All Chapters of Shattered Vows : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ElenaAffairs are delicate things—beautiful in the beginning, reckless in the middle, and suffocating at the end.Especially when trust becomes a weapon.That night, I watched Daniel sleep.Or pretend to.His breathing was uneven. His fingers twitched. His body was still, but his mind was moving. I could feel it.Sophie had called him. I knew she had. And it hadn’t gone well.By morning, the mask he wore was thinner.He didn’t kiss me goodbye. Didn’t touch his breakfast. Just stared at his phone like it held a ticking bomb.And maybe it did.I waited exactly two hours before calling Rachel. “He’s unraveling.”“Then so is she,” she said. “I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”I met her at her apartment. She handed me a flash drive and poured two glasses of wine—no words, no need. We were past small talk now.“She sent Daniel a voice note last night,” Rachel said. “Crying. Accusing him of betrayal. I intercepted it through a trace

ElenaThey say revenge is a dish best served cold.I disagreed.I wanted Sophie to feel it. To choke on it. To burn with it.I wanted every smug smile she’d ever thrown my way to wither and rot.When I opened the files from the flash drive that night, a sick sort of satisfaction bloomed in my chest.Bank statements. Names. Dates. Scans of contracts forged under false pretenses. Videos—grainy but damning—of Sophie whispering promises to men who clearly weren’t in their right minds.I stayed up until dawn piecing together her empire of lies, a twisted mosaic of ambition and destruction. Every click of my mouse stitched a little more resolve into my bones.By morning, my plan was crystal clear.No messy confrontations. No screaming matches.I would end Sophie Mitchell the way she had tried to end me.Quietly. Thoroughly. Completely.I uploaded the files to a secure server, wrote an anonymous email to one of the city’s most ruthless i

ElenaThere’s a line you cross when you realize survival isn’t enough.You want justice. You want them to suffer. You want the world to know what they did.That’s where I was.And I wasn’t coming back from it.I didn’t eat. I barely slept. I stayed in my home office for two days, combing through every piece of evidence I had—building a case not just to clear my name, but to obliterate Sophie’s. And Daniel’s, if he didn’t stay the hell out of my way.The documents from the flash drive painted a clear picture. Sophie hadn’t just seduced my husband—she had used him, recorded him, and kept detailed records of every illegal transaction she made through his name and mine.She was planning my downfall long before she ever stepped foot in our home.I’d collected voice memos, emails, hidden surveillance footage. But I needed more than evidence.I needed a witness.A man named Carter Wilde had once been a high-profile client of Sophie’s—wealthy, powerfu

ElenaCold metal. Fluorescent lights. A buzzing silence so thick it felt like it crawled into your skin.I sat alone in the interrogation room, wrists cuffed, heart racing.They hadn’t formally charged me yet, but the message was loud and clear:You’re not just under attack anymore, Elena. You’re officially at war.And I was losing ground.The two detectives sitting across from me wore polite masks—expressions that said we’re just doing our job, but eyes that screamed we already think you’re guilty.“Dr. Hart,” the lead detective began, flipping through his file, “there’s testimony from the victim’s sister that you falsified the surgical consent. That you performed without her full understanding of the risks. Would you like to explain that?”“No,” I said flatly. “Because it’s not true. That case was reviewed, cleared, and archived a year ago. There was no negligence. No falsification.”He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting, because the hospital board

Elena The news hit like a wrecking ball. Not the articles I’d leaked. Not the testimonies or the financial breadcrumbs I’d strategically dropped. This one wasn’t mine. It came from her. A controlled explosion, wrapped in glossy PR, delivered like an act of mercy. But I knew better. Sophie Mitchell didn’t do mercy. She did strategy. I was standing in my kitchen, staring at the screen when the headline hit. “Sophie Mitchell Speaks Out: My Battle With Mental Illness, Abuse, and Silence.” She was sitting on a cream couch, soft lighting bathing her face like some tragic heroine. “I’ve been running from the truth for years,” she said, voice trembling perfectly. “But no more. I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. And when I finally escaped, I found myself stalked, harassed, and falsely accused by another woman who refused to let go of her pain.” My name wasn’t mentioned. But everyone knew. I was the other woman. The bitter ex-wife. The broken doctor. The unhinged stalk