Page 14 of The Vows He Buried
The penthouse was quiet, the silence a vast, empty canvas on which I could paint my new life. I spent the morning turning my home into a war room. My dining table became a desk, covered with legal documents, financial statements, and my old sketchbooks, which I had Jasper deliver. The juxtaposition was jarring: the cold, hard facts of my legal battle next to the soft, passionate curves of my designs. It was a perfect representation of the woman I was becoming: part artist, part assassin.
I was sketching—a therapeutic, centering act—when my building’s concierge buzzed. “Ms. Blake, a courier is here from Blake Security with a package for you.”
“Send him up,” I said, my pulse quickening.
A few minutes later, a man in a sharp suit handed me a small, padded envelope. Inside was a single item: a black USB flashdrive with a simple label attached.Kitchen & Library. Last six months.
Deedee.
My breath hitched. This was more evidence. More ammunition. I walked to my laptop, my hands steady despite the tremor deep inside me. I plugged in the drive. A folder appeared on my screen. Inside were dozens of video files, each labeled with a date and time. Deedee, my quiet, unassuming avenging angel, had been running her own surveillance operation. She had seen the rot inside the Vale house long before I had, and she had started collecting proof.
My mouse hovered over the files. A part of me didn’t want to look. A part of me was tired of the ugliness, the endless confirmation of their depravity. But that part of me was weak. That part of me was the woman who had stayed for three years. I clicked on a file dated two months before my “miscarriage.” The label read:Kitchen. 7:15 AM.
The video flickered to life. It was a wide-angle shot from a camera hidden high in a corner of the massive Vale kitchen. The quality was surprisingly clear. I saw myself, a paler, thinner version of me, walk in, dressed in a silk robe. I looked tired, lost. I watched myself place a glass under the juicer as it churned out a vibrant green concoction of kale and apple. I took a sip, then turned to leave the room, leaving the half-full glass on the counter.
A moment after I disappeared from the frame, Sienna entered. She was dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, her hair in a perfect ponytail. She looked around, ensuring she was alone. Then, her movements quick and furtive, she walked to thecounter. She pulled a small, folded piece of paper from her pocket, unwrapping it to reveal a small pile of white powder. With a cold, methodical calmness, she tipped the powder into my juice glass. She picked up a spoon, stirred it briskly until the powder dissolved, and then wiped the spoon clean before placing it back in its holder. Her face was a mask of concentration. There was no malice in her expression, no glee. Just the quiet efficiency of a task being completed.
She glanced over her shoulder one last time before exiting the kitchen. A few minutes later, the video showed me re-entering, picking up the glass, and draining the rest of the juice before placing the glass in the sink.
I felt a wave of nausea so profound I had to grip the edge of the table. It wasn’t just the pills from Dr. Finch. It had been happening for months. A slow, systematic poisoning. They hadn’t just orchestrated a single event; they had waged a campaign. What had she been giving me? Something to make me tired? Confused? Something to ensure my body would be too weak to sustain a pregnancy? The possibilities were sickening.
My hand was shaking as I clicked on another file, this one from the library, dated just a few weeks ago, after I had left. The camera was hidden on a bookshelf. It showed Maddox and Evelyn in a heated argument.
“—you let her walk out!” Evelyn was hissing, her voice a venomous whip. “After everything we’ve done to keep her in line, you let her just walk out!”
“What would you have me do, Mother?” Maddox shot back, his voice raw with frustration. “Chain her to the bed? She looked atme… she looked at me like she didn’t even know who I was. Like she hated me.”
“Hate is an emotion we can manage,” Evelyn sneered. “It’s her indifference that’s dangerous. And this ridiculous stunt with the dress… she’s planning something. I can feel it.”
“She filed for divorce,” Maddox said, slumping into a chair. “Annulment. She’s claiming fraud.”
Evelyn laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Let her try. The prenup is ironclad.”
“Is it?” Maddox challenged, looking up at her. “Is it, Mother? Or did your arrogance leave a loophole somewhere? Did you get so used to winning that you forgot to check the details?”
Evelyn’s face hardened. “You will handle this, Maddox. You will bring your wife back in line. Remind her of her place. Use whatever means necessary. We have invested too much in this union to let it crumble because of a little tantrum.”
The video ended. I stared at the blank screen, my blood like ice in my veins.Use whatever means necessary.It was a threat. It was a confession. It was the final red line they had crossed in my mind.
I didn’t break down. I didn’t cry. The woman in that video, the tired, trusting wife, was a stranger to me now. My response was as cold and methodical as Sienna’s had been. I copied the video files to a secure, encrypted folder on my hard drive. I composed a new email to Mark Jennings and Harper Lin.
Subject: More Ammunition.
Body: Attached are video files from a source inside the Vale mansion. Note the file from the kitchen, date-stamped two months prior to the termination of my pregnancy. Note the conversation in the library. This is no longer just a civil matter. We are building a criminal case. For conspiracy, for assault, and for whatever else you can make stick. Burn them to the ground.
I hit send. A sense of grim satisfaction settled over me. The wheels were in motion.
I was so focused on my work that I didn’t hear the elevator at first. The soft chime startled me, pulling me from my vengeful reverie. My body tensed. It couldn’t be Maddox again. He wouldn’t dare. Could it be Evelyn? Had she decided to confront me herself?
I stood up, my heart a steady, heavy drum. I was ready for a fight. I walked to the foyer, my posture straight, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
The brushed steel doors slid open.
It was Lucian Thorne.
He stood there, a vision of dark, elegant power. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit and a black shirt, no tie. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a boardroom where he had devoured a lesser company for lunch. He wasn't surprised to see me, nor did he offer any explanation for his presence. He simply met my gaze with those unnerving, storm-gray eyes.
“How did you get up here?” I asked, my voice sharp with suspicion. The concierge would never have allowed it.
