Echoes of a Shattered Vow

Chapter 1

Death, as it turned out, was not a dark void or a tunnel of white light. It was a VIP pass to the worst party in the world.

I drifted just beneath the cascading crystal chandelier of the Thorne Estate’s grand ballroom, entirely weightless, utterly invisible, and completely trapped. Below me, a sea of silk, diamonds, and tailored tuxedos rippled to the sound of a string quartet. Waiters in pristine white jackets circled the room, offering flutes of vintage champagne and caviar canapés.

It was a celebration. Specifically, it was a celebration of the exact day, one year ago, when I supposedly betrayed my husband and drove my car off a coastal cliff in a fiery, treacherous blaze.

"Can you believe he actually hosted a gala tonight of all nights?" a woman in a plunging ruby-red dress whispered, her voice carrying easily to my spectral ears.

"Why not?" her companion, a man holding a scotch on the rocks, replied with a cruel chuckle. "It’s been exactly one year since Seraphina Vance finally did the world a favor and died. If anything, this is an anniversary party."

"I heard she was stealing millions from Thorne Industries right under his nose," the woman said, leaning in closer. "Siphoning it to his rivals. They say she even handed over his private server passwords to the Sterling Group."

"She was a viper," the man agreed, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Julian gave her the world. He elevated her from nothing, and she paid him back by trying to orchestrate a hostile takeover. It’s a miracle Julian survived her."

*It’s a miracle he survived at all,* I thought, my ghostly chest tightening with a phantom ache. *Because of the poison. Not because of me.*

I floated down, landing silently on the polished marble floor. I didn't bother trying to defend myself. I couldn't. I was a ghost, a silent observer tethered to the man who despised my memory. I had made my peace with the hatred in this room. Let them think I was a thief. Let them think I was a traitor.

Julian Thorne was alive. That was the only thing that mattered.

A sudden hush fell over the ballroom as the grand double doors at the top of the sweeping staircase swung open. The string quartet faded out. Every eye in the room turned upward.

Julian.

My breath—if I still had breath—caught in my throat. He looked devastatingly handsome, dressed in a sharp midnight-blue tuxedo that highlighted the broad, powerful set of his shoulders. His dark hair was perfectly styled, but it was his eyes that commanded the room. They were a striking, piercing gray, though tonight they looked harder than I remembered. Cold. Ruthless. He was the picture of a brilliant tech billionaire who had faced the abyss and conquered it.

Clinging tightly to his arm was Clara Hayes.

Clara wore a custom white silk gown that practically screamed bridal, her blonde hair swept up in an elegant