewhat disappointed. I turn in the direction of "Batman." and he doesn't have a smile on his face, but instead, he does not react; he just looks calculating, thinking about his next move as he looks at me.

MILES

Kaitlyn and I make eye contact for a few more seconds. She's not intimidated, but instead she leans into the fire, trying to find out what's going on in my head, and I add that to the growing list of things I admire about her. The entire room is waiting for her to shrink, to bite her lips, to fumble. She doesn't. She straightens her back, has her head held back up, and she gestures to her assistant to gather her files. Thanking the room for their time. 

As she intends to put on her glasses, I see something in her eyes, the fear that she so desperately hides away from the world. The sharp inhale she tries to hide as composure. She's not unbreakable. No one is. She just might take longer to break. I leave moments after, ignoring the chatter that fills the room, most of it gossip. All I think about is her. Kaitlyn. The woman the whole city is talking about. The woman who'd rather fall than admit that she needs saving. She does need saving, and when she does realize that, I'm going to be the only one who can give it to her.

When I'm back in my office, I call Liam and ask him for a background check on Kaitlyn. I'll need to know if she's a criminal before I get married to her. She's not going to agree at first, and I'm aware, but what's a game without the chase at first? She's going to be the one begging when I'm done with her.

Ch. 4 - A Study in Control 

MILES

I got an invitation to a brunch a few weeks ago. I never fancied events like this; they're always a meetup for gossip and networking, both of which I don't need. I arrive at Harrison Country Club, the green grass filled with authority figures, most holding a glass of champagne in their hands, flower arrangements everywhere you turn, tables lined with linen, and murmurs of wealth, every hand covered with a flashy Rolex and every neck clothed with a pearl. Time is one thing I've always cherished, and I don't think being here is something that favours me and my company, but the PR rep did say I had to be here; I might as well make myself comfortable. I get myself a cup of coffee and find a place for myself at an empty table, which later fills up with networkers. The people at the table keep dropping pitches for business ideas, none of which are worthy of me pursuing.

I assume they're still pitching ideas until I hear a name that shouldn't be coming out of their mouths, they mention her again. They're talking about the scandal, whispers go around the table, and smug looks on their faces. A loud voice makes a joke about betting against her company. I associate the face with the voice, and it's Rupert Sterling. "I'd give her 6months before the bank claims her little empire." The voice says. "Hell, I would even bet against her." My hands curl under the table – the image of my knuckles clashing into Rupert's jaw fills my head. This is the second time I've thought of violence in a public place, and they've both been about her. I lean back into my chair with a smile ghost on my lips. "Funny." I say quietly enough, making them all lean in, "You've always been good at betting against the wrong people.

The laughing dies. Rupert's hand stops stirring the champagne

I take a slow sip of coffee. They all watch me, waiting for more. I give them nothing. Power is in the silence.

The ride back to the city was quiet, but my mind wasn't. She was a headline and headlines make or mar business, and in her case, I'd say mar. I don't have an obligation to care... but I found I did. Her ruin wouldn't just amuse my rivals but would also empower them. And I've never been one to give my enemies more weapons to fight with. I walk into the office with confidence, which makes legs go weak and whispers fly around. I stride into the private elevator, which leads to my office. As I enter the room, motion sensor lights brighten the space. I take my seat on the chair behind the business table made for me. I pour myself a drink, then stretch to pick up the glass. Instead, my hands pick up the phone. "Send Crane up." I say to my assistant.

Grayham Crane arrived five minutes later, briefcase in hand, expression precise as always. He's been the family lawyer for far too long to know when I'm calling for standard paperwork or not.

"You said it was urgent." he says as he takes a seat across my desk. I ask him how he's been, and finally ask him to draft a contract.

"Contract? For what?" He questions

"Marriage." I say

"Marriage? To whom?" He asks 

"Yes, marriage. To Kaitlyn Rhodes." I explain with my lip curving upwards, "Marriage of convenience. Legal. Enforceable."

"That's... unconventional. Even for you." He says, curiosity painting his voice.

I take a sip of my drink, letting the silence last for longer. "Unconventional works when conventional has failed. I want protection. For her company. For mine. This arrangement will shield us both."

"You mean shield her?" he says, dragging the word 'her', "Because right now, no one is threatening Howard & Co. They're threatening Rhodes designs."

"Her company isn't yours to protect." he continues with brows furrowed slightly.

I lean into my seat, "Everything in this city is mine to protect or destroy. Which role I play depends on the terms." I explain

"And what terms do you want?" he says with his eyes on me, but pen on his notepad.

"Two years minimum. Financial coverage written in. Confidentiality airtight. An exit clause for appearances' sake, but nothing she or I can wiggle out of easily." I answer

Crane writes swiftly, coming to a pause as I conclude "Forgive me" he says hesitantly "but this doesn't sound like business anymore, it sounds... somewhat personal."

I walk out of the confinement of my desk to the windows, which have a great view of the city I live in. "Everything is business." I say evenly as I turn back to Mr. Crane, and he looks worried but also intrigued before he finally says, "You know she might refuse, right?" raising his brows in question. "She won't." I reply as I pour myself another drink and drown it down. Mr. Crane makes his way out of the room with nothing else to say. As he leaves, I look down at my desk and see a file named: Kaitlyn Rhodes; Background check, Liam must've dropped it on my desk, he wouldn't have dropped it here without purpose.

The first few pages are predictable: Rhodes Designs financials, a clean tax record, a few glossy unaware pictures of her, which I suppose were taken from charity events and gala appearances, her in high heels and dresses with her hair sometimes in a high pony and sometimes let to fall freely. Even in the pictures, she plays the role of an untouchable woman way too well. 

