The Billionaire's Broken Vow to Ex Wife

Justina Andrews's POV

The moment the revolving glass doors of Smith Industries slid open, a familiar wave of anxiety hit me like a cold gust of wind. The lobby gleamed with polished marble and sharp, modern lines- a monument to power and control. Everything about this place reminded me why I had left. Why I ran.

But today, I was back. Not as a frightened young bride desperate to hold on, but as a woman determined to take control of her own story.

My heels clicked against the marble, echoing off the walls like a ticking clock counting down to the moment I'd have to face him.

Oliver Smith.

The name alone churned a thousand emotions inside me: anger, betrayal, heartbreak... and something I hadn't admitted in years-something dangerously close to longing.

Emma's small hand tightened around mine, anchoring me to the present. She was the reason I was here. My six-year-old daughter, with his storm-gray eyes and my stubborn chin. She deserved the truth, even if it ripped apart what little peace I'd clawed back.

I forced my breath to steady. This is business. Not personal.

The elevator ride up to his office felt like a descent into a memory I never wanted to revisit. The mirrored walls showed me a reflection I barely recognized: a woman in a sharp suit, with carefully styled hair and makeup, but eyes that held the weight of scars beneath the surface.

I remembered the night I left-the cold silence of the penthouse, the scream that died in my throat, the shattered glass and broken promises. The moment I realized that the man I married was a stranger. A man who had lied to me in the most brutal way imaginable.

And yet, here I was. Three years later.

When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out into the vast office, where sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the man who had once been my world and my ruin.

Oliver stood by the glass desk, impeccably dressed, as always. His dark hair was flecked with silver now, but those piercing gray eyes hadn't lost their intensity. When they met mine, I felt a jolt of everything I had tried to bury-pain, fury, a flicker of the love I once held.

"Justina," he said, voice low and calm, but heavy with something I couldn't place.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet his gaze. "Oliver."

The years had changed us both, but the tension between us crackled like electricity. He stepped forward, and I felt the old magnetic pull of his presence-powerful, demanding, impossible to ignore.

"Are you here for Emma?" His question was sharp, cutting through the silence.

"Partly," I said, voice steady. "We need to talk."

Oliver's eyes darkened, and a flicker of regret-or was it guilt?-passed over his face. "Not here. Somewhere private."

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to run, to protect the fragile peace I'd built. But Emma needed answers. I needed answers. So I nodded.

"Fine. But understand this-I'm not the woman you left."

His smile was slow, almost sad. "Neither am I."

---

The drive to the private lounge was a battle against the storm inside me.

I studied Oliver out of the corner of my eye. He looked older, wearier, but no less commanding. I wondered what had haunted him these past years. What ghosts he carried behind that calm exterior.

When we finally sat across from each other, the silence was thick and suffocating.

I took a deep breath and broke it. "Why, Oliver? Why did you betray me?"

His hands clenched on the table, knuckles white. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that."

"Not supposed to?" My voice cracked, but I forced the words out. "You lied to me. You destroyed us."

"I made mistakes." His voice was quieter now, vulnerable in a way I hadn't heard before. "But I never stopped loving you."

That admission hit me like a punch to the gut. For a fleeting moment, I almost believed him.

But love didn't hurt the way he had hurt me. "Love doesn't do that."

Oliver's eyes softened. "I know."

I fought the sudden urge to reach for him, to heal everything between us. But my heart was too bruised, too wary.

"This is about Emma," I said, voice firm. "She deserves more than secrets."

He nodded slowly. "She does. So do you."

The possibility of hope flickered between us. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew the path ahead would be painful and complicated.

---

The truth was, I wasn't just returning to the man who had broken me- I was returning to the memories I had buried, the dreams I had lost, and the future I was desperate to protect for my daughter.

I stared at Oliver across the dimly lit room, the quiet hum of the city outside filtering through the tall windows. This was where the battle would begin-not with raised voices or accusations, but with the fragile truths we both had been too afraid to face.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, a nervous gesture I hadn't seen before, and it unsettled me. The man who once seemed untouchable, a king in his world, was suddenly just a flawed human.

"Why now, Justina?" he asked quietly. "After all these years, why come back?"

My heart clenched at the question. Did he expect forgiveness? Or did he think I'd come crawling back?

"No," I said firmly. "I came back because Emma deserves to know who her father is. And because I can't keep pretending I'm okay without answers."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "You think I wanted any of this to happen?"

I could see the pain flicker behind his eyes-the weight of guilt he'd been carrying in silence.

"Then why did you let it?" My voice was soft but fierce. "Why did you let me walk away without fighting for us? For her?"

His eyes darkened. "I was scared. Scared of losing control. Scared of what I might become if I let my guard down."

I swallowed hard, remembering the cold nights alone, the empty bed, the silence that screamed louder than any argument.

"I needed you," I whispered. "And you weren't there."

Oliver reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before letting his hand fall back to his lap. "I'm sorry, Justina. More than you can imagine."

The words hung between us, fragile and raw.

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what could have been-if he'd held on, if we'd fought harder, if love had been enough to save us.

But then reality crashed back in.

"I'm here now," I said, standing up. "Not because I want to go back. But because I want to protect our daughter. And that means we need to be honest-with her, and with each other."

Oliver stood as well, closing the distance between us. His eyes searched mine, pleading for a chance to make things right.

I looked away, my throat tight. "This isn't about you and me anymore. It's about Emma."

He nodded slowly. "Agreed. Whatever it takes."