BROKEN VOWS:- FALLING FOR MY MARRIAGE COUNSELOR

LILLIAN CALLOWAY

"I want a divorce."

The words left my mouth before I had the chance to rehearse them. Before I had the chance to think about how it would change everything for me once he agreed.

Joe didn't even look up. Typical. I could be screaming or drowning, and he'd still be looking at that dem laptop.

"I want a divorce," I said again, louder this time.

He doesn't blink. Doesn't move a muscle. Five years together. Two forgotten birthdays. Two missed

anniversaries. A marriage dying in silence.

It hurts that he won't look me in the eyes, but I've gotten used to that.

The only thing moving between us was the ticking clock above our bed as I stood there like a statue, impatiently waiting for a response while the clock kept ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

Finally,

"Now's not a good time, Lillian. I have an important meeting I need to prepare for in the next fifteen minutes."

I blinked. "Did you hear what I just said?"

He sighed, still scrolling. "We can talk tonight, but now's not the best time."

"No," I said, louder now. "We won't."

That got his attention.

Joe set his laptop down slowly, like a precious little child he didn't want to break. "This again?"

I folded my arms, knuckles white. "There is no 'again.' I'm not bluffing."

His eyes searched mine. Not panicking. Not even angry. Just... blank. To be honest, I don't know what to make of his expressions anymore. It's like I never really knew him, and it hurts.

"You're serious."

I clenched my teeth together. Hard. The fact that he thinks I was joking is far beyond me. He's so self-absorbed and ridiculous. "I am."

He stood up, buttoning his shirt with calculated ease. "We've had rough patches before-"

"This isn't a rough patch. This is years. You stopped loving me a long time ago-that's if you ever did," I whispered those last few words to myself. "You just don't have the guts to say it. So here I am, helping you out."

He flinched just barely. "And this is your way of punishing me? By walking out?"

"No. This is me finally choosing myself, choosing my

happiness." I begged. "I am tired, Joe, I feel drained. Can't you see?"

A muscle thickened in his jaw. "No. The only thing I see is you being selfish. You don't care about how your need for a divorce is going to hurt everyone around us?" He growled. "What do you want? Money? A new private apartment?"

I laughed. "Jesus. You always think everything is about transactions."

He doesn't respond. He just kept looking at me like I was crazy.

I continued. "All I'm asking for is a divorce. You're also not happy, plus you wouldn't have to feel tied down to me. Please Joe. Just say Yes."

"Have you thought about how this stupid decision of yours would affect our families and my reputation? I guess not. You're just being greedy right now."

His words immediately took me aback. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm being selfish. I never thought about how my father would react if he found out about this. He'll be very disappointed in me. I can't let that happen.

Joe didn't wait for another word from me, already knowing he had struck the final nail in the coffin. "I won't be signing any stupid divorce papers." He mocked. "And I'll get a marriage counselor to help you see that."

My nails bit into my palms. I couldn't hear anything past the roaring sound echoing in my ears.

He stormed out of the room, leaving me with the heavy weight of his words-"

There's no out for me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So... you finally did it."

I leaned back in my seat, letting my gaze roam over Vivian's long, natural blond hair. My bestie always looks put together.

She came to see me at the office immediately after I texted. She never wastes time when it comes to me, no matter how busy she was.

She handed me a glass of white wine to take me off the edge. "You did the right thing, Lily. After five years of emotionally ghosting you, the man finally gets served."

I forced a smile. My hands are still trembling, and my thoughts are still spiraling from this morning with Joe.

She raised a brow. "And?"

Sometimes I forget how well Vivian knows me. Three years of friendship, and she reads me better than the man I married. And that shouldn't hurt. But it does.

Or maybe it's because, I always knew Joe never really loved me and would never love me, but deep down, a part of me still believes in him. Believed in us growing close as the days went by. He only sees me as a deal and nothing more, and that's what hurts me more.

I took a deep breath, knowing she wasn't going to let me off the hook if I don't speak. "He said no to signing the papers and suggested counseling."

Her eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth. "What the fuck, Lillian. So you're just going to let him hurt you?" She cried out.

"Vivian, can we not? Not today, please." As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired of people expecting more from me," I sighed.

"I get it. But you're not telling me why you keep letting him hurt you. Lillian, I've seen you vanish away for the past fucking years, and I care about you. So please talk to me."

My face immediately grew hot and red.

