Mrs Bradford Novels & Stories

“Welcome to the Fieldston Women’s Circle, Kimberly. I hope you do enjoy yourself. And I certainly hope today is the first of many visits for you.” She smiled again before another member gently pulled her away. Vivienne leaned closer. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? I told you, we don’t bite here.” I laughed. The next introduction came almost immediately as we proceeded in—a petite brunette named Eleanor Whitmore, whose husband, I was told by Vivienne, owned one of the city’s largest architectural firms. She greeted me with genuine warmth. Then afterwards came Patricia Monroe, an accomplished plastic surgeon with an easy smile and infectious laugh.

“A reporter from Vanguard has been working with Dean the whole time. Way before Mrs Weston got arrested.” I looked up from the tablet. “What?” “Bradley Peterson,” Reed said, handing me his tablet. “Veteran reporter at Vanguard Media and one of their most recognizable faces. He's been with the company for nearly a decade.” I raised a brow. “And?” “The problem is, this isn't the first time the reporter crossed the line. He publicly harassed Mrs. Weston when she was brought to the precinct.” I gasped. “Are you kidding me right now?” He scrolled through and played the recording.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to be steady. “You're going to have to forget…Mr King,” I said firmly. I slowly crossed my arms over my chest. That gesture felt like armour. Bradford didn't flinch. He didn't move. I lifted my chin slightly. “Whether you want to or not,” I added, my tone sharper now. “Because…you might not know this, but I'm a married woman.” And for the first time since we had met today, his jaw flexed slightly, and something flickered in his eyes, surprise maybe. But it was just for a second.