Page 52

GRACE

I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating relentlessly against the nightstand. For a second, I think it’s my alarm and fumble to silence it, but when I blink at the screen, there are no fewer than forty notifications waiting for me.

Texts. Missed calls. Emails. Mentions.

A bad feeling settles in my gut like sour milk.

I sit up, Beau’s weight shifting at the foot of the bed as I pull the phone to my face. The first message is from Rianna.

“Article’s up. Numbers are already climbing. You’re trending, Grace. Wild. Story’s getting picked up all over.”

What? My stomach twists. I know my article was good, but it wasn’t clickbait. Unless it’s a dead news day, I know reader reactions, and nothing I wrote would have driven this kind of response.

I tap the link, dread beginning to unfurl in my stomach. I didn’t sign this off.

My name is there. My byline. My photo. And next to it, Rianna’s .

But the words underneath? They aren’t mine.

The title hits me like a slap:

“The Rancher’s Bride: Eleven Men, One Bed, and a Whole Lot of Sexy Secrets.”

What follows is a grotesque distortion of everything I wrote.

My carefully balanced observations about polyamory and non-traditional family structures have been twisted into cheap spectacle.

The deeply personal stories shared with me—Corbin’s grief, Dylan’s kids, what they want from the sex, what we did—is all there, exaggerated and exploited for clicks.

They named Nora and described her alcoholism, dragged up Levi and his experience with the older woman, and quoted me out of context using lines I said in passing, in private, via texts or phone calls, or in my private notes.

Worst of all, she’s planted me at the center of the story.

It’s built around things I never, ever intended for print.

I start to tremble, pressing one hand to my mouth as I scroll, bile rising. This isn’t only a misstep. This is betrayal. It’s not only my name on the line, it’s theirs.

It’s their lives.

Beau whines and nudges my hand, sensing something’s wrong.

I push the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor is cold beneath my feet, but I barely feel it. My pulse is a roar in my ears.

How has this happened?

I pace the gravel outside the barn with my phone clutched in one shaking hand. The article is still open on the screen, like a wound that won’t close. Every word cuts deeper. I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.

Rianna picks up on the second ring, far too chipper for someone who has detonated a nuclear bomb under my life.

“Grace! Did you see it?”

“You published it,” I say. My voice comes out flat. Stunned. “You published that garbage under my name. ”

After what happened to Allie, I should have guarded against the risk of the same kind of exposure, but I’m the boss. No one should have been able to undermine me like this. I have the final sign-off. At least, I used to.

Rianna sighs, like I’m being difficult. “Technically, we both did. It was still your research. I gave it the edge it needed.”

“The edge it needed?” My throat tightens. “You turned their lives into a circus. You named Nora. You made it sound like they’re some sex cult hiding behind hay bales.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. It isn’t that bad. People eat this stuff up, Grace. You, of all people, should know that. You’ve edited enough pieces to understand the game.”

“This wasn’t your piece,” I spit. “This was mine, and I trusted you.”

There’s a pause. “Look, I know you’re close to them. That’s why the article was off. You weren’t being objective. You were protecting them at the expense of the content and what it can do for the magazine. This isn’t like you, Grace.”

I stare at the horizon, the cattle grazing peacefully in the distance, completely unaware that the lives of their owners have been sold for clicks.

“That was the whole point, Rianna. To protect them. To show what they were building with some goddamn perspective and respect. You’ve hung us all out to dry. ”

“Well, Josh disagreed. He thought it was too soft. Said it read more like a love letter than journalism. He asked me to tighten it up, so I did, and it worked. Views are through the roof.”

Josh? They’re on nickname terms now? I let the silence stretch, swallowing back the rising nausea. “So that’s it? You took everything they trusted me with and turned it into a headline factory.”

“I made it readable and exciting... And come on, Grace. Let’s not pretend you didn’t get something out of this, too.

You were living the dream out there. All those rugged men and that wholesome Americana backdrop?

People love that. You’ve had the vacation.

Now it’s time to come back to the real world. ”

I press my free hand to my forehead, heart pounding. “You think I wrote this to live out a fantasy?”

“Didn’t you?”

Her words land like a slap. My body goes still.

A door creaks behind me, and someone moves around inside the ranch house. The men are going to read this, if they haven’t already. What am I going to do?

