Page 6 of The Vows He Buried

Lucian Thorne’s departure left a vacuum in its wake, a pocket of silence in the roaring chaos of the ballroom.

For a moment, the world consisted only of the throbbing in my ankle and the suffocating weight of my husband’s glare.

The game had changed, but the board was still a battlefield, and I was standing at its epicenter.

Maddox recovered first, his shock solidifying back into a cold, hard fury. The brief moment of calculation he’d shown for Thorne vanished, replaced by the raw, possessive anger of a man whose authority had been publicly challenged on multiple fronts. His eyes were chips of ice.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice a low, vicious snarl that was meant to make me flinch.

I didn't. I met his gaze, my own expression unreadable. I had nothing left to say to him. My performance was over. My only objective now was to leave.

Before he could press further, Evelyn swept in, a silver-clad Valkyrie ready to manage the fallout. Her face was a mask of gracious concern, but her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with cold fire.

“My dear Savannah, you’re hurt!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying just enough to reach the nearest cluster of gawking guests.

“We must get you off your feet immediately.” She was already rewriting the narrative: Poor, clumsy Savannah, overwhelmed by the excitement, had a little fall. Nothing to see here.

Sienna, ever the opportunist, detached herself from the background and rushed to my other side, her face a perfect portrait of worried friendship. “Oh, Vannah, your ankle! Does it hurt terribly? You poor thing.” Her hand fluttered near my arm, a gesture of feigned sympathy that made my skin crawl.

I was surrounded. The she-wolf, the snake, and the lion. A trinity of my tormentors, all performing their roles for the audience.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice cool and steady.

I gently extricated my elbow from Evelyn’s grasp.

“Just a slight sprain, I think. A bit of ice will do the trick.” I looked past them, my gaze sweeping the room as if searching for an escape route.

“But I must admit, the excitement has left me feeling rather unwell. I think I need to retire for the evening.”

This was my out. The unimpeachable excuse. No one could fault the injured, overwhelmed wife for wanting to retreat.

“Of course, dear,” Evelyn said, though her tight smile didn't reach her eyes. “Maddox will escort you upstairs.”

“No,” I said, the single word cutting through her attempt to reassert control. I looked directly at my husband, whose face had darkened at my refusal. “I won’t be going upstairs. I’ll be going home.”

A stunned silence fell over our small group.

“Home?” Maddox repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “This is your home, Savannah.”

“No,” I said again, my voice quiet but unyielding. “This is your mother’s house. My home is with my family. I’d like my brother to take me.”

It was a direct, public severance. A declaration that I no longer considered myself part of this unit. I was a Blake, and I was going home to the Blakes.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t be ridiculous, Savannah. You’re making a scene.”

“I believe the scene has already been made,” I replied, my gaze flicking meaningfully towards Sienna, who had the grace to look momentarily uncomfortable. “I am simply… exiting.”

I turned to leave, but Maddox’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my upper arm like a steel band. “You’re not going anywhere.”

His touch was fire, but not the kind that warmed. It was the fire of a brand, marking his property. For three years, that touch had made me feel owned, trapped. Tonight, it did something else. It fueled the cold star of rage in my core.

Slowly, I turned my head to look at him.

I didn’t look at his hand on my arm. I looked directly into his eyes, a universe of ice and fury meeting his.

I didn’t say a word. I simply held his gaze, letting him see the absolute, bottomless depth of my contempt.

I let him see the end of everything we had ever been.

He saw no fear, no pleading, no weakness. He saw a stranger.

His grip faltered. His fingers loosened, the certainty in his eyes flickering with a sudden, shocking confusion. He was looking at me, but he wasn’t seeing the wife he thought he knew. He was seeing the woman I had just become.

I pulled my arm free from his weakened grasp. I took a small step back, putting a definitive space between us. The air crackled. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, I gave him my final lines in this twisted play. My voice was soft, devoid of sarcasm, devoid of heat. It was the flat, calm tone of a final verdict being read.

“Happy anniversary, Maddox.”

With that, I turned my back on him. I didn't limp, though my ankle screamed in protest. I walked, my head held high, my steps measured and deliberate.

I moved through the sea of stunned faces, a ship cutting through a frozen ocean.

No one approached me. No one dared. I was radiating an aura of such cold, untouchable finality that it created its own path.

I didn't head for the grand staircase. I headed for the archway that led to the service corridors, the hidden arteries of the mansion. I could feel a thousand eyes on my back, but I did not look back. Looking back was for people who had something to lose. I had already lost it all.

The moment I passed through the archway, the noise of the party was cut off as if by a closing door.

The air grew cooler. The opulent carpets gave way to polished linoleum.

This was the backstage of the Vale empire, the world of the staff, the world Deedee inhabited.

It was a world of efficiency and silence. My world now.

My pace quickened. The adrenaline that had sustained me was beginning to fade, and the pain in my ankle was becoming a sharp, insistent reality. I leaned against the cool wall for a moment, my composure threatening to crack.

Just as a wave of dizziness washed over me, a side door opened ahead. Jasper.

He didn't say a word. He saw my face, saw the way I was leaning against the wall, and closed the distance in three long strides. He wrapped a strong arm around my waist, taking my weight without question.

“I’ve got you, Vannah,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble of relief and concern. “The car is just outside this exit. Dad’s waiting.”

He guided me through the final stretch of the corridor, his presence a solid, comforting anchor in my swirling world. We stepped out of a heavy steel door and into the cool, damp night air. A black town car was idling silently by the curb, its engine a soft purr.

Jasper opened the back door. Inside, I could see the silhouette of my father, Richard Blake. He didn't speak, but I felt his presence like a shield. This was safety. This was sanctuary.

I slid into the plush leather seat, a wave of exhaustion washing over me so profound it was all I could do to remain upright. Jasper got in beside me, closing the door with a quiet, definitive click. The sound sealed off the world of the Vales.

The car began to move, pulling away from the curb and gliding down the long, tree-lined driveway. I didn't turn my head, but my eyes found the rearview mirror.

In it, the Vale mansion was a blaze of golden light, a magnificent, glittering jewel box in the darkness. It looked beautiful, perfect. A fairytale castle. But I knew the truth. It was a tomb. A beautifully decorated, obscenely expensive tomb.

As we drove, the mansion grew smaller and smaller in the mirror, its lights shrinking until they were just distant, blurry stars. Then, we turned a corner, and it was gone.

I leaned my head back against the cool leather, closing my eyes.

The image of the shrinking mansion was burned onto the inside of my eyelids.

I had walked into that house three years ago as Savannah Blake, a girl in love.

I had lived there as Mrs. Maddox Vale, a ghost. And I had just walked out as something else entirely.

Jasper’s hand found mine in the darkness, his fingers lacing through mine, a tight, reassuring grip. My father remained silent in the front seat, a quiet, unmovable mountain of support. They didn't need to ask. They knew.

A single, cold tear escaped my closed eyelid and traced a path down my temple. It wasn't a tear of sadness. It was a tear of catharsis. A final cleansing. The last remnant of the woman I used to be.

The perfect wife was dead. The woman who would bury them all... had just been born.