Page 4 of The Vows He Buried
I offered her a small, empty smile. “I decided I wanted to wear something of my own tonight.”
She took a step closer, her presence immense, her gardenia perfume a suffocating cloud. She was searching for the fear in my eyes, the weakness she had always been ableto exploit. She found none. She circled me like a shark, her eyes cataloging every detail—the defiant dress, the wilder hair, the blood-red lips. It was a declaration of war, and she knew it.
Finding no purchase, she fell back on her most reliable weapon: scorn. She gave a short, dismissive laugh, a sound like shattering glass.
“Well,” she said, stopping in front of me, her final inspection complete. She tilted her head, a cruel mockery of consideration on her face. “You look… acceptable.” She paused, letting the insult land. “Not quite elegant. But tolerable.”
It was the kind of remark that had once sent me spiraling for days. Tonight, it glanced off my armor without leaving a scratch.
She turned to leave, expecting me to follow like a chastised child. I remained where I was. She glanced back over her shoulder, an order in her eyes. “The guests are waiting for the happy couple. Your husband is downstairs.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she swept out of the room, leaving the door open in her wake. The sounds of the party, the music and the laughter, rushed in to fill the silence.
I walked to the threshold, stopping just out of sight of the grand staircase. I could hear the master of ceremonies beginning his introductions. My heart was a steady, powerful drum against my ribs. This wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I was stepping onto the stage for my final act as Mrs. Vale, but this time, I was the one writing the script.
They thought they knew me. They thought they had created me, controlled me, broken me. They were about to find out how wrong they were. I took one last, deep breath, the air tasting of freedom.
Let them see the wife they buried.
Chapter 4: The Ghost Of A Wife
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, a ghost in emerald green, poised between the shadows of the hallway and the brilliant, unforgiving light of the ballroom. The master of ceremonies, a man with a booming voice and a plastic smile, was just reaching the crescendo of his introduction.
“…and now, the couple of the hour, celebrating three years of a perfect union, please welcome the man who leads Vale Global into the future, and his beautiful wife… Mr. and Mrs. Maddox Vale!”
A wave of polite, enthusiastic applause rippled through the crowd. All heads turned towards the staircase, expecting the pale, smiling doll they were used to. Expecting the woman in the champagne dress.
They got me instead.
I took my first step down. The velvet of my dress whispered against the marble, the only sound in a world that had suddenly gone silent. The orchestra faltered, a violin screeching into a discordant note before dying out completely. The applause stuttered and ceased. A hundred conversations evaporated into thin air. It was as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. A thousand pairs of eyes were on me, a collective, silent gasp.
I drank in their shock. It was a heady, intoxicating wine. I let my gaze sweep across the sea of frozen faces, the jewels on their necks and wrists glittering like trapped stars. They looked at me as if they’d never seen me before. In a way, they hadn’t. TheSavannah Vale they knew was a whisper, a shadow. This woman, descending the staircase as if she owned it, was a statement.
My eyes found the three people who mattered.
Evelyn stood near the base of the stairs, her champagne flute frozen halfway to her lips. The mask of the gracious hostess had shattered, revealing the raw fury beneath. Her face was a thundercloud, her eyes promising retribution. I had defied her. I had ruined her perfect tableau.
Then there was Sienna. She stood beside Maddox, her hand still hovering near where his had been. Her jaw was slack, her perfectly painted smile gone. Confusion warred with a flash of pure, venomous jealousy in her eyes. She saw the dress, the power, the attention, and she knew, instinctively, that it was a challenge. She had replaced me in every way but name, and here I was, reclaiming the spotlight she so desperately craved.
And finally, Maddox. He stood rooted to the spot, his back ramrod straight. The easy, confident smile he wore for his public had vanished. He stared at me, his gray eyes wide with a complex mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't just anger. It was… fascination. As if he was seeing me for the first time—not as an asset, not as his wife, but as a woman. A dangerous, unpredictable woman. The man who had looked through me for three years was finally, truly, seeing me.
I continued my descent, my steps unhurried, my posture regal. I did not look at my husband. I did not acknowledge his existence. My gaze swept past him, past the glittering crowd, searching. I found them standing near a towering floral arrangement—my family. My father, Richard Blake, looking tired but resolute inhis tuxedo, and my brother, Jasper, his hand resting protectively on our father’s arm.
Jasper’s eyes met mine across the room. I saw the understanding dawn on his face, the confirmation of the signal I had sent. A subtle, almost imperceptible nod was his only reply.Message received. I’m here.
Ignoring the path that would have led me to Maddox’s side, I glided across the marble floor directly towards them. A low murmur rippled through the crowd at this blatant breach of protocol. The wife was supposed to go to her husband.
“Dad. Jasper,” I said, my voice clear and calm.
“Vannah,” my father breathed, his eyes searching my face, full of a thousand questions he wouldn't ask here. He took my hand, his grip warm and firm. “You look… stunning.” It was what he didn't say that I heard:You look like yourself again.
I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for coming, Dad,” I whispered, a silent farewell.
Jasper pulled me into a brief, hard hug. “Are you okay?” he murmured into my hair, his voice low and urgent.
“I will be,” I whispered back. It was a promise.
