The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was... loaded. Tender. And for the first time since their vows, Bianca saw a part of Kayden that wasn't armored in pride or perfection.
She hadn't expected him to share so much. Not about his mother. Not about the emptiness tucked behind his cold stares and expensive cologne.
"I don't hate her," he'd said, his voice low and distant. "But I will never forgive her."
The words echoed in her chest even now, long after they'd returned to their suite. She stood by the balcony, a warm breeze teasing the hem of her satin nightdress, her thoughts tangled in everything he had revealed.
Behind her, Kayden moved through the room with quiet ease—loosening the buttons on his shirt, the muscles on his back flexing beneath golden skin. He didn't speak, and neither did she.
Not yet.
But something had shifted.
Bianca turned slightly, eyes skimming over him. How can someone look so hard and so broken at the same time? she wondered.
"Kayden?" she said finally, voice soft.
He looked up, shirt now tossed aside, brows raised in silent question.
"I... I know I can't fix what's been broken for years," she began, walking over to him slowly, "but I'm here. If you ever want to talk again."
He didn't reply immediately, just stared at her like he was trying to figure her out all over again. Then, he reached for her hand—not forcefully, not to claim, but to anchor himself.
"Thanks," he murmured. A whisper, but a heavy one.
Their eyes locked for a beat longer, until he pulled away, clearing his throat. "You should rest. Tomorrow's a full day."
"Of doing what?"
His lips tugged into a sly smirk. "You'll see."
As the sound of Kayden's breathing faded into the night, Bianca remained in bed, her mind still whirling with their conversation. She felt the empty space where his warmth had just been, the sheets cold against her skin. Why was he getting up now?
The sound of his footsteps, barely audible against the plush carpet, broke the stillness. Bianca turned her head slightly, watching as he quietly slipped out of the bed and moved toward the door. She knew he was trying to be discreet, but there was no mistaking it.
Who was he meeting?
She wanted to brush it off, tell herself it was nothing, but there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't let her. Her eyes followed him as he left the room, his silhouette disappearing through the door. She stared at the ceiling, the silence swallowing the space between them.
Minutes passed, and she tried to calm her racing thoughts. It's fine. He's probably just stepping out for a call or something. It's nothing.
Then she heard it—the faintest murmur of a voice, a conversation she couldn't quite make out, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the growing discomfort in her chest. The voices on the other side of the door became clearer, the words now unmistakable.
"I'll be there shortly."
A sick feeling twisted in her stomach. Who was that?
Bianca lay still, her heart pounding. Kayden was talking to someone. But who?
Her mind flashed to the memory of those calls earlier during dinner, when his phone had been buzzing non-stop, a constant reminder of his numerous connections. He's a billionaire. Of course, there's always someone on the other end of the line. Always.
She tried to dismiss the thoughts, telling herself it was just part of his life—part of his world. But the sound of his voice, so smooth and confident, made something twist inside her. That was the way he had spoken to her, wasn't it?
Bianca rolled over, barely registering the time on the clock—2:47 a.m.—before sinking back into the cool sheets, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her stomach.
But as she shut her eyes and tried to force herself to relax, the sounds started.
It was a soft rustle at first, like the shuffle of someone moving around in another room. Then a sudden, sharp gasp. Her breath caught. A low moan followed, the unmistakable sound of Kayden's voice—deep, hungry, low. Bianca's heart skipped a beat.
She didn't move, didn't flinch, as the sounds continued, louder now. The rhythmic sounds of someone in a hurry. Groaning. Sighs. Soft, desperate whispers.
Bianca's hand clenched into the sheets. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out—but the next sound hit her like a wave, crashing over her with force. The unmistakable, almost animalistic grunt of pleasure, followed by a feminine giggle—a sound too familiar, too intimate.
Her breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, her body tensed. The vivid image of Kayden with someone else, someone she wasn't, flooded her mind. She couldn't stop herself from picturing it: him, his body, his hands, all over another woman, making her feel the way he'd made her feel just hours ago.
Bianca's body burned with desire, with jealousy, with a mixture of something that felt almost like hunger. But just as quickly as the thought formed, it shattered.
She snapped out of it. Her mind was buzzing, spinning. No. Not like this. Not now.
Her feet were moving before she realized it, walking away from the bed, away from the growing sounds that were becoming unbearable. But she couldn't leave. The sounds didn't stop.
Was he…was he having sex right now? The thought made her stomach twist, made her breath hitch in her chest.
She walked over to the vanity and ran her fingers through her hair, her mind racing, unable to escape the relentless noises filling the space between them.
Her feet were suddenly cold, as if everything had numbed her, except the sickening thrum in her chest. She couldn't pretend it didn't hurt anymore. It did.
But Bianca was no stranger to pain, to betrayal. She'd lived through worse. And still—Kayden's voice…those sounds—they cut deeper than she'd ever expected.