"It's my dad. You know how he is. I can't fail him. He'll get mad at me if this marriage is over," I said in a tight voice. "Ever since Sierra said no and disappeared, the pressure has always been put on me. So as much as I would love to get a divorce, I'll settle for counseling."

I lifted my gaze to meet hers, and I could see the thousands of questions flooding through her mind. Questions I want answers to.

"Lillian-"

"Can we talk about something else?"

She looked at me for a long second. Pity was written all over her face. I hate pity. It reminds me of how weak I've become, and I hate it.

"Have you started your designs for the upcoming fashion week?"

My face immediately beams with a wide smile. I love it when I get asked about my designs.

"Yes, actually, I'm halfway through. Currently sketching new designs to add."

Relief washed over Vivian's face. "And you have your best friend who is one of the greatest runway models walking on your stage," she winks at me with a smirk.

A call from Vivian's phone interrupts us as she excuses herself to answer.

"Hey Lily, work is calling. I have to be at the studio in the next hour, but it's about to rain, so I have to head back right now. I'll see you soon." She kissed me on my cheeks and left.

It was raining when I finally finished my sketches and headed downstairs. I stood at the lobby waiting for the valet to bring my car when my phone buzzed in my purse.

I wanted to ignore it, but it might be from Joe. I quickly retrieved my phone and clicked on the message box. I froze in my spot, my face turning pale as I saw who the text came from.

My stepmom.

Who only messages once a year.

Patricia: There will be an important dinner at the house on Saturday night. You and Joe are to be present. Your dad has an important guest coming over.

An important guest?

Who could be so important for my dad to hold a second dinner party?

LILLIAN

The cameras pop like gunfire.

I straightened my spine, rolled my shoulders back, chin up high. Flash. My fingers curled into the silk of my dress as Joe and I stepped forward, holding still as the lights popped again.

I pressed my freshly manicured nails into Joe's arm and arched my lips into a perfect, luscious smile. He does the same, his hand resting casually at the small of my back as a way to send a message to the world and, most especially,.

"Over here! Mrs. Blackwell! Look this way! Give us a kiss!"

I immediately snapped my gaze toward the voice behind the camera, jaw tightening. My smile faltered for half a second-just enough to betray the flicker of rage behind my eyes.

I hate when they call me by that name. It always curled around my ribs like barbed wire. But I recover fast, plastering the grin back like it's been stitched to my face.

I lean in. His lips brushed mine, staged and cold. We held it for the click and pulled away.

My father's estate looms behind the gates like a mountain-cold stone, glass windows tall enough to swallow you whole. The house screams so much money, it smelled like arrogance.

"Smile bigger," Joe mutters through his teeth.

I laugh-fake and bright. "If I smile any harder, my face would split."

It's been six months since I was last here, and the foyer hasn't changed. Neither does the chill that creeps into my skin anytime I'm here. The same marble floors. The same grand chandelier that never swung. And the same ghost of the girl I used to be.

"Lillian, today is already bad as it is, let's not make it harder than it has to be," Joe whispers, his breath brushing my temple. "You know your dad's no fool. He'll sniff out tension faster than you can fake a smile. So whatever you're feeling, bury it. Play nice."

I nod, wearing the smile I save for rooms like this back onto my face as a butler ushers us down the hall towards the dining room.

I hate this house.

It reminds me of everything.

It reminds me of the arguments and slammed doors. It reminds me of how my father became cold and distant. How he stopped looking at me like a human but rather as an object after he remarried his supposed first love. How my stepmother always wore an egoistic smile like she'd won a war. It reminds me of the number of times I cried into my pillow after I said yes to getting married.

Adrenaline surged, burning under my skin as the memories filled my mind. My hands wouldn't stay still. Heat crawled up my neck, flooding my face.

"I need to freshen up," I say once we're inside the dining room, slipping my hand from Joe's arm. "I'll be right back."

He nods once, distracted, already talking to someone I believe to be my father's business partner. I didn't feel offended. That's the thing about being married to someone who values work over you-he sees you as an accessory. A beautiful, expensive afterthought.

Too scared to go up to my old room, I find the guest bathroom just past the study, close the door, and lean against it for a little while before moving to the mirror.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

I look horrible. No amount of makeup can cover how pale I look.

I smoothed my damp palms over my red dress, the fabric hugging me nicely like a second skin-flawless on the outside, chaos underneath.

The door creaks open.

