SHATTERED VOWS
Clarissa's eyes glittered like broken glass under the golden chandelier, her smile wide, practiced, and painfully perfect as she rushed into the arms of the man who had just entered the ballroom.
"Ryder, I can't believe you came," she breathed, every word soaked in giddy affection.
"For you? Always, my sweetheart," Ryder replied, his voice smooth and arrogant. He leaned in and kissed her cheek like it belonged to him—like he'd done it a hundred times before.
Across the room, Damien stood frozen in the shadows, dressed in a waiter's uniform that clung to him like a curse. His hand trembled around the wine bottle. His eyes burned holes into Clarissa's hand.
She wasn't wearing her wedding ring.
His ring.
His heart dropped—slow, painful, hollow.
Before the sting could fully settle, Miranda swept up to Ryder, eyes shining with admiration and greed.
"Clarissa, you never told us you were this close to the Velmonts," she gushed, her voice syrupy. "Please, darling, introduce him to your father."
Ryder smiled indulgently and allowed himself to be guided. He shook Mr. Williams' hand with the confidence of a man who believed he already owned the room.
"The pleasure is mine," Ryder said. "I believe there's a lot we can accomplish together."
"Yes," Mr. Williams replied with an approving nod. "Let's discuss business after the celebration. For now, enjoy yourself—with my daughter."
Damien's insides twisted. He could hardly breathe as Ryder's hand slid down Clarissa's back, resting just above her hips like it belonged there. And worse, she let him. She leaned into him—soft, trusting, familiar.
The music shifted to something slower, something intimate. Damien's heart pounded louder than the beat. Ryder pulled Clarissa onto the dance floor and they moved together—synchronized like lovers with no shame. Cameras flashed. Laughter rose. Every step they took crushed something deeper in Damien's chest.
"They're perfect together," Miranda whispered dreamily.
Perfect.
Damien's grip tightened on the tray, his knuckles white. His vision blurred. He had never held Clarissa like that. Never touched her like Ryder did so openly, so proudly.
So that was it. That's why she made him a servant tonight. To hide him. To erase him from the world, just long enough to parade as a free woman—single, wanted, adored.
The fire inside him exploded.
He stepped forward, his voice cutting the music and air like a whip. "That's enough, Clarissa."
The room froze. A gasp swept through the crowd.
Clarissa stiffened. Evelyn flinched. Miranda's lips parted, but no sound came.
Ryder turned, smug and amused. "And who exactly are you?"
Damien's stare was steel. "Her husband. So maybe keep your greedy hands off my wife."
The words echoed—sharp, shocking, unforgivable.
Clarissa spun, her expression laced with panic. "Damien! Do you have any idea who you're talking to?!"
Miranda scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. "Of course he doesn't. The embarrassment never ends."
But Damien ignored them all. His eyes were locked on Clarissa. "You took off your ring. You made me serve like a dog so this… clown wouldn't know I existed. That was your plan all along, wasn't it?"
Ryder's smile cracked into a sneer. "You're out of your depth, peasant. Clarissa, is this the pathetic stray you told me about?"
Clarissa's silence lasted one heartbeat too long.
Then she nodded. Cold. Brutal. "Yes. That's him."
Something inside Damien shattered.
"You told him I was a bastard?" His voice was raw. "I gave you everything. I gave you a part of me—my blood, my body, my mother's last hope. And this is how you repay me?"
Clarissa rolled her eyes. "You? Husband? Don't flatter yourself. Ryder's watch costs more than your existence. Our marriage was a deal. A debt. Nothing more. Don't mistake it for love."
Ryder laughed and stepped forward, loosening his sleeves. "Looks like someone needs a lesson in humility."
He swung.
But Damien didn't flinch.
With one explosive movement, he caught Ryder's arm mid-air—and drove his fist into his face.
Ryder crumpled. Blood poured from his nose as he crashed to the marble floor.
The music died. The gasps were deafening.
"Did that waiter just punch Ryder Velmont?!"
"Wait—did he say he's Clarissa's husband?!"
Phones flashed. Lights blazed. Videos recorded every second.
Ryder's guards lunged.
"Don't help me!" Ryder roared. "Beat him until he bleeds!"
The blows came fast—boots, fists, knees to ribs. Damien went down, shielding his head, his body folding under the weight of violence. But he didn't scream. He didn't cry. He let them hit him.
Because the pain in his body was nothing compared to the betrayal in his heart.
"Enough!" Mr. Williams barked.
The guards stepped back. Damien rose slowly, blood trailing from his mouth.
"Get out," Mr. Williams said coldly.
Damien's lips parted. He searched the room—one face, just one—that would offer mercy.
He found none.
Clarissa looked away.
Natalie smirked in silence.
To her this was just the beginning, by tomorrow, Damien would be discarded out of the family.
Damien walked out, the laughter of the party echoing like knives behind him.
Outside, under the pale moonlight, he collapsed beside the hedge, his uniform stained with blood and shame. The air was cold, but his chest burned with something darker than rage. A question haunted him.
Was I the fool for caring?
He touched his swollen lip. His soul was breaking. But before the ache could swallow him whole, a servant appeared—young, timid.
"Sir Damien… Lady Clarissa has asked for you. In her room."
His heart twisted. "Now?"
"Yes. She says it's important."
He wiped his face. His legs were weak, but he stood. Maybe—just maybe—there was remorse in her heart.
He walked into her room.
It was dark. Still.
"Clarissa?" he called softly.
A hand reached out from the shadows, catching his wrist.
"Shhh… don't speak."
She pulled him in close, her breath hot against his bruised skin.
Then she kissed him.
Soft. Sweet. Intentional.