Chapter Five
CADEN
Idon’t usually open my penthouse door myself.
That’s what the building staff is for—one of the many perks of being the man people whisper about in boardrooms and curse in corridors.
But when the concierge called up to say she was here, insisting she needed to see me—no appointment, no explanation—I felt something tug under my ribs.
Curiosity, maybe. Or an old, unwelcome echo of hope.
When I pull open the heavy door, winter air snakes around my ankles.
And she stands there—Kamiyah Remington—looking nothing like the polished, unreachable woman I remember from charity galas and small-town holiday events I attend only out of obligation.
She’s bundled in a deep green trench coat, raindrops weighing in her hair, cheeks flushed from the chilly dampness.
But her eyes—those velvety chestnut eyes—are what hit me hardest.
Fear.
Desperation.
And something she’s fighting hard to hide.
“I have a proposition for you,” she says without preamble.
Her voice is steady, but her hands are white-knuckled on the strap of her bag.
I arch a brow. “Most people call my office for that.”
“I couldn’t.” She swallows. “This needed to be private.”
There’s a ringing quiet behind her words, a tremor I don’t miss. I’ve never known Kamiyah to be a woman who trembles. Yet, this is the second time within the span of a week I’ve seen her unease.
I lean one shoulder against the door frame, letting my gaze deliberately drag over her. It’s a bad habit—and a worse instinct—but I want to see what she does with it. Does she blush? Flinch? Pretend she doesn’t feel the weight of my attention?
She inhales sharply, and her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
Good.
At least I’m not the only one who felt the spark between us in the Haven Crest cafeteria. A spark I’d ignored years ago. I shrug, not wanting to think about the past anymore.
“Private,” I repeat. “Then come in.”
If she’s surprised I agreed, she hides it. Mostly. Her eyes widen the smallest bit as she steps past me.
Her scent hits me first.
Warm. Clean. A soft floral layered with something darker—amber, maybe. It threads beneath my skin, igniting a place I thought had frozen permanently three years ago. I swallow hard, watching her walk in like she belongs here.
She doesn’t.
She shouldn’t.
She turns, taking it in. Her brows lift. “No decorations?” she asks softly.
The building is decorated, of course—gleaming garlands, enormous wreaths, a foyer drenched in gold and silver. But up here, the penthouse is stark. High glass. Steel. Dark wood. Not a single strand of lights or sprig of holly.
I almost laugh. “I don’t do Christmas.”
“Anymore…” she murmurs, as if she didn’t mean for the word to escape.
I stiffen. Because yes—everybody knows the story. The town made sure of that.
The loss.
The breakup.
The mess of it all.
Kamiyah’s eyes flit to mine, apologetic. “Sorry. That was out of line.”
“It was accurate.” I gesture toward the living room. “Sit, if you’re staying.”
She walks with careful steps, her arms folded tightly across her chest, hugging herself like she’s freezing despite the mid December heat in Florida. Or trying to hold herself together.
That look—too soft, too vulnerable, like the one I glimpsed at Haven Crest—tightens something deep inside me.
I follow her, but remain standing, keeping a deliberate distance. She perches on the edge of the couch, back straight, eyes darting to me and away again. The shadows under her eyes tell me she hasn’t slept.
She’s scared.
Whatever brought her here… it’s big.
I fold my arms. “You said you have a proposition.”
She nods but doesn’t speak. Instead, she presses her lips together, then glances around like the minimalist décor might judge her. Silence stretches, and the tension beneath it hums, thick as wire.
“Kamiyah.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Her breath shudders. “I wouldn’t be if I had any other choice. You have to believe that.”
“Believe?” I echo. “You’re asking the wrong man.
Your family’s open dislike for mine doesn’t inspire trust.” The one sided feud between our families has been brewing for two generations.
A squabble that Priscilla and Maxwell continue to fuel.
All because my grandfather fell in love and married her grandfather’s intended bride.
She winces. “Right. Of course.”
I drag a hand through my hair in irritation. With her, I never know what’s real and what’s carefully measured. She’s from the town’s most infamously old-money family—generations of Remington pride packaged into one elegant woman.
And yet… tonight she looks anything but proud.
“Start at the beginning,” I say.
