Shattered Vows: Ruining My Billionaire Ex-Husband

Fiona stepped onto the crushed gravel driveway of the Ellison estate. The early autumn wind sliced straight through her thin, faded canvas jacket. She wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs, her fingers digging into the worn fabric. Her teeth chattered, a physical reaction to both the dropping temperature and the anxiety pooling in her gut.

She lifted her head and looked at the massive, brightly lit mansion. The faint, rhythmic pulse of jazz music drifted through the crisp air. The sound made her heart stutter in her chest. She had spent three years in a concrete cell dreaming of this exact moment, but now, a cold knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach.

She dragged her battered canvas duffel bag toward the front entrance. The heavy rubber wheels scraped loudly against the gravel. The sound was harsh, a gritty reminder of the exhaustion that had seeped into her bones over the last thousand days.

Fiona reached out and wrapped her freezing fingers around the heavy brass door handle. It was unlatched. The door gave way under her touch, pushed open by the sheer volume of the party inside. She sucked in a sharp breath, filling her lungs with courage, and pushed the heavy oak door wide open.

A wave of suffocating heat washed over her. It smelled of expensive champagne, roasted meats, and heavy floral perfumes. The rich scents violently clashed with the sharp, sterile smell of bleach and rust that was permanently burned into her nasal passages. Her stomach lurched. A wave of dizziness hit her so hard she had to grip the doorframe to stay upright.

Arthur, the head butler, was crossing the grand foyer with a silver tray of champagne flutes. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. His eyes widened in absolute shock. His hands began to tremble violently. The heavy silver tray slipped from his grip and crashed onto the marble floor.

The shattering of crystal echoed like a gunshot. The lively chatter of the party died instantly. The jazz music seemed to fade into white noise. Every single head in the massive room turned toward the entrance. Hundreds of eyes locked onto Fiona, pinning her to the spot like a specimen under a microscope.

Fiona forced her legs to move. She let go of the doorframe and walked straight into the room, ignoring the heavy stares. The wealthy, impeccably dressed guests instinctively took a step back as she approached. They parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide, empty path. The physical distance they put between themselves and her felt like a slap to the face. The air grew thick with unspoken disgust.

Fiona kept her chin high, her eyes frantically scanning the sea of faces. The layers of silk, velvet, and tailored suits blurred together. Her chest tightened. Her breathing grew shallow as panic started to claw at her throat. Where was he?

The crowd shifted again, opening a clear line of sight toward the massive