Shattered Vows Romano Revenge - Full Story

The grand ballroom of the Greenwich Country Club was bathed in warm golden light, decorated with thousands of white orchids, crystal chandeliers, and silk drapery. Hundreds of the East Coast's wealthiest elites mingled over glass flutes of Dom Pérignon, their diamonds sparkling under the light.

At the center table sat Barrett Hayes and Taryn Vance.

Barrett was trying his best to look calm, shaking hands with wealthy developers, though the nervous sweat glistening on his forehead betrayed him. Taryn sat beside him, wearing an overly flashy gold sequin gown, her eyes nervously scanning the room. Her father’s arrest had broken earlier that afternoon, and people were already whispering, casting cool, judgmental glances toward their table.

"Just relax," Barrett whispered sharply to Taryn, gripping his wine glass too tightly. "Once we accept the Designer of the Year award, the press will focus on our success. Investors will re-sign. Everything will settle down."

"Barrett, my father is in federal custody!" Taryn hissed back, her voice shaking. "And my credit cards were declined at the salon today! The bank said my accounts are frozen!"

"I told you I'm handling it!" Barrett snapped under his breath. "Dominic Romano is an old man playing mob games. My lawyers are filing a restraining order tonight—"

Suddenly, the massive brass doors at the entrance of the ballroom swung open.

The chatter in the room died down in a wave of sudden, breathless silence.

Two towering men in tailored black tuxedos stepped inside first, opening the way. Behind them walked Dominic Romano, looking regal and imposing in a classic black tuxedo, his silver hair immaculate.

And on his arm was me.

A collective gasp swept through the ballroom.

I wore a custom emerald-green silk column gown that hugged my frame, covering my rib wrappings completely while accentuating my posture. My dark hair was swept up in an elegant vintage updo, exposing my long neck and the glittering diamond-and-ruby necklace resting against my collarbone. My red lipstick was bold, my expression radiant, unbothered, and entirely commanding.

There was no trace of a woman suffering from a 'nervous breakdown.' There was no trace of a victim.

Beside me walked Julian Thorne—New York's most respected federal prosecutor and a close family friend whom Dominic had called in to accompany us.

The paparazzi flashes exploded instantly. Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Is that Mallory Romano-Hayes?"

"Look at her necklace! That's priceless!"

"She doesn't look crazy at all... she looks magnificent!"

Barrett’s wine glass shattered in his hand. Crimson liquid spilled across the white tablecloth, dripping onto his pants, but he couldn't even feel it. He stared at me with wide, terrified eyes, his mouth hanging open like he was looking at a ghost.

Taryn went pale as chalk, clutching Barrett’s arm so hard her knuckles turned white.

I smiled calmly, sweeping my gaze across the ballroom until my eyes locked directly onto Barrett’s. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away.

I began walking directly toward their table, the heavy silence of the room following every step of my heels on the polished floor.

"Mallory..." Barrett stammered as I approached, his voice barely audible above the hum of the room. "What... what are you doing here? You're supposed to be—"

"In a psychiatric ward?" I asked, my voice carrying clearly through the silent crowd. "Or did you mean locked in the basement with three broken ribs?"

The room gasped loud and collective.

Barrett's face turned beet red. "Mallory, stop this madness! You're making a scene! You're hysterical!"

I stepped right up to him, stopping inches away. I looked down at his trembling hand, then up at his bloodless face.