The Ninety-Day Vow (Shattered Vows #1)

Chapter 1

Audrey

The problem with being married to an event planner was that every party felt like a performance, and Audrey was exhausted by the choreography.

She stood near a towering ice sculpture of a swan, nursing a flute of champagne that had gone lukewarm twenty minutes ago.

The annual spring gala for Simon’s firm, Lumière Events, was a masterclass in manufactured magic.

Cascading orchids dripped from the ceiling, a string quartet played modern pop covers in the corner, and the lighting cast a universally flattering, golden-hour glow across the room.

It was flawless. It was also entirely exhausting.

Across the ballroom, Simon was in his element.

He wore his tailored charcoal suit like armor, flashing that familiar, charismatic smile as he charmed a group of potential corporate clients.

From a distance, he looked exactly like the man Audrey had married ten years ago.

But up close, in the quiet moments of their kitchen or the heavy silence of their bedroom, she knew that smile didn't reach his eyes anymore.

He was burnt out, running on espresso and pure anxiety, and their marriage had slowly become just another project he didn't have the energy to manage.

"Audrey! You made it."

Audrey braced herself before turning. It was David, one of Simon’s senior partners, holding a whiskey neat.

"Of course," Audrey said, summoning a polite smile. "I wouldn't miss it. The floral arrangements are stunning this year. Simon outdid himself."

"Oh, that wasn't just Simon," David said, gesturing with his glass toward the center of the room. "Have you met our new associate director? Emily? She co-led this whole account. An absolute firecracker, that one. Simon’s been mentoring her."

Audrey followed David’s gaze. Standing next to her husband was a woman who looked like she had never experienced a bad hair day or a moment of self-doubt in her life.

Emily was a decade younger than Audrey, wearing a sleek, emerald-green slip dress that managed to be both effortless and intensely distracting.

She was laughing at something Simon said, her head thrown back, exposing the long column of her neck. As she laughed, her hand reached out, resting lightly—and lingeringly—on Simon’s forearm.

Audrey felt a sudden, sharp prick of irritation at the base of her skull.

It wasn't that she thought Simon was cheating. They were in a rut, sure. They were passing ships in the night, navigating childcare schedules for their daughter, Lily, and dividing household chores like roommates. But Simon was loyal. He was safe.

No, what bothered Audrey was the way Simon leaned into the touch. For the first time all night, the weary tension in his shoulders had vanished. He looked energized. He looked seen.

"I haven't had the pleasure," Audrey said, her voice dropping a fraction of a degree.

"Come on, I'll introduce you," David insisted, already steering her through the crowd.

As they approached, Simon spotted her. A flicker of something crossed his face—guilt? surprise? fatigue?—before the professional mask slid seamlessly back into place.

"Audrey," Simon said, stepping subtly to the side, putting an inch of extra space between himself and Emily. "I didn't see you come in. How was the sitter?"

"Lily was already asleep," Audrey said smoothly, stepping into his personal space to press a perfunctory kiss to his cheek. He smelled like expensive cologne and stress. "The event looks beautiful, Simon."

"Thank you. Actually, I need to introduce you," Simon said, turning to the woman beside him. His voice held a forced, bright casualness. "Audrey, this is Emily. She joined the firm two months ago. Emily, my wife, Audrey."

"Oh my gosh, it is so wonderful to finally meet you," Emily said.

Her voice was slightly breathless, her smile wide and brilliantly white.

She didn't offer her hand to shake. Instead, her eyes swept over Audrey’s practical, understated navy wrap dress with an assessment so quick and subtle that Audrey almost missed it. "Simon talks about you constantly."

"Does he?" Audrey asked, her tone completely even. She looked at Simon, who suddenly seemed incredibly interested in the ice in his empty glass. "How flattering. What does he say?"

Emily didn't miss a beat. "Just that you're an artificial intelligence researcher!

That must be so... intense. Dealing with algorithms and code all day, completely locked into the data.

Simon and I are just chained to our mood boards and tasting menus, running around in the real world.

Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without him. He’s been an absolute lifesaver these last few weeks. "

Simon and I. Audrey took a slow sip of her lukewarm champagne.

As a scientist, she was trained to observe patterns, to spot anomalies in the data.

And right now, the data was screaming at her.

