Page 16 of The Vows He Buried
Next, the camera. It was no bigger than a shirt button, a piece of high-tech spyware she had acquired at great expense. She had already scouted the perfect location. A heavy, leather-bound copy ofThe Meditations of Marcus Aureliussat on the mantelpiece. A book Maddox never read but kept for show. She slipped the tiny lens into the gilt lettering of the spine, its view perfectly encompassing the massive, king-sized bed and the seating area in front of the fireplace. She checked the feed on her phone—a crisp, clear, wide-angle shot. She switched it to infrared mode. It would capture everything, even in the dark. A tiny, pinprick of red light, invisible to a casual glance, was the only sign it was active.
Her stage was set. Now, for the performance.
She let her hair down, mussing it slightly. She smudged the kohl around her eyes, creating the illusion of recent tears. She dabbed a bit of water beneath her eyes for good measure. She arranged herself on the plush sofa, pulling her knees to her chest, the very picture of a heartbroken woman waiting for the man she loved. The trap was laid. The spider had only to wait for the fly.
Maddox stumbled into the room hours later, well after midnight. He was the ghost of the man who had left that morning. His tie was loosened, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his face pale and drawn. He reeked of whiskey and defeat. The annulment papers had been the talk of Wall Street all day.Vale Marriage a Fraud?The headlines were brutal. His kingdom was under siege, and the insurrection was being led by the woman he had cast aside.
He didn't seem to notice Sienna at first. He threw his jacket onto a chair and walked straight to the crystal decanter of whiskey on the bar cart, pouring a generous measure into a glass. The scent of the incense was now a subtle, pervasive presence in the room, weaving its tendrils into the air.
“Maddy?” Sienna’s voice was a soft, wounded whisper.
He started, turning to face her. His eyes were unfocused, clouded with exhaustion and alcohol. “Sienna. What are you still doing up?”
“I was worried about you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. She had practiced this tremor for an hour. “I heard the news. It’s all anyone is talking about. It’s… it’s horrible. What she’s doing to you.”
He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “What she’s doing to me?” He drained the whiskey in one swallow. “This is whatwedid to her, Sienna. My mother and I. We broke her. And now she’s just picking up the pieces and stabbing us with them.” It was the most honest thing she had ever heard him say.
He poured another drink, the hypnotic scent of the incense swirling around him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gestureof profound weariness. The drug was beginning its work, softening the edges of his anger, making him susceptible.
Sienna rose from the sofa and glided towards him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s not true. You loved her. You gave her everything.”
“I gave her a cage,” he said, his voice raw. He looked down at her, his gaze softening slightly in the dim light, clouded by the fog of the incense and the whiskey. “You’re the only one… the only one who seems to understand.”
This was her opening.
“Of course I understand,” she murmured, her fingers tracing a light pattern on his forearm. “I’ve always been here for you, Maddy. Always.”
She took the glass from his hand and set it aside. She led him to the sofa, sitting him down. She knelt on the floor before him, her expression one of pure adoration and sympathy. “Let me help you forget,” she whispered. “Just for tonight. Let me take care of you.”
He was adrift, lost in a sea of regret and self-loathing. She was a lifeline. The incense was a warm, comforting fog, dulling the sharp edges of his pain. He looked at her, really looked at her, but he wasn’t seeing Sienna. He was seeing an escape. An oblivion.
He didn’t resist when she leaned in and kissed him. His response was sluggish, clumsy, but he didn't pull away. Her lips were soft, her hands gentle as they moved to unbutton his shirt. She was patient, methodical, her every move calculated to soothe and seduce. She was a siren, luring a drowning sailor onto the rocks.
He was barely conscious of moving from the sofa to the bed. The world had dissolved into a haze of sensual impressions: the soft silk of her robe, the hypnotic scent of orchid and amber, the warmth of her body against his. He was a passenger in his own body, his will eroded by grief, alcohol, and the insidious smoke that filled the room.
The act itself was a quiet, desperate affair. There was no passion, no connection. It was the physical manifestation of his surrender. For Sienna, it was a coronation. As she moved above him, her eyes were open, fixed on the tiny, blinking red light on the mantelpiece. She was not making love to a man; she was recording a business transaction. She was securing her future, one sordid, captured frame at a time. This was her leverage. This was her key to the Vale kingdom.
The morning light was a brutal, unwelcome intrusion. Maddox awoke with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted of stale whiskey and regret. A heavy, unfamiliar weight was draped across his chest. He opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was a cascade of dark hair on the pillow beside him. The second was the crimson silk of a robe, pooled on the floor. The third was the unfamiliar, cloying scent of a woman’s perfume mingled with his own.
Sienna.
A wave of cold, sickening horror washed over him, so potent it was like a physical blow. He shot upright, the sheet falling away to reveal his own nakedness. Sienna stirred beside him, murmuring in her sleep, a small, satisfied smile on her face.
His memory of the night was a fractured, blurry mess. He remembered the whiskey. He remembered Sienna’s voice, hertouch. He remembered a sense of overwhelming weariness, of just… giving up. But the details were lost in a thick, impenetrable fog.
His gaze swept the room, desperately trying to piece together the events of the night. His eyes landed on the mantelpiece. On the leather-bound book.
And on the tiny, blinking red light.
It pulsed in the dim morning light. Red. On. Red. Off. Recording.
The fog in his mind evaporated, replaced by a sudden, horrifying clarity. The incense. The whiskey. Sienna’s sudden appearance. His own emotional collapse. It wasn’t a night of shared comfort. It was a setup. A trap. He had been played, drugged, and recorded.
He looked from the blinking red light to the sleeping woman beside him. She was not his ally. She was not his friend. She was just another predator in a house full of them. He had escaped his mother’s control only to fall into a trap set by his wife’s best friend.
He swung his legs out of bed, his body trembling with a mixture of rage and self-disgust. He had betrayed Savannah. Again. In the most squalid, pathetic way imaginable. He had given her enemies the perfect weapon to use against her, and against him.