I whirl around.

Too late-I forgot the lock stick.

Sierra steps in, all heels, perfume and practiced disdain.

Her bleached blonde hair falls in glossy waves, her lips are red as blood, and her dress clings to her like it's daring her chest to spill out. "You left the door unlocked. Or did you want an audience who would look at how miserable you look?"

"Get out."

She tilts her head to the side. "Why? This is my house too, remember?"

I stare at her. Hard. "It's been five years since you vanished, and you still haven't changed."

She smirks. "Please. If you think becoming daddy's precious little pet makes you matter more, then you've stupidly settled into your delusions, sis."

Half sister, I wanted to say, she always has a knack for reminding me about it, but I'm already walking past her not wanting her to see how much her words stung me like a bee.

"Oh, by the way," she adds, voice honey-slicked, "you might want to touch up. You've got that 'cracked porcelain doll' thing going on."

I don't look back.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The dining room is filled with people who barely tolerate each other.

My father is at the head of the table. My stepmother to his right, flashing that wide, camera-perfect smile she only wore when it came to important occasions. Sierra sat like a princess, sipping her wine with a smirk. Joe is beside me, phone out, glancing up only when he feels there's a need to.

Everyone here is playing their role perfectly.

We're all just pretending-pretending to be happy, to care. All for a stranger we barely know.

My father's voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife through silk. "Still always late, aren't you?" He says without looking up.

"Not late," I reply evenly. "Just... on time."

He finally looks up, his gaze locked on mine, cold and sharp, telling me how disappointed he is in me. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

I chewed the inside of my cheeks, my go-to method to keep me from rolling my eyes. He always does this-finds a petty way to throw jabs at me. But I've learned not to let him see how deep he gets under my skin.

Silence drapes over the table like a cold blanket. No one dares to speak. Only the clinking glass and the quiet movements of the butlers disturbed the tension hanging in the air.

I stare at the glass of red wine Joe just handed me-five years together, and he still doesn't know I prefer white wine. I considered downing it all at once, if only to drown out the quiet crisis unraveling inside me.

I shouldn't have come. I didn't want to be here. But when my father calls says it's an emergency... no excuse told you have to show up. Because no matter how many magazine covers I've graced or brands I've built, to him, I'm still just the daughter he can leverage.

"I have a big announcement tonight," my father says as he pours himself an expensive glass of whiskey. "Very exciting. This is going to bring forth a great future for this family."

The air thickens the type enough to leave you unconscious. Joe puts down his phone.

"Is it a family-related business?" My uncle Alex asked.

"No," my father says, smiling widely now. "It's a good personal business."

My stomach turns.

He always does this. Playing games with us while dropping crumbs as he sits back and watches us squirm for more information.

I reach for my glass, about to down it all in one go.

And then he says it.

"Ahhh, there he is."

All eyes shifted towards the doorway, so I turned slowly, uncertain, bracing myself for whatever came next.

And everything stops.

And for a second I forgot how to breathe.

My face instantly goes pale as panic fills my thoughts like dark clouds.

And standing in the doorway, looking taller, sharper, somehow even more devastating than the last time I saw him-

Ronan.

The last man I ever thought I'd see again.

LILLIAN

He hasn't said a word since he sat down-Just passing out the kind of glance that said too much without making a sound.

My hands rest on the white linen napkin, fingers twitching against the stem of my wine glass. Keeping a tight smile plastered on my face like I just won an Oscar award. Fake, but enough to convince everyone.

Nothing about this table seems lovely or United.

Especially not the man who just walked in and is now sitting across from me, eyes drifting from the glass wrapped around my fingers to my face. I want to try to ignore it. His gaze-but I can't.

He hasn't said a word, but I can feel his gaze burning harder and harder-steady and pressing. Like a burn on my skin, only I can feel. His fingers drum lightly against his wristwatch, calm as ever, leaving my father to do all the talking.

Joe leans in, his breath hot against my skin."You either eat or stop playing with your food?"

I can't take it.

I excused myself with a soft smile and a murmured lie about needing the bathroom. The napkin fell from my lap like a flag of surrender.

The hallway is cooler. Quiet. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow down.

Then I heard footsteps approaching, steady and deliberate. I don't open my eyes. "Sierra, not now. Please."

"Still running, huh?"

I freeze.

It's not her voice. It's not my stepsister, though I half-expected her to follow me with another snide comment about attention seeking.

