Page 21 of The Vows He Buried
Our arrival at the gala was not an entrance. It was an event. The moment our car pulled up, a ripple went through the throng ofpaparazzi. When Lucian Thorne stepped out, a collective gasp went through them. When he turned and offered his hand to me, emerging from the car in my crimson armor, the flashing of cameras became a blinding, continuous strobe of light.
We walked the red carpet in a bubble of stunned silence. We didn't stop. We didn't pose. We moved with a shared, regal purpose, a dark king and his fiery queen, and the crowd parted before us as if by magic.
Inside, the grand ballroom of the museum was a glittering spectacle of power and wealth. And at the center of it all, near the main stage, stood the Vales. Evelyn, in a severe, ice-blue gown, was holding court. Maddox stood beside her, his face a stoic, handsome mask. Sienna was there, of course, clinging to his other side, a parasite in couture.
They saw us at the same time.
Evelyn’s smile froze, her face tightening into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. Sienna’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her throat in a gesture of theatrical shock.
But it was Maddox’s reaction that I watched. The blood drained from his face. He stared at me, not as a husband looks at a wife, but as a soldier looks at a beautiful, terrifying new weapon pointed directly at his heart. Then his gaze shifted to the man at my side, to Lucian Thorne, and his shock curdled into a dark, possessive rage so potent I could feel it across the room. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Lucian’s hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a gesture that was both a support and a statement of claim. He leaned in, his voice a whisper against my ear. “Checkmate, I believe.”
We didn’t approach them. Lucian guided me through the room, a tour of our new kingdom. He introduced me not as Savannah Vale, but as Savannah Blake, the new co-CEO of BlakeCore. The titans of industry, the men who had dismissed me, now looked at me with a new, calculating respect. They saw me standing with Lucian Thorne, and they understood. I was not a woman to be trifled with.
For an hour, I played the part. I laughed, I networked, I was charming and brilliant and utterly untouchable. I could feel Maddox’s eyes on me the entire time, a burning, relentless gaze. He never moved from his spot, a dark, brooding statue in the center of the room.
The moment that truly broke him came unexpectedly. I was in a conversation with a French financier who was an old friend of my father’s, a man with a wicked sense of humor. He told a joke, a genuinely funny one, and I threw my head back and laughed. It was a real laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement that I hadn't realized I was still capable of making.
Across the room, I saw Maddox flinch as if he’d been shot. His mask of stoic control finally shattered. He saw me happy. He saw me laughing, a genuine, joyful sound, while standing next to another man. And in that moment, he knew, with a final, soul-crushing certainty, that he had not just lost my presence. He had lost my light. He had lost the very essence of the woman he had once sworn to protect and had instead chosen to break.
The rest of the evening was a blur. I was aware of the whispers, the stares, the shifting allegiances in the room. I was aware of Lucian at my side, a silent, powerful guardian. But mostly, I was aware of my own strength, a feeling so new and intoxicating it was like a drug.
As the gala began to wind down, Lucian guided me towards the exit. We were almost to the doors when he paused, looking back into the room.
“It’s strange,” he murmured, his voice a low, contemplative rumble. His gaze was fixed on Maddox, who was still standing alone, watching us, a portrait of impotent rage and regret.
“What’s strange?” I asked.
Lucian turned his dark, knowing eyes to me. A faint, cruel smile played on his lips.
“How the man who broke you,” he said softly, “now wants to pretend he still owns the pieces.”
Chapter 15: The Letter
The high from the Metamorphosis Gala was a potent, addictive drug. I returned to the penthouse long after midnight, the scent of Lucian’s subtle, expensive cologne still clinging to the air in the elevator. The Phoenix dress felt like a second skin, a suit of armor that had seen its first glorious victory. I had walked into the heart of my enemy’s territory, flanked by a dark king, and had redrawn the map of their world. I had seen the shock on their faces, felt the shift in the currents of power, and tasted the sweet, intoxicating nectar of my own strength.
But after the armor comes off, the warrior is left alone with their thoughts.
I stood in the center of my silent living room, the crimson dress pooled at my feet like a puddle of blood. The dagger-like diamond earrings Lucian had given me felt cold against my palm. The adrenaline began to recede, leaving a hollow, ringing silence in its wake. The battle was exhilarating, but the war was long, and my fortress in the sky felt vast and empty.
I had destroyed Maddox’s composure with a single, genuine laugh. I had watched the foundations of Evelyn’s social standing crack under the weight of my alliance with Lucian. It was a victory, but it was a victory born from pain. The ashes I was rising from were the ashes of my own life, my own heart. The Phoenix was a beautiful, powerful creature, but it was born from fire, and fire leaves scars.
I was heading for the shower, ready to wash away the night, when my private line, the one reserved for family, pierced thesilence. My heart seized. It was three in the morning. A call at this hour was never good news.
I snatched the phone from the charger. The screen glowed with Jasper’s name.
“Jas?” I answered, my voice tight with a sudden, sickening dread.
“Vannah.” His voice was a raw, broken thing I barely recognized. The calm, controlled brother who had faced down a boardroom of sharks was gone. This was the voice of a terrified son. “It’s Dad. You need to come. Now.”
“What happened?” I asked, my blood turning to ice.
“He had another one. A seizure. It was… bad. The doctors… they’re saying he’s in a deep coma. They don’t know if he’s going to wake up this time.” A sob caught in his throat, a sound so full of anguish it physically hurt to hear. “Please, Vannah. Just come.”
The line went dead.
The world tilted, the triumphant queen of the gala dissolving into a frightened daughter. The hollow ache in my chest was suddenly a gaping, cavernous wound. My father. My rock. The one constant, unwavering source of love and support in my life. The man who had armed me for this war without me even knowing it. I couldn’t lose him. Not now.