She pressed her palm to the cool mirror, staring at her reflection. For a moment, she wished it was her. That it was her in that room with him, her body calling out to him like the woman she knew was on the other side.
But she snapped herself out of it. That wasn't who she was. He was married to her now. He should've respected that.
Her heart pounded, and yet, she just stood there, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Why did it matter so much?
She clenched her jaw, forced a breath out, and returned to the bed, pulling the sheets over her body once again. She faced the wall, the sounds still rippling through the room like waves crashing against the shore.
If he wanted to mess around, then fine.
The muffled sounds eventually faded into silence, and after what felt like an eternity, Bianca heard the soft click of the adjoining door. She didn't move. Her breathing was calm, steady—too steady. She kept her back to him, eyes wide open in the dark as she listened to his quiet steps across the room.
Kayden slipped back into bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. He moved slowly, as if trying not to wake her—ironic, considering the earlier symphony of moans and grunts he'd orchestrated just a wall away.
He released a deep sigh, then turned to his side. Within seconds, a loud snore rumbled from his chest, echoing through the room like an insult.
Bianca rolled her eyes. Men.
She turned to face the other side of the bed, her expression unreadable in the dark. Her heart still ached, her pride a little bruised, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing. He thought she was asleep—let him continue thinking that.
She pulled the covers over herself, forcing her thoughts into stillness.
With a slow, measured breath, she closed her eyes.
Sleep didn't come easy.
But eventually… it came.
THE NEXT DAY
Bianca awoke to the soft clinking of cutlery and the faint aroma of brewed coffee. The sun had risen, casting a warm glow over the private villa's interior. Kayden sat by the open balcony, shirtless, sipping from a steaming mug like he hadn't shattered her just a few hours ago.
She stretched slowly, keeping her face neutral as his gaze flicked briefly to her. He offered a small smile—casual, like nothing had happened.
"Morning," he said coolly, as if his night hadn't ended tangled between another woman's thighs.
Bianca returned the smile, tight-lipped. "Morning."
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, setting the cup down and walking over to the small table set with breakfast—flaky croissants, fresh fruit, eggs done to perfection. The staff had clearly come in while she slept.
Bianca's lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes lingered on the damp strands of his hair, the faint scent of another perfume—not hers—clinging to his skin like a curse. And just like that, the memories of the moans, the gasps, the unmistakable rhythm from the room next door slammed into her chest like a tidal wave.
She took a breath. "You really couldn't wait, could you?"
Kayden paused, then chuckled lightly as he moved toward the dresser. "Oh, you heard that?" he said, completely unfazed. "Didn't think you would. My bad."
My bad.
Bianca stood now, slowly, like something inside her refused to stay seated through this insult. Her silk nightgown clung to her curves, her eyes sharp enough to slice steel. "You think this is funny?" she asked, voice trembling—not with fear, but fury. "You brought another woman into the room next door—on our honeymoon, Kayden."
He shrugged one shoulder and pulled out the chair, sitting casually as if this was any normal morning. "It's my island. My rules," he said, grabbing a croissant. "Why would I take her anywhere else?"
The air in the room shifted.
Bianca stared at him like she didn't recognize the man in front of her. "So that's it, then? No shame? No respect?"
Kayden finally turned to face her fully, arms crossed lazily. There was a spark of amusement in his eyes, and something darker—something that knew exactly what he was doing to her.
"I see it," he said, stepping forward just enough to tower over her. "You're pissed. Jealous."
She flinched, blinking fast. "Jealous? You think I'm jealous of that girl?"
He smirked again. "The way you're looking at me right now? Yeah. You are."
Bianca's hands clenched at her sides. Her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling beneath the sheer material of her gown. "You think this is some game, Kayden?" she hissed. "
Kayden let out a low chuckle, smooth and infuriating. He leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper. "First of all, sweetheart, you don't get to question me about my personal affairs."
Bianca's throat tightened, her heart hammering with disbelief. Her skin felt hot, not just with anger, but with something rawer—something she couldn't name.
Then he stepped back, just enough to create distance again, lifting his chin with that signature arrogance.
"Or do you think," he added, his lips curling into a taunting smirk, "because we had that little chit-chat on the beach, we're now the perfect couple?"
He let out another low laugh, like the idea itself was absurd.
Bianca stood frozen. His words sliced cleaner than any blade. Her hands twitched at her sides, her mouth slightly parted. She wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or walk away—but the worst part?
It hurt.
More than it should have.
Kayden turned from her without another glance, heading back toward the breakfast table as if she were nothing more than a footnote in his morning.
Bianca blinked hard, forcing the sting in her chest back into its box. She refused to cry. Not for him.
She inhaled sharply, lifted her chin—and walked into the bathroom, regretting why she ever asked him anything in the first place.
And in the silence that followed, something inside her shifted. If he wanted war, she'd give it to him—beautifully.