She didn't like Emily. She didn't like the emerald dress, she didn't like the feigned innocence in her breathless voice, and she especially didn't like the proprietary way she stood just a fraction too close to Audrey's husband.

"Well," Audrey said, her pragmatic, analytical edge cutting cleanly through the sweet atmosphere of the gala. "I'm glad to hear he's being so helpful."

Emily beamed, seemingly oblivious to the chill in Audrey’s tone, though the slight tilt of her chin suggested otherwise.

"Oh, he’s a saint. Honestly, I would have had a complete meltdown over the florist disaster on Tuesday night if he hadn't been there.

Do you remember, Si? When we were sitting on the floor of the warehouse at two in the morning eating cold takeout? "

Si. Audrey felt a cold, quiet stillness settle over her. It was a purely physiological response, the same sharp, hyper-focused clarity she experienced in the lab when an algorithm produced an unexpected, critical anomaly.

Data point one: Emily had a nickname for her husband.

Data point two: Simon hadn't mentioned a florist disaster, a warehouse, or Chinese takeout. When Audrey had woken up at three in the morning to get a glass of water on Tuesday, Simon had texted her saying he was simply stuck at his desk finalizing spreadsheets.

Audrey slowly turned her gaze to Simon. He was no longer looking at his glass. He was staring at Emily, a flash of genuine panic tight around his eyes.

"It was just a minor logistical hiccup," Simon said quickly, his voice a little too loud over the string quartet. He cleared his throat and finally looked at Audrey. "Nothing worth bringing home. You know how these final weeks of prep are."

"I do," Audrey said. Her voice was perfectly level. She didn't blink. "Though I didn't realize resolving logistical hiccups required sitting on the floor together in the middle of the night. It sounds incredibly... hands-on."

Emily laughed, a bright, trilling sound that grated against Audrey’s nerves. "In this industry, there are no regular hours, Audrey. You just have to roll your sleeves up and get into the trenches. But don't worry, I always make sure to send him home to you eventually."

She reached out, and to Audrey’s disbelief, her fingers brushed an invisible piece of lint off the lapel of Simon's jacket. It was an incredibly intimate, domestic gesture.

Simon stiffened, but he didn't pull away. Not fast enough, anyway.

Audrey watched the exchange with the detachment of a scientist observing a volatile chemical reaction.

She didn't yell. She didn't throw her lukewarm champagne in Emily’s perfectly contoured face. She simply cataloged the tension in Simon’s jaw, the flush creeping up his neck, and the triumphant, sparkling challenge in Emily’s eyes.

"How considerate of you," Audrey said, her lips curving into a smile that contained absolutely no warmth. She placed her champagne glass onto the tray of a passing waiter with a sharp clink. "If you’ll excuse me, I need some fresh air. It’s getting a bit suffocating in here."

She didn't wait for a response. She turned her back on them and began weaving her way through the crowded ballroom.

She only made it to the edge of the terrace doors before she heard his footsteps heavy behind her.

"Audrey. Wait." Simon’s hand caught her elbow. His grip was a little too tight, desperate.

Audrey stopped, but she didn't turn around immediately. She looked out at the city skyline, taking a long, slow breath of the cool night air before looking down at his hand on her arm.

"Let go of me, Simon," she said, her voice barely a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a judge's gavel.

∞∞∞

The drive home was a masterclass in acoustic warfare.

The heavy, luxurious silence of Simon’s sedan was suffocating.

Outside, the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, washing the interior in rhythmic, flashing shadows.

Neither of them reached for the radio. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the tight, shallow rhythm of Simon’s breathing.

Audrey kept her gaze fixed straight ahead on the taillights of the car in front of them. Her mind, usually a neatly organized lattice of algorithms and predictive models, was running a million calculations a second.

She let the silence stretch for ten minutes. Fifteen. She wanted him to feel the weight of it. She wanted him to drown in it.

Finally, as they idled at a red light two blocks from their house, Simon couldn't take it anymore.

"Audrey, please," he said, his voice laced with an exhausted, pleading edge. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "You're taking this completely out of context. Emily is just... she's young. She’s overly familiar with everyone. It’s just how she is."

Audrey turned her head slowly, letting her eyes rest on his profile. In the harsh glare of the streetlamp, he looked every day of his thirty-six years.