Buried Vows

The Larson mansion was as grand as ever, but I felt nothing but dread as I stepped inside. I walked behind Flint, gripping the divorce papers. My heart pounded, but I kept my face blank. I just needed him to sign. Then, I could finally be free. Flint didn’t even glance at me. He walked ahead like I wasn’t there, his expensive suit sharp, his presence suffocating. Our marriage had never been real. Three years of cold, empty nights, of control disguised as commitment. And now, it was finally ending. The butler led us into a vast, dimly lit room. At the center sat a man in an expensive suit—Mr. Larson’s lawyer. Flint’s father wasn’t here, though. Of course, he wasn’t. The old man was bedridden, too weak to deal with his sons himself. But his shadow still stretched across this house. The lawyer barely acknowledged me before looking at Flint. “Your father has prepared his final arrangements,” he said. “Given the circumstances, he wants all legal matters settled before—” “Before he dies,” Flint finished with a smirk, settling into a chair. “Good to know he’s thinking ahead.” I clenched my jaw. No sadness, no hesitation. Just amusement. This motherfucker really have the nerves, huh. The lawyer ignored him, his sharp gaze shifting to me. “I assume you’re here regarding the agreement,” he said. I nodded. “Flint is supposed to sign the divorce papers today.” He gave a slow, knowing nod. He was aware of our contract—how our marriage had been nothing more than a deal between families. Flint leaned back in his chair, stretching out like this was some casual business meeting. “You always rush things, Cosé.” I slid the papers toward him. “This was the agreement.” He picked them up, flipping through the pages lazily. Then, he glanced up, eyes dark with amusement. “Maybe I changed my mind.” My fingers curled into fists. “Sign it, Flint.” His smirk deepened. “Or what?” Before I could answer, the door opened. And everything stilled. I didn’t look up right away, but I felt the shift in the room. The air grew heavier, charged. Then, slowly, I turned my head. Vanter. My chest tightened. He looked different. Taller. Sharper. The boy I had left behind had hardened into a man. His black suit fit him perfectly, his posture strong, unreadable. My past stood before me. And beside him, a woman. She was beautiful. Poised. She moved like she belonged here, as if the Larson family’s wealth and power were second nature to her. I watched as they took their seats at the table, my fingers gripping the edge of my chair. The lawyer cleared his throat, continuing as if nothing had happened. “There are a few things we need to finalize,” he said, pulling out documents. “As you know, the will is being prepared, and the rightful inheritors must review certain assets before Mr. Larson’s passing.” My eyes flickered to Vanter. His expression was stone-cold, his focus on the table. He had never wanted anything to do with this family. And yet, here he was. The lawyer slid a document toward the woman beside Vanter. “Sign here.” She took the pen, her movements fluid, practiced. And that’s when I saw it. The ring. A simple, elegant band wrapped around her finger. My heart skipped. I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat. No. I forced my gaze away, keeping my face neutral. But my mind was spinning. Vanter was married, huh? Of course, he was. Three years had passed. I had disappeared without a word. What did I expect? I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady. “I need a moment.” Without waiting for permission, I stood and walked out. The bathroom was quiet, the tile floor cold beneath my heels. I gripped the sink, staring at my reflection. I wasn’t the same girl Vanter had loved. That girl had been soft, innocent. This one had scars. Tattoos. A cigarette burn on her wrist. She drank, she smoked, she didn’t cry anymore. But the ring on that woman’s finger still felt like a knife to the gut. The door opened. I stiffened as the woman stepped inside. She met my eyes in the mirror, then smiled. Polite. Perfect. “I don’t think we’ve met properly,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m Ester.” Ester. The name felt like a slap. I nodded once. “Cosétte Larson.” Her gaze flickered over me, studying. I wondered what she saw. Just Vanter’s past? A threat? Or nothing at all? Or... does she ever know that I was Vanter's ex? But I saw her smirk. “So, you must be Flint’s wife.” I tried to smile at her but it didn't reach my eyes. She then turned back to the mirror, smoothing her dress. I immediately fix my purse. I needed to get out of here. The last time I check, I wasn't really that friendly anyway. And so I walked out and pushed the door open and just as I closed the door, I ran straight into a firm chest. What the f**k? A hand caught my arm. Warm. Familiar. I immediately look up to see who is it. Vanter. For a second, the world froze. His grip was strong, steady. His scent—clean, deep, with a hint of something dark—wrapped around me. He held me for a moment too long. His jaw clenched. “Cosé—” The door behind me opened again. Ester stepped out. Vanter’s hand dropped away. Ester’s gaze moved between us, but she said nothing. I forced a breath, stepping back. “Excuse me.” I walked away, not looking back. My stilettos making a noise each step I make. But why do I feel his eyes on me? I suddenly wanna run so far away. It feels so f*****g unfair. Three years had passed. I should've moved on, right? I should've forget him. But why does he still have the same impact on me? Above all, why do my heart still aches for something that isn't mine anymore?