“You used me,” I whisper. “You used my absence to undermine me in front of Joshua so that you could shine. You’re after my job.”

“No,” she says too quickly. “I saved your piece.”

I hang up without another word.

My hands tremble as I lower the phone. All those conversations.

The quiet trust built over dinners, children’s bedtime stories, and nights spent tangled in sheets and hope.

I wrote everything down. Every confession, fear, and moment they gave me because it was beautiful, and I never wanted to forget.

I thought it was safe to create memories.

Instead, I handed over secrets like ammunition.

And now? They’ll never forgive me, and honestly, I don’t think they should.

The screen door slams behind me as I stumble out onto the porch, still clutching my phone like it might bite me. The early morning sun is cresting over the ridge, and it should be beautiful—it always is—but all I can focus on is the wreckage.

Footsteps. Heavy ones. Purposeful.

Conway.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone pulls the air from around me. His jaw is tight in the same way it was when I arrived, before he softened, and his eyes spear me with their darkness layered with betrayal I won’t recover from.

“You lied,” he says, voice low and razor-sharp.

“No—I didn’t. Conway, I swear to you, I didn’t write that—”

“They’re our secrets, Grace. These are our lives laid out for the world to digest,” he cuts in, deadly calm. “You told them our business. About Corbin and Sadie. About Nora. About Levi.”

I flinch. “Not like that. I never thought they’d twist it like that. I didn’t even send my notes. They went into my private cloud files and rewrote the final draft. They changed it—”

“And they published it under your name.”

Silence.

He doesn’t shout. His voice gets quieter. More disappointed. “You said you wouldn’t do this to us. You said we could trust you. And then you made us believe you cared. You made the kids believe it. You made us hope and want—”

My throat burns. “I do care. I love—”

He shakes his head, eyes flaring. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Not now.”

I step forward, reaching for him like an apology could fix this. Like if I can show him how much my heart is breaking right now, and how guilty I feel, he’ll believe I never meant for any of this to happen.

But he steps back. “You’re worse than the other women who didn’t stay,” he says. “At least they were honest. You played house. Let every one of us believe that what we felt was real. That you might be worth hoping for and committing to.”

The breath punches from my chest.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” I whisper.

“But you have.”

I blink hard against the tears. “What do you want me to do?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pack your things. Be gone before the others get back.”

That hurts. It hurts worse than anything. How can I leave without saying goodbye ?

I turn without another word and make my way upstairs, through the homely kitchen and past the stairway of family photos that have brought me so much joy to study, each step heavier than the last. I pull my suitcase out, moving in a daze.

My pink cowboy boots are by the bed. I perch on the edge and stare at them, breathing hard. My first gift. Their first promise.

I press my lips together so the sobs that wrack my body don’t make a sound.

I can’t take my boots with me. Not after this.

I pack in a daze, brittle as old parchment. When I wheel my bag downstairs, I leave the boots and my hat neatly by the door.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. I feel every creak in the floorboards like a stab through my heart.

Beau watches me as I pass. He wags his tail and slowly follows me, and his big, soulful eyes seem to plead with me to stay. I can’t bring myself to say goodbye to him, so I let the door close before he can follow me outside.

The dust whips around my jean-clad legs as I heft my suitcase into the trunk of the rental car I haven’t touched since I arrived.

I glance back at the house, catching sight of Conway leaning against the doorjamb, his hat low so his face is shadowed, with Beau at his side.

I look away quickly, shame and hurt like barbs in my chest.

I start the car in a daze and pull away, gravel crunching under the tires. My chest feels like it’s caving in as tears burn hot trails down my cheeks, and then, before the bend in the road that hides the ranch from view, I glance in the rearview mirror.

The men are returning.

Dylan, Corbin, and Harrison. Jaxon walking beside Levi, Lennon at the back, McCartney laughing at something Cody says, and Nash trailing quietly behind. Brody’s missing.

They’re dust-streaked and heading home after early chores.

Home .

It felt like that. It did. I don’t know how it happened, but this place, this family, got under my skin and into my heart and made me believe that I could belong.

God, what have I done?

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming. I keep driving because I have no other choice. These eleven men were looking for a loyal woman to fill a gap in their lives, and all I’ve done is prove to them I’m not her.