DYNASTY - kayce dutton

chapter ten

THE HUM of the helicopter blades drummed in Reagan's ears, a steady rhythm that usually calmed her, but not today. Her mind was still tangled with everything that had gone down at the police station. The moment Kayce's words echoed in her head—I just wanna see my family—she felt an ache she wasn't ready to face. She had stood by him, defended him, swallowed her pride as Jamie said. And now, fifteen minutes later, she found herself staring out the window, watching the barren land of the rez blur beneath them, the ranch growing closer with every passing minute.

Something wasn't right.

Reagan frowned, her instincts sharpening. They should've been approaching her place by now, but the helicopter wasn't veering that direction. Instead, it cut across the hills away from her home.

She glanced at Jamie, seated in front of her, his face unreadable. "What the hell, Jamie?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the roar of the engine.

He didn't look at her at first, keeping his eyes forward. "My father wants a word with you."

Reagan scoffed, leaning back in her seat with a huff. "Of course he does." She eyed the pilot, Vigo, realizing quickly there was no point in arguing. Vigo wasn't taking orders from her, there was no way out of this little detour.

She crossed her arms, biting back the string of curses building in her chest. John Dutton always had an angle, always had a way of pulling people into his orbit, whether they liked it or not. She could feel the familiar weight of control settling over her, the kind of manipulation that made her skin crawl. Reagan had learned long ago that dealing with John wasn't like dealing with anyone else. He played the long game. She knew that much. What she didn't know was what he wanted from her this time—and why.

Jamie sat quietly, his profile stoic in the dim light of the cockpit. Reagan studied him for a second, wondering how much he knew, how much he was holding back. Her jaw clenched, the feeling of being trapped creeping in. She hated it—hated being pulled into someone else's plan, hated how easily John and Jamie could make decisions for her.

"You could've given me a heads-up," she muttered, shifting in her seat.

Jamie finally looked at her, his expression flat. "Would it have made a difference?"

Reagan glared at him. "It might've."

They fell into silence again, the tension between them thick. She wasn't naïve—she knew this wasn't just a casual conversation John wanted. Whatever he had planned, it wasn't going to be simple. He rarely did anything without expecting something in return, and Reagan had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

The landscape below grew more desolate, the horizon stretching out in endless plains. Reagan's hands tightened into fists as they flew deeper into the Yellowstone, knowing there was no turning back now.

As soon as the helicopter touched down on the ranch, Reagan's breath caught in her throat. The familiar landscape should have brought some comfort, but it was the sight in the distance that made her heart clench. A tall, slender woman stood near the main house, her posture calm, almost serene. Next to her was Tate. Reagan's stomach knotted as the realization hit—this was Monica, the woman she had heard so much about but never met.

Monica's presence stirred something deep within Reagan, a mix of unease and the ache of old wounds. She had convinced herself time and again that it didn't bother her—that the night Kayce had belonged to her was a distant memory, a mistake long buried. But as she looked at Monica, who seemed so sure in her place beside the Dutton family, it was impossible to deny the pang of jealousy. How much did she know? Reagan had often wondered. Did Monica have any idea that Kayce's heart had, for one drunken night, strayed to someone else?