Page 8 of The Vows He Buried

The sun rose on a world that felt fundamentally altered.

I woke in my childhood bed, the soft blue of the walls a stark contrast to the storm raging within me.

For a moment, the events of the previous night felt like a fever dream: the emerald dress, the public defiance, Lucian Thorne’s electrifying touch, the final, silent escape.

But the dull, persistent throb in my wrapped ankle and the crisp white envelope lying on my nightstand were stark, physical proof. It was all real.

The envelope contained the receipt for my child’s life.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The price of a Vale heir.

I hadn’t slept. I had spent the night staring at those papers, the numbers and names burning themselves onto the back of my eyelids.

The grief was still there, a vast, cold ocean inside me.

But the rage was a fire on its surface, turning the water to steam, forging something new and hard in its heat.

There was no room for tears anymore. Tears were a luxury I couldn’t afford. This was a time for war.

After showering and dressing in a simple pair of black trousers and a cashmere sweater—my own clothes, not the Vale uniform—I made my way downstairs. I didn’t need to call a meeting. They were waiting for me in my father’s study.

My father, Richard Blake, stood by the fireplace, his face etched with a grim resolve I hadn’t seen since my mother’s death.

Jasper was perched on the edge of the large mahogany desk, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a cold, still intensity that mirrored my own.

Deedee, I had been told, was resting in a guest suite, my father having assured her she was now under the full protection of the Blake family.

I walked in and placed the contents of the white envelope on the desk between them. I didn’t need to explain. They had seen my face last night. This was just the confirmation.

My father picked up the wire transfer receipt, his knuckles white.

He read it, then read it again. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a sound of pure, paternal fury.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a pain so profound it nearly broke my composure.

“Vannah… I am so sorry,” he choked out. “I should have seen it. I should have protected you.”

“You didn’t know,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “None of us did. They were very good at hiding it.”

Jasper took the papers next. He scanned them with the quick, analytical eye of a CEO dissecting a hostile takeover bid. His face, usually so expressive, became a mask of ice. When he looked up, his eyes were lethal.

“They won’t just lose a lawsuit, Savannah,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “They will lose everything. We will dismantle them. Brick by brick. We will salt the earth where Vale Global stood.” It wasn’t a promise. It was a statement of fact.

“That’s the plan,” I said. “First things first. I need a lawyer.”

“You have the best,” my father said, his voice regaining its strength. “The entire BlakeCore legal department is at your disposal.”

“Good,” I said. “I want to file for divorce today. And I want them to look into the prenup. Every line, every signature. I was young, I was in love, and Evelyn was… persuasive. I want to know if they exploited that.”

“Consider it done,” Jasper said, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have our head of counsel, Mark Jennings, clear his schedule. He’ll meet us whenever you’re ready.”

“Now,” I said. “I’m ready now.”

While Jasper made the call, I took out the burner phone and dialed the only number in its contacts. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Savannah?” Harper Lin’s voice was a rush of anxiety and relief.

“I’m out, Harper,” I said, my voice cracking for the first time. Hearing her voice, the one constant, loyal friend through all of this, pierced my armor.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. “I saw the photo you sent Jasper. I’ve been waiting. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at my father’s house. I’m safe.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Harper… it’s so much worse than we thought.

” I told her everything. About Sienna and Maddox.

About the “vitamins.” About the wire transfer.

I told her about the eight figures sitting in the ghost account she had so brilliantly managed.

There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. When she finally spoke, her voice was shaking with rage. “That woman… that monster . I will help you bury her, Vannah. I will help you dance on her grave. Whatever you need. The company, the money, it’s all yours. It always has been.”

“I know,” I whispered. “Thank you, Harper. For everything. For believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“Always,” she said fiercely. “Now, what’s the first move?”

“Divorce,” I said. “Today. And we’re contesting the prenup. After that… we relaunch Lynelle. Bigger, louder, and more powerful than ever before.”

“I’ve been waiting for this day for three years,” Harper said, a new energy in her voice.

“The business is solid, the supply chains are in place. We just need to flip the switch and put your name back on the door. Consider it done.” She paused.

“There’s one more thing, Vannah. A legal angle.

If we can prove you signed that prenup under duress, or that they deliberately misled you about its terms… it could be invalidated entirely.”

“That’s what my family’s lawyers are about to find out,” I said.

An hour later, I was sitting in a leather chair in a top-floor conference room at the BlakeCore tower in downtown Greenwich.

The room was the antithesis of the Vale world.

It was all clean lines, modern art, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Long Island Sound.

It was a room that hummed with quiet, confident power. My power.

Mark Jennings, a sharp, silver-haired man who had been our family’s legal counsel for twenty years, sat opposite me. He had listened to my story without interruption, his expression growing grimmer with each detail.

“This is… monstrous, Savannah,” he said when I finished. “On a personal level, I am horrified. On a legal level… this is a declaration of war. And the Vales have given you a formidable arsenal.”

He slid a single sheet of paper across the polished table. A petition for the dissolution of marriage. Simple, clean, devastating.

“This is the first shot,” he said. “Once we file this, they will be served. Maddox will be served at his office. The media will know within the hour. There’s no going back.”

“I have no intention of going back,” I said.

I picked up the pen. It felt light in my hand, a weapon, not a shackle. I looked at the line at the bottom. Savannah Blake Vale .

With a steady hand, I signed my name. But I didn’t sign the name they had given me. I signed Savannah Blake . I drew a clean, deliberate line through the word Vale . It was a small act of rebellion, but it was everything. It was me, reclaiming my name, reclaiming my life.

As I put the pen down, a profound sense of peace settled over me. The first step had been taken. The paper had been signed.

We spent another hour discussing strategy, poring over my copy of the prenup, Mark highlighting clauses he already saw as potentially problematic. As we were wrapping up, Jasper, who had been on his phone in the corner of the room, came over.

“Interesting development,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “My head of security just flagged something. There’s a discreet surveillance team that’s set up around the Greenwich house. They’ve been there since last night.”

My blood ran cold. “The Vales?”

Jasper shook his head. “No. This is not their style. Their guys are brutish ex-cops. This team is quiet, professional, almost invisible. My guy says they’re top-tier. He ran the plates on one of their vehicles.” He paused, looking at me. “They belong to the Zion Group.”

Lucian Thorne.

He was watching me. The thought sent a strange, unsettling shiver through me.

It wasn't fear. It was something else, something I couldn't name.

Why? Was he an enemy or an ally? Had he saved me only to study me?

The man was an enigma, a ghost who had appeared, altered the course of my life, and vanished, leaving only his name and a thousand questions in his wake.

“Keep an eye on them,” I told Jasper. “I want to know if they make a move.”

The drive back home was different from the one the night before. The silence was no longer heavy with grief; it was filled with the quiet hum of purpose. I was no longer a refugee. I was a general on my way back to the war room.

When I got back to my room, I pulled out the burner phone. It vibrated with a new message from Harper. My heart hammered against my ribs as I opened it.

The message was short, a bombshell that changed everything.

Vannah. Mark Jennings sent me a scan of the prenup. I found it. Page 34, appendix C, the transfer of intellectual property rights for Lynelle. The notary stamp is a forgery. It was never legally witnessed or filed with the state. The entire contract is built on a fraudulent clause.

I read the words again, my breath catching in my throat.

Harper’s next message came a second later, and it landed with the force of a physical blow.

If that clause is fraudulent, the whole contract is invalid. Vannah… you were never legally married to Maddox Vale.