Her throat works as she swallows. “My aunt gave me an ultimatum.”
That prickles my curiosity. “Ultimatum?”
She nods and untangles her fingers long enough to wipe at a stray drop of rain from her cheek.
“Aunt Priscilla… she’s decided that she needs more control over my life.” Her voice dips into bitter imitation. “‘A woman of our standing must secure her future.’”
I snort. “Sounds like her.” The woman once told me I wasn’t ‘appropriate marriage material’ because my family’s money was ‘too new.’ The irony burns.
Not to mention, she never misses an opportunity to remind me that whatever fortune my family inherited was stolen from them along with my grandfather’s bride.
“She thinks I’m… not doing all I can to secure our family legacy and your financial future.,” Kamiyah whispers.
“I gather she has a plan for you.”
Her silence is answer enough.
I sit slowly across from her, elbows on my knees. “What does she want?”
Kamiyah hesitates, then meets my gaze with a quiet, raw dread that hits me like a punch.
“She wants me engaged,” she says softly. “Immediately.”
She clears her throat and I realize there is more. “She also wants conservatorship of my future children.”
I blink, stunned for a heartbeat—then the pieces start falling together.
Her fear. Her desperation. Her being here.
I’m still not sure how I can help. If anything, my involvement will only piss her aunt off.
I tilt my head, studying Kamiyah. “You want me to announce a relationship?” I ask carefully. “Pretend we’ve been dating?”
“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “Not dating. She’d never buy that.”
“Then what exactly are you asking from me?”
Kamiyah’s breath stutters. She looks down at her hands, now clutched tightly in her lap. Her lashes tremble, and she inhales slowly—as if gathering the last fragments of courage she has left.
When she looks back up, her eyes shine with that same stormy determination she used to wear when we were younger—when she’d argue politics at holiday fundraisers and claim she never wanted to live under anyone’s expectations.
Her voice comes out as a whisper.
“I’m asking you to agree to a fake engagement.”
My chest goes still.
A fake engagement.
With me.
I stare at her, trying to decipher the angle. Because there has to be one. No one comes to me for something like this unless it benefits them. And she wouldn’t be the first to use my reputation as a shield.
Still—the admission is a surprising choice. Almost reckless.
“And what do I get out of this… arrangement?” I ask, keeping my tone ice-cold.
Her hands grip tighter.
At first, she doesn’t speak.
Then—
She lifts her chin, meets my eyes full-on, and drops a bomb I never expected.
“I’ll give you a baby.”
The room stops breathing.
Or maybe it’s me.
My pulse slams painfully against my ribs. My vision narrows, her words echoing like a shockwave hitting every nerve.
A baby.
A child.
My child.
My throat goes dry, and all the carefully rebuilt walls inside me tremble. I haven’t let myself think about children in three years. Not since the loss. Not since the headlines. Not since everyone in the damn town watched my life unravel and decided it gave them the right to dissect my pain.
But Kamiyah’s voice is soft, almost breaking. “I know what it would mean to you. The legacy. The chance you lost. Everyone knows. I hoped… I hope offering that would be enough to make this worth your while.”
Not worth my while.
No—far more dangerous than that.
It tempts a part of me that has never healed.
“Kamiyah,” I manage, though my voice is barely human, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” She straightens her spine, gathering a quiet, steady resolve.
“And I wouldn’t offer something like this unless I was certain.
You’re the only man I trust enough to give me that kind of security—someone powerful enough to stand up to my aunt, untouchable enough that she’ll believe it.
Someone who wants a family as much as…” She falters. “As much as you used to.”
The words slice deeper than she knows. But another part of me—dark, yearning, dangerously alive—leans forward.
“Why me?” I ask quietly. “Why not someone easier? Someone you grew up with? Someone your aunt would approve of?”
She gives a humorless laugh. “Because no one else scares her.” Her gaze softens on me, unexpectedly gentle. “You terrify her, actually.”
I blink. “Good to know.”
“And because,” she continues, choosing every word with care, “you’re the only man I’ve ever met who’d never use a child against me or treat this like leverage. You’d protect them. And you’d… love them.”
Her voice cracks on the last two words.
Something inside me fractures, clean and violent.