It's him.

The first words he's spoken since stepping foot into this house. His voice is lower now, rougher-like whiskey soaked in regret. And when I turn, I wish I hadn't.

He leaned against the opposite wall like he owns the air between us-tall and broad, his shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, hands tucked to his pocket. His eyes drag over me like I'm something expensive but damaged. Like I'm something he wanted to throw but felt the need to keep.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, and I could see the bold and unfamiliar ink that runs along his forearm.

"I almost didn't recognize you," he says. "But then I saw that mole on your collarbone..."

I swallowed hard. "I don't have time for this."

"Sure you do," he replied smoothly. "You just want to run. Like always."

I hissed under my breath and was about to push past him, but he stepped into my path, slow and in no rush to let me go. My breath catches. He's taller than I can remember. The soft edge of his boyhood is now gone, craved into something harder. His dark hair is styled into effortless perfection, like he's been preparing for this day.

He tilts his head, eyes flicking down my body and back up-slow, deliberate. Then they meet mine, dark and unblinking. "You look good," he said, voice low, almost breathless. His pupils dilate. "Red makes your skin stand out."

I hate the way my chest tightened. He shouldn't still have this effect on me, not after all these years and everything that led us here. But my pulse doesn't listen.

No one told me I looked good since I arrived here. Not even my husband. He was too busy staring at his phone while he dragged me around like a prop.

But now... now my skin prickles.

I looked past him. "Move."

"Not until you answer me."

"There's nothing to answer."

He laughs, bitter and low. "You left me without no solid explanation and got married to him a month later. You call that nothing?"

My chest tightened as the memories of that night come crashing back. "It's been five years. I think you should move on."

"I did, and you know it," he said. "I moved across oceans. Buried myself in work, and I had no interest in doing. Pretending you didn't rip a part of me when you went cold on me."

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

He stepped closer, voice quieter. "You know... I spent a lot of time contemplating whether I should come back home. But then your father reached out to me. Inviting me to join his circus. Said it was urgent. And boom, here I am. Back home."

Of course he did. My father only cared about business. But why work with this particular man when there are a lot of business moguls in the country? Why choose this particular man standing in front of me?

"I don't owe you anything," I whispered, but I don't even believe it.

He studies me. "You looked happy in the magazines and billboards I've come across. But right now, you look different."

I glance down at the diamond ring on my left finger. It catches the light but feels like nothing.

He sees the flicker in my eyes, and his jaw tightened.

"Do you love him?"

I could feel the remaining warmth left in my body drain away. I don't answer. I can't. Because he's not genuinely asking if I love my husband-he's asking if I ever stopped loving him.

Silence stretched between us, growing thicker than smoke.

"Why?" He finally asks. "Why'd you leave? Why him?"

"Maybe you can ask that question after you cut off whatever deal you have with my father, and leave," I say through clenched teeth, fighting the heat rising in my chest.

He doesn't move. He just looks me dead in the eye, waiting for his questions to be answered.

I shake my head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

I step back. "I'm not doing this. I made a choice. You have no right to question them."

"No," he says, voice steel now. "You made a sacrifice. There's a difference."

I blink, caught off guard. "What... what are you talking about?"

He leans in, and I could smell his cologne-musky and clean, the way he used to smell on winter nights after long drives. His voice is almost gentle when he speaks again.

"I know you're not happy. I can see it in your eyes. You've got that look-that look that says your spark is beginning to fade away."

I clenched my jaw, swallowing back the emotions threatening to break free.

"I'm not here to ruin anything," he says. "But I deserve answers."

My eyes sting. "Sometimes the truth hurts more than the lies."

"I'm way past that. Hurt me," he says simply like a man who has gone through every dark shadow of life.

I stay quiet, leaving every word he'd uttered sink in.

He steps back with his eyes not leaving mine. "I'm done running, and I'm done hurting alone."

The words land like a punch to my ribs. He sounds determined, and nothing I say would change his mind. And for a moment-I'm twenty again, standing under the rain, saying words I never believed I could say, walking away and breaking two hearts at once.

But now his eyes are clear, focused and giving away nothing. His voice doesn't tremble as he speaks with finality.

"I'm going to get my answers, one way or another."

Then he steps past me, his shoulders brushing mine.

And I'm left standing here, heart in my throat, wondering if, after all these years, I'm capable of surviving the truth I've buried.