Shattered Vows The Wedding Day Massacre

My head was ringing.

I raised my hand and slapped Ken across the face.

But when I turned to look at the girl beside him, Ken's brow furrowed.

He seized my wrist, his voice cold as ice. "Ruby, don't make a scene."

"You're not some pampered heiress anymore."

I hadn't even processed his words before he wrapped his arm around the girl and flicked on the TV.

"The Henson family is bankrupt. Your father's in the hospital with a heart attack."

"Whether he lives or dies depends entirely on whether I feel like paying his medical bills."

"For old times' sake—since your dad once sponsored my education—I'll start you off with fifty thousand dollars."

"The rest depends on how well you behave."

He tossed a bank card at my feet and told me to get on my knees and pick it up.

The girl watched me crawl on the floor and burst out laughing, her whole body shaking with delight.

"Sweetie, have you no shame? Kneeling for fifty grand? That wouldn't even cover one of my handbags."

Fifty thousand dollars.

That was the wedding he'd once promised me.

That was my dignity, shattered on the floor.

That was my father's life.

I never had a choice.

After that, everything changed.

Ken stopped hiding his affairs. He started parading his women right in front of me, brazenly, without a shred of pretense.

When he got bored of the secretary, he moved on to some social media influencer. When the influencer blew up on him, he set his sights on a college girl.

His position, his looks—they let him do whatever he wanted, drifting from one woman to the next like a bee through a garden.

Tall, short, curvy, slim. Ken never turned anyone away.

One night, he was at a karaoke bar and got in the mood.

He called me and told me to bring him condoms.

I rushed over. But when I reached the door of his private room, I heard muffled laughter and suggestive voices bleeding through the walls.

One of Ken's friends was teasing him.

"Come on, Mr. Gilbert, it's pouring outside. You couldn't wait? Making your wife deliver that in this weather—aren't you afraid she'll snap and walk out on you?"

A hostess handed Ken a drink. He knocked it back in one gulp and smiled.

"Walk out to where? Ruby doesn't have a home to go back to."

"Why do you think I went through all that trouble to bankrupt the Hensons? It was to make sure she'd have no choice but to stay right where I put her."

"You guys don't get it. Ruby looks docile, but deep down she's more stubborn than anyone I've ever met."

"The only way to keep her in line is to grind that spirit out of her. Then I've got nothing to worry about."

The room erupted in laughter. They started ranking the women Ken had been with, comparing them like trading cards.

I was the lovesick fool. Number one—loyal, stupid, and loaded.

His newest fling was the sultry favorite. Number thirteen.

The room tilted. The walls blurred.

I shoved the door open and stormed in, desperate to confront him.

But his girl grabbed my wrist and held up her phone with a grin. "One hour and five minutes! You lose the bet, Mr. Gilbert. Drink up!"

Ken flicked her playfully on the nose, then grabbed a bottle of imported whiskey and walked over to me.

"What took you so long?"

"Do you have any idea how much money your little delay just cost me?"

"Should I take it out of your father's treatment fund for next month? Or would you rather just drink this bottle yourself?"

The sharp burn of alcohol hit me before the bottle even touched my lips.

And suddenly I was somewhere else. Years ago. Back when Ken and I were building his company from nothing.

Some sleazy investor had tried to force me to drink at a business dinner, using his funding as leverage.

Ken had punched the man square in the face.

They beat him half to death, and he never once bowed his head.

But on the way to the hospital, cradled against me in the back seat, he broke down sobbing.

"Ruby, I'm useless. I can't even give you a decent life."

"Someday I'll make something of myself. And I swear—I will never let anyone hurt you again."