All Chapters of Broken promise : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Georgia’s POVThe cell door screeched open, metal against metal, pulling me from an uncomfortable half-sleep on the hard bench. “Pack up,” the guard barked. “You’re being released.” For a moment, I thought I had misheard. My heart slammed inside my chest. Released? How? Henry? I stumbled to my feet, chains of shame still heavy even though my wrists were bare. My mind spun as I followed the guard down the noisy hallway. And then I saw him. Donald. He leaned easily against the wall near the front desk, arms crossed, his confident smile lighting up the clean gray around him. “Miss me?” he asked softly, his voice warm like a blanket thrown over frozen skin. The air left my lungs in a rush. “Youwhat are you doing here?” “Saving you, apparently,” he said, stepping closer. His eyes scanned my face, noticing every bruise of tiredness. “You didn’t think I’d let you rot in there, did you?” My throat tightened. I wanted to feel only thankfulness, but a storm of feelings swir

Georgia’s POVThe first thing I felt when I woke up was the warmth of Donald’s hand resting gently over mine. For a moment, I forgot the world outside. No jail walls. No claims. No Henry. Only the steady comfort of a man who had chosen to stand by me when everyone else turned away. But peace never stayed long in my life. “You deserve better than this,” Donald said quietly, his words breaking the silence. His eyes, dark and serious, searched mine. “Better than the way Henry treated you. Better than the lies, the humiliation, the jail cell he left you in.” I held my breath. His words cut deep, not because they were mean, but because they were true. I mumbled, “And what do you think I deserve, Donald?” His grip tightened, as though the answer might decide his fate. “Me,” he said simply. “You deserve me.” I turned away, my chest tightening. His confession hung heavy in the air. For years, Donald had been the figure in the background, my quiet guardian, my secret weaknes

Henry's POV It was too quiet in the house. Not a normal quiet, but a heavy kind, like right before the curtain goes up in a theater. Even though I got home early from work, the fight with Georgia was still making my heart race. The silence made me stop in the middle of the stairs. From my mom's living room, I could hear faint sounds. The door was almost shut, but the sound kept coming through. It was soft and urgent. My mother hissed, "Be careful. I told you to." "He seems suspicious already." Mary's answer was softer and lower. "You stress out too much." He still believes in you. He always will.” A chill swept over me. I pressed closer to the door, hands damp. My mother never whispered. And Mary’s tone… it was the same tone she used when she wanted something expensive and hidden. “What about the evidence?” my mother asked. “If he digs too far” “He won’t,” Mary cut her off. “He’s too proud. And too in love with his image.” My stomach clenched. I should push the d

Henry’s POVThe taste of treason was metallic on my mouth before I even knew why. The door to my mother’s private room stood slightly ajar, golden light spilling into the dark hall like a secret begging to be caught. I shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have been listening but then her voice floated out, low and nasty, and Mary answered like a blade. “I told you it would work,” my mother mumbled inside. “He never questions what he sees.” My heart thundered. The room smelled of brandy and rosesher signature mix. Heavy curtains muffled the city sounds, making every word echo clearer. I leaned closer, heart pounding, as Mary’s laugh slithered through the gap. “He believed everything,” she said. “Even the fake invoices. It’s pathetic.” My hand clenched around the doorframe. Fake invoices? “You played your part well,” my mother responded. “Now he’ll sign whatever we need. Once the deal is complete, he’ll be out of the picture entirely.” Mary’s voice turned cold. “And Ge

Henry’s POVThe rain hammered against the glass like an angry beating. Inside the dim library, shadows stretched across the carpet, taking the polished wood shelves whole. He stood in the center, holding the old folder as though it might disappear if he blinked. His voice cracked in the silence. “So it’s all been a lie?” The air itself seemed to answer with a cold hiss. He felt the shaking in his own hands as he opened the folder again, scanning the papers that had already burned into his mind. Birth papers. Hospital reports. A death letter. And a blurry picture of the woman he thought he’d lovedMarybut with a different name. “She’s not Mary,” he whispered. “She was never Mary.” His heart felt like a fist in his chest. Betrayal bled into every breath. He remembered her laughter, her warmth in the nights when shame had eaten him alive, the way she had looked at him with such quiet dedication. And now he knew that woman was dead. Someone imposter had been in his arms.