Page 10 of The Vows He Buried

The morning after the storm was unnaturally bright, the city scrubbed clean and gleaming under a pale autumn sun.

I stood in the center of my living room, staring at the small, pathetic heap of Maddox’s discarded clothes.

The expensive fabric of his suit jacket was wrinkled and stiff, the white shirt a sad, crumpled mess.

They were an intimate violation, a piece of him left behind in my sanctuary.

With the detached efficiency of a crime scene cleaner, I used a pair of kitchen tongs to pick up the clothes, holding them away from my body as if they were contaminated. I dropped them into a black trash bag, tied it shut, and left it by the service elevator door. Out of sight. Out of my life.

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 flash drive with a simple label attached. Kitchen 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 at me… 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.

A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “I own the building, Ms. Blake,” he said simply.

Of course he did. Zion Suites. Lucian Thorne of the Zion Group. My fortress was his property. The realization was both unnerving and, strangely, intriguing. He had a key to my cage that I didn’t even know existed.

He stepped out of the elevator, his presence filling the space, making my sprawling penthouse feel suddenly intimate. He looked around, his gaze taking in the legal papers on my dining table, the sketchbooks, the laptop still glowing with my email.

“Declaring war, I see,” he observed, his voice a low, smooth murmur.

“Just reclaiming what’s mine,” I countered, not giving an inch.

“Is that what you call it?” he asked, taking a step closer.

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“It smells more like revenge. A very potent, very expensive revenge.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching my face.

“It’s a look I’m familiar with. It suits you. ”

His perception was a physical blow. Maddox had seen my pain as an inconvenience. Lucian Thorne saw my rage as an accessory. He wasn’t afraid of it. He was drawn to it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice clipped.

“Don’t you?” he said, that ghost of a smile returning. “You have the eyes of a woman who has decided that if she can’t have justice, she’ll settle for ashes. I find that… compelling.”

We stood in silence for a long moment, a silent battle of wills.

He was a predator, I realized, but not like Maddox, who bludgeoned his way through the world.

Lucian was a panther, all silent, coiled power and lethal grace.

He saw the world as a hunt, and right now, he was studying me, trying to decide if I was prey or a fellow hunter.

“What do you want, Mr. Thorne?” I asked finally, tired of the game.

“Lucian,” he corrected softly. “And I want nothing. I’m merely a… neighbor. I happened to be in the building and was curious to see if the storm had passed.” His eyes flickered with a dark amusement. “It appears it has not.”

He knew about Maddox’s visit. Of course he did. He probably had the security footage from the hallway. The thought of him watching that raw, pathetic encounter made my cheeks burn.

“My personal life is none of your concern,” I said stiffly.

“On the contrary,” he replied smoothly. “When it intersects with my property and involves one of the most powerful families in New York, it becomes very much my concern. And my entertainment.”

His honesty was brutal, and yet, I found I preferred it to the Vales’ suffocating lies. With Lucian, at least I knew where I stood: on a chessboard he likely owned.

He took another step, closing the remaining distance between us. He reached out, not to touch me, but to pick up one of my sketches from the table. It was a design for a dress, a column of black silk with silver thread embroidered along the seams, like lightning on a dark sky.

“This is good,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Fierce. Uncompromising.” He placed it back on the table carefully. “You should not have let them bury this part of you. It’s your greatest weapon.”

He turned to leave, walking back towards the elevator. He had come and gone like a phantom, leaving me more unsettled and intrigued than ever. He paused at the threshold, turning back to face me.

“A piece of unsolicited advice, Ms. Blake,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, conspiratorial tone. “If you plan to bury them… don’t forget to leave one alive.”

He held my gaze for a beat, letting the chilling words sink in.

“To remember why.”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the sudden, deafening silence, the echo of his dark prophecy hanging in the air.