Page 4 of The Vows He Buried

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. The Savannah 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 in his 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.

I pulled away just as Maddox arrived at my side, his presence a sudden, oppressive weight. The crowd exhaled, assuming this small family detour was over, that order was about to be restored.

“Savannah,” Maddox said, his voice a low growl meant only for me. “What is the meaning of this?” His hand landed on the small of my back, fingers digging into the velvet. It wasn't an embrace; it was a vise. A public display of ownership to counteract my public display of independence.

Before I could answer, Sienna was there, her composure restored, her smile back in place, brighter and more brittle than before.

“There you are, you two!” she chirped, her voice painfully loud.

“We were all waiting! You look absolutely breathtaking, Vannah. That color! So bold!” Her eyes raked over me, a silent, vicious critique.

“Everyone, isn't she a vision? And now, if the happy couple would join us on the stage, I believe there’s a cake that needs cutting!”

She gestured towards a monstrosity of a cake, a seven-tiered confection that probably cost more than a car. The crowd applauded, eager for the drama to resolve into the familiar script of an anniversary party.

Maddox’s grip tightened, steering me towards the small, elevated stage. I didn't resist. I allowed him to guide me, my body pliant but my spirit unyielding. We stood before the cake, an arsenal of cameras flashing, capturing the image of the “perfect couple.”

Sienna took a microphone, her crimson dress a slash of color against the white stage.

“I just want to say a few words,” she began, her voice dripping with manufactured emotion.

“I have had the privilege of watching these two incredible people build a life together. To see the way Maddox looks at Savannah…” She paused, casting a look at Maddox that was far too intimate.

“…is to understand what true devotion is. And Savannah, my dearest friend, you have been the most gracious, supportive, and loving wife any man could ask for. You complete him.”

The hypocrisy was so thick I could have choked on it. I stood still, my face a mask of serene neutrality, and let the lies wash over me.

“So let’s all raise a glass,” she concluded, “to three years of perfection, and to a lifetime more. To Maddox and Savannah!”

The crowd cheered. Maddox, his jaw tight, played his part. He picked up a champagne flute, his eyes locked on me, a silent, furious command in their depths. Smile. Play along.

I did not smile.

As the applause died down, he leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “You will regret this,” he breathed, the words a venomous promise.

Then, before I could react, he turned my face towards his and kissed me.

It wasn't a gentle, anniversary kiss. It was a brutal, public claiming.

A kiss meant to punish, to dominate, to remind me, and everyone watching, who I belonged to.

His mouth was hard, demanding, his hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back.

The crowd roared its approval. The cameras flashed incessantly.

I did not resist. I did not struggle. I simply stood there, my body a statue of marble, my lips cold and unresponsive against his. I let him kiss me, let him pour all his fury and confusion into the act. I gave him nothing back. It was like kissing a beautiful corpse.

He must have felt it. The absolute, chilling lack of response. He pulled back, his breathing ragged, his gray eyes searching my face for any flicker of emotion, any sign of the woman he thought he knew.

He found none.

In the small space between us, with the roar of the crowd still echoing and the flashbulbs still popping, I leaned forward, my lips brushing his ear. I uttered two simple words, my voice a whisper of pure, cold poison.

“Sienna is watching.”

I felt him flinch as if I had physically struck him.

The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale beneath his tan.

The fury in his eyes was replaced by a sudden, stark horror.

He looked past me, towards the crowd, where his mistress stood watching, her fake smile frozen on her face.

He looked back at me, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out.

He was speechless. Utterly, completely stunned.

That was my cue.

With a grace I didn't know I possessed, I smoothly detached myself from his grasp. I gave a small, polite nod to the stunned, silent audience, a queen dismissing her court. Then, I turned my back on my husband, on the ridiculous seven-tiered cake, on the entire charade.

I walked off the stage, leaving him standing there alone, bathed in the spotlight, a ghost at his own party.