“Don’t say that,” I rasp. Because I can already feel the trap closing—not around me, but inside me. The hope. The craving. The sharp, almost painful want.
Her lips part, breath trembling. “It’s true.”
I stand abruptly, dragging a hand across my mouth as I walk to the windows. The moonlight glows over the ocean—cold, distant, indifferent. I brace a hand against the glass, exhaling hard.
A child.
My child.
I thought that dream had died with the tiny heartbeat we lost three Christmases ago. The one we buried under sunset. The one that ended the last relationship I’ll ever let myself trust.
Yet now, impossibly, Kamiyah stands in my living room offering me everything I swore I’d never want again—and everything I’ve secretly wanted more than anything.
And I don’t trust it.
I don’t trust her.
I turn slowly. She’s still on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, watching me with an expression that’s far too vulnerable. Far too real.
Her scent lingers in the air—warm and impossible to ignore. And suddenly I hate how much I want it to stay. To cling to the cushions. To haunt me long after she leaves.
“Kamiyah,” I say sharply, “do you understand what you’re asking?”
“Yes.” Her voice is soft but unwavering.
“You’re asking to tie yourself to me publicly. To become a target. To be scrutinized. To have your every move dissected.”
“Yes.”
“You’re asking me to father your child.” I step closer—slow, deliberate. “That isn’t a bargaining chip. That isn’t a casual promise.”
“I know.”
Her voice is barely a whisper, but steady.
I stop in front of her, so close I can feel heat radiating from her. Her breath catches, her pupils widening as she looks up at me. I can see the rise and fall of her chest, quick and shallow.
“So tell me,” I murmur, “why do I still get the feeling you’re not telling me the whole truth?”
She jerks slightly, eyes flashing panic.
“I—I am.”
“You’re not,” I say quietly, crouching to her level. “You’re hiding something. And if I’m going to agree to something like this, I need to know everything.”
Her throat bobs.
The electricity between us crackles so intensely it feels like a living thing. My mind tells me to back away, to regain control. But my body moves closer, drawn to her like gravity itself has shifted.
She whispers, “If I tell you the rest… you might say no.”
“Try me.”
For a single breath, neither of us moves. Then she exhales shakily, and her voice trembles as she begins—
“My aunt isn’t planning to just force me into an engagement.
By signing over conservatorship of my children she’ll have the means to control me forever.
She doesn’t just want to manage the family trust. She wants to take everything.
My inheritance. My home. My position on the company board. Everything that’s supposed to be mine.”
The blood in my veins heats with slow, steady anger.
“She can’t do that,” I growl.
“She can,” Kamiyah whispers, looking away. “She’s willing to use Anna to make me submit. If she proves Anna is in a vegetative state, there’s nothing stopping her from ending my sister’s life.”
“And an engagement fixes that?”
“No.” Kamiyah lifts her eyes to mine—haunted, vulnerable, painfully earnest. “But marriage, if you agree, and motherhood would.”
Motherhood.
And I realize her proposition isn’t driven by greed or manipulation.
It’s driven by fear.
By survival.
And by something deeper. Her reckless faith in me.
“Kamiyah,” I breathe, stunned.
Before I can say anything more, she leans in—so close our lips brush with the faintest ghost of contact. My breath stutters. Her scent wraps around me, warm and intoxicating.
She whispers, “I wouldn’t be here unless you were my only chance.”
My restraint snaps, just enough for my hand to rise, fingers brushing her jaw, tracing the line of her cheek. Her breath hitches, lips parting.
The air between us becomes molten.
Dangerous.
Want surges through me, raw and undeniable.
I should pull back.
I don’t.
“Tell me one thing,” I murmur, my thumb stroking the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes flutter.
“Anything.”
“If I say yes…” My voice drops, low and dark. “Are you prepared for what comes next? For the consequences? For the intimacy this will require?”
Her pulse leaps under her skin. She leans even closer, her lips nearly touching mine, her breath warm and trembling.
“I came here prepared for anything,” she whispers.
Her mouth tilts up, barely a breath away.
“Anything,” she repeats.
And I almost close the distance.
Almost claim her right there.
Almost give in to the heat, the desperation, the promise of something I’ve wanted for years.
Her breath catches and I shut my eyes. Because I know the decision I’m about to make… will change everything.