Shattered Vows: The Broken Wife's Comeback

d sidewalk, the sudden blast of cold air making her head spin. Every step from the taxi to the entrance sent a spike of pain through

by. The light from the grand chandeliers felt like physical bl

ntial suite. Vaughn," she managed

smiled and produced a key c

tographer. From Vogue.

ssed his face. "Photographer? I'm sorry, madam. I have no record of any Vogue photo

than the rain outside. No photographer. No

uietly. "That wo

been a lie from the start? Or had something change

had said to be here, so she was here. Whatever trap waited

lerk added, his professiona

ls seemed to close in on her, and the air grew thick and heavy. Her breath came

for support as she made her way to the double doors at the end of the corridor. H

e pushed the door op

solute

e silence was as thick and suffocating as the darkness. No photographer's lighting equipment. No crew setting up shots. N

out. With a soft, defeated sigh, she slid down the wall and collapsed onto t

her down into a hazy, disorientin

ard the sound of a key card in the lock. The door ope

a moment before moving into the room. The figure walked wit

he trippe

igure stopped, then crouched down. She felt a large

g up," a low v

gh the haze of her fever. Cedarwood. Rain. And

ad come. Despite everything-the cruelty, the contempt, the blood-stained shirt in another woman's photograph-some

-driven instinct that bypassed the fortress she'd built around her heart, re

rds slurred and barely audible. "Pl

en, without a word, he slid his arms under her-one beneath her knees, the other carefully

as if she we

fingers brushed against the thick layers of her dress, pausing when they found

ather as he settled into t

let go o

of orphanage doors slamming shut and children being turned out into the rain-she felt it. A solid, warm anchor. A thumb tracing slow, absent c

d to her forehead. The fever had spiked, and her body burned like a furna

rmured, somewhere above her. "What did she thr

rds dissolved on her tongue. Th

g enough to feel him rise from the chair. To feel her hand, now empty, fall back

le

was

ierced through a gap in the curt

in every joint of her body. Her dress was wrinkled but still in place. The space beside her on the b

been pulled close to the bed, angled toward her. And on the polished wood of th

, modern design she had never seen before. Gaston's cufflinks were all f

membered the scent. C

desperately to believe he would come for her that her min

drained fr

oded in her mind, so loud and vio

at hadn't

d voice echoed in her head. "She will

iliation? Had Matilda sent a stranger to her bed-knowing she would

wor

uty he found so repulsive-a final act of contempt to punish her for daring to ask for

sharper than the one th

ver her. She scrambled out of bed, stumbling into the opulent marble bat

eck with a desperation that bordered on madness, trying to wash away the scent-the t

kin. It was buried deep in her chest, a sp

uldn't remember. The fever had stolen her memo

and the sickening certainty that, once again, she ha

face as she slid to the floor of the shower,