But tucked a few pages after are notes I don't expect: her mother, Elaine Rhodes. A widow. A woman described by this file as "accommodating", "traditional", "a homemaker", words that just explain that she spent most of her life bending to her late husband's rules. The picture is clear, while Elaine spent her life as 'a devoted and dependent wife', Kaitlyn has decided to go the other way. No wonder she moves like the world owes her nothing. She made herself that way. 

Personal vulnerabilities. Not weaknesses but truths that explain.

I close the file before I read too much. This isn't about sentiment, it's about strategy. I picture her, not in a boardroom or in the headlines, but in a house where she sees her mother fold herself small, and she refuses to inherit that submission.

My hands rest on the folder, heavy

She won't refuse. She can't afford to.

Ch. 5 - The Warning

KAITLYN 

The cafe was too cheery for the conversation Aria wanted to have.

 Morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the marble tables and polished chrome fixtures in a warm gold. The cafe filled with laughs from nearby conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the smell of cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee. Everyone else is having a good morning. And then there's me sitting across her best friend, wishing she hadn't agreed to meet up.

"You can't keep on doing this, Kait." 

Aria's voice cut through a few conversations, loud enough to turn heads. Well, she's never been the one to cover up her word with bubble wrap to give a soft landing. I pull up my cup half-filled with coffee to my lips, taking a small sip before placing it back on the table. "Doing what?"

"Pretending you can fix everything alone." she says, leaning forward with her eyes dark. "This scandal isn't just a rise-to-face scheme anymore; people are talking, taking it seriously. It's blood in the water, and the sharks can smell it. If you won't let someone help, it's going to eat Rhodes Designs up." She says sharply.

I force a smile at her. Reassuring. "I've always fixed things alone."

She returns the smile, "That's not strength, that's what we call stubbornness." I know she wants the best for me, but I just can't. Receiving help is exactly like asking for a favour, you're going to have to pay back tenfold. 

My phone buzzes against the table. I pick it up, and it's an email from my assistant. The word 'URGENT' is the subject. 

I flipped it face down. "It's not stubbornness if it works."

Tessa groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "You're impossible. I swear, one of these days-"

"One of these days what?" I asked lightly, tilting my head. "You'll be right? Don't hold your breath."

Her silence this time wasn't sharp, just sad. That was worse. I hated that look in her eye, the one that said she could see through the armor I wore, even when the rest of the world couldn't. But I let the silence linger, because I didn't know what else to say.

A few minutes later, I got my things, went back to the apartment to change into a more work-appropriate outfit. By noon, I was back at the Rhodes Designs office. The energy inside was off. It was quiet, the type of quiet that spoke volumes. The tension insde the building was hushed but present. My assistant, Olivia stood outside my glass-walled office waiting to be let in. Hanging my coat, I let out the words "Come in" to her, and she did. 

"Lancaster pulled out." She said, without giving me the chance to turn to her.

"What?" I asked,  the fear echoing through my voice.

"The Lancasters." her hands twisting in her tablet. "They pulled their investments." She clarified.

"Alright, you may go." I say, stopping the pain from tearing more into my heart. As she left, I turned the glass room opaque. Tears streaming down my face, the thoughts of everything I've built crashing down act as an initiator for more tears. My hands grip the edge of the table as a means to calm myself down. 

No one can see me like this. Not one person. 

By the setting of the sun, I was back in my apartment. The estate echoes sounds of the wind, the little chatters, and cars driving into their garage.

The gala was tonight, another charity event, I was a usual attender of things like this and I had to continue because the world didn't need another reason to think they broke me. I needed to be seen, more this night than any other.

I set a bottle of champagne, set it on my vanity table. Hand pick a wine glass from my dining area pouring myself a drink from the champagne bottle. I can't get through this night without being a little bit tipsy.

Foundation, peerfectly blended with my skin

Eyeshadow like amor, sharp winged liner, lashes thick and long enough to cast shadows.

A bold red lipstick for me to hide my fears behind.

Every brush stroke and dab of powder building walls was a layer of protection added.

On the dresser, a velvet box sits open, which houses a diamond necklace passed from my mother to me. I reach for it, then stop. The image of the necklace hung around her neck like a leash which my father used to control her. She wore it  to dinners, where she kept quiet and to parties, where my father spoke for her. A symbol of submission. It sounds as a warning in my ear. 

I close the box, and tuck it away someplce in my closet.

Instead, I reach for a statement piece, a sleek gold choker, that sets itself on my lower colarbone. It pairs well with my dress. A royal blue dress, long enough to cause a train, witha slit that stops at my mid thigh. It's cut to skim curves and commad attention without having to beg for it. My heels click against the hardwood, every sound it makes sharp and precise.  The image that stares back at me through the mirror, looks unrecognizable, the sleekness of the hair, the caramel which disguises as skin to the color of the dress which copiments my eyes. 

My black car pulls up to the front of the hotel hosting the gala, the red carpet welcomes me momments before I walk on it. The flashes of lights from multiple cameras fall on the car, the papparazi already waiting.

As the driver opens the door, the flashes hit my face. My name as a chorus sound with different voices.

"Kaitlyn, are the rumors true"

"Is Rhodes Design actually going under"

"How were you invited to this event"

The question hit me like bullets. My figers dig deep into my skin, but my face was serene, I'll never let them know that they get to me. A practiced smile falls from my lips, my chin upwards with my chest forward. The cameras don't stop. I walk on the carpet with confidence so high, my world seems normal. Every step deliberate. Controlled. 

They could whisper. The could talk behind my back. They could speculate.

But I'll still walk through those doors like the world belonged to me.