Page 32 of The Vows He Buried
I was so focused on maintaining my own control, on being the rock for Jasper and my grieving family, that I didn’t notice the other silent watcher until the service was over and the crowd was beginning to disperse.
He was standing a good distance away, under the shelter of an ancient oak tree, a solitary figure in a long, black coat. Lucian Thorne.
He hadn't approached. He hadn't intruded on the family’s private moment. He had simply been there, a silent, respectful presence at the edge of my grief. He had kept his distance, but he had not left. He was a guardian, watching over me from afar.
As Jasper led our relatives back to the waiting cars, I found myself walking, as if in a trance, towards the oak tree. The wet grass soaked the hem of my dress.
Lucian watched me approach, his expression unreadable. He didn’t move until I was standing before him. The air between us was heavy with unspoken things.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, my voice quiet, hoarse.
“He was a great man,” Lucian replied, his voice a low, respectful rumble. “The world has too few of them.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft drumming of the rain on my umbrella.
“How are you?” he asked, his storm-gray eyes searching my face. It was a simple question, but from him, it felt profound. He wasn’t asking the CEO. He was asking the woman.
“I’m…” I started to give the polite, automatic answer.I’m fine.But the lie caught in my throat. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I let the mask slip. “I’m not okay,” I whispered. “But I will be.”
He nodded slowly, a look of deep understanding on his face. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat. He didn't pull out a handkerchief this time. He pulled out a single, folded sheet of paper. It was old, the creases worn.
“Your father gave this to me, the last time I saw him,” Lucian said, his voice quiet. He held it out to me. “It was a few weeks before his first stroke. We were discussing… the future. He made me promise that if anything were to happen to him, I would givethis to you, and only you. He said you would know what to do with it.”
My hand trembled as I took the paper from him. It was my father’s familiar, heavy stationery. My name was written on the front in his strong, confident handwriting.
I looked from the letter to Lucian’s face, a thousand questions in my eyes. Why you? Why did he trust you with his last words to me?
As if reading my mind, Lucian gave a small, sad smile. “Your father and I… we understood each other. We both knew the value of a well-placed ally.”
He took a step back, preparing to leave me with my father’s final message. “I’ll have my car take you home, whenever you’re ready.”
He turned and began to walk away, a dark, solitary figure melting into the gray, rainy afternoon. I was left standing alone by my father’s grave, the cold rain falling around me, clutching the last letter he would ever write, a final, mysterious gift from the past, delivered by the most enigmatic man I had ever met.
Chapter 22: The Blackmail
The days following my father’s funeral were a strange paradox. The world was muted, colors less vibrant, sounds muffled by the thick, heavy blanket of my grief. Yet, at the same time, my mind had never been sharper, my purpose never clearer. The letter Lucian had delivered, my father’s last words to me, had not been a comfort. It had been a key.
It contained no sentimental farewells. My father had said his goodbyes in the way he lived his life: through action. The letter was a single sheet of paper containing a complex alphanumeric code and a short, cryptic message written in his familiar, strong hand:They will come for it, Vannah. The heart of the company. Don’t let them have it. This is the only key. You’ll know what to do.
It was the master key to Project Chimera, my father’s revolutionary, top-secret project—an AI-driven predictive analytics engine that was poised to change the face of global finance. It was the heart of BlakeCore’s future, and he had entrusted its ultimate protection to me. The weight of that trust was immense, a sacred duty that anchored me in my sea of sorrow.
I was in my penthouse, the command center of my new life, reviewing the preliminary designs for Heirloom Reclaimed’s launch campaign when the package arrived. It was delivered not by a professional courier, but by a generic city bike messenger, a deliberate move to ensure anonymity. It was a plain, brown padded envelope with no return address, my name and address printed in a stark, impersonal block font.
I knew, with a chilling certainty, what it was. This was the enemy’s next move.
My hands were steady as I slit open the envelope. Inside were two items. The first was a single sheet of white paper, a typed, unsigned letter. The second was a black USB flash drive, identical to the one Lucian had given me, a mocking imitation.
I read the letter first. The words were blunt, brutal, and reeked of Sienna’s particular brand of desperate arrogance.
Savannah,
Your little games are over. Your pathetic attempt at a hostile takeover of your own life ends now. You think you’re so clever, so powerful. You’re nothing but a spoiled girl playing dress-up in a world you don’t understand.
On this drive is a video. A rather intimate video of your beloved Maddox and me, on the night he finally admitted to himself who he truly wanted. It’s quite touching, really. And quite damning.
Here are my terms. They are not negotiable.
1. You will immediately drop the fraudulent annulment proceedings and all associated lawsuits against the Vale family.2. You will sign over your entire stake in BlakeCore to a trust managed by Maddox.3. You will cease all operations of your little vanity fashion project, effective immediately.4. You will disappear. A quiet, dignified retreat from public life is advised.
