Ashes of Our Vows

Vance noticed a blank week in our expense chat. He figured I dropped my brokegirl habits. He flicked a black Amex across the dining table.

A bone for a stray dog."I cleared your dad's dialysis bill. Stop annoying me with this broke behavior. I know your family acts like a black hole for cash. But you act as my wife.

Stop looking so pathetic. "He missed the truth. My fingers grazed the cold plastic. I signed my dad's organ donation forms. And our divorce papers.

I walked out the door in the same ratty hoodie he tossed me five years ago.Nobody buys the truth. Vance controls half the entertainment industry.

Meanwhile, his wife snaps photos of a fivedollar tampon receipt, begging his assistant for approval. He sees my independence as a major red flag.

He swears toxic golddiggers like me go feral the second we touch real cash.Last week, my dad's kidneys shut down. His body demanded an emergency transfusion.

I dropped to the floor and begged Vance for thirty grand. His exgirlfriend smashed the reject button on my transfer request.

She smirked and claimed she cured my greed.Vance stayed blind. I swallowed the humiliation to keep my dad breathing in that private hospital.

Today, the hospital pulled his life support over unpaid bills.I scattered his ashes. I quit playing the obedient dog. Chapter 1 My phone buzzed.

Vance’s text flashed across the screen. "I resumed your father’s treatments. Learn to behave. Stop lying to squeeze more money out of me.

I know it's hard for people from your background, but I'm not a walking ATM." I stared at the screen. A strange calm settled in my chest. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

I typed a single letter: K. I tossed the phone aside. I picked up the pen and dragged the ink across the bottom line of our divorce papers.

Vance probably thought my threeday silence on the expense portal was just me throwing a tantrum. The silent treatment.

For the past three years, I had crawled and scraped like a dog for my dad’s medical bills. I had zero income. Vance forbade me from working.

He claimed it was a massive red flag for his reputation if his wife had a job. Yet he refused to give me a dime for living expenses.

Every single cent I spent had to go through his company’s corporate expense app. Groceries? App. Tampons? App. A twodollar subway ride? Scan the receipt and wait.

The approver was his executive assistant, Cassidy. The woman who had clung to his side since college, wearing the "best friend" title like a crown. Three days ago.

The hospital issued the critical condition notice. My dad suffered a massive brain hemorrhage. He needed emergency surgery. Thirty thousand dollars.

To Vance, that was the price of a vintage bottle of wine. I blew up his phone like a maniac. Ten missed calls. Fifteen. On the sixteenth, the line clicked open.

Cassidy’s voice drifted through the speaker. "Margot! Vance is in a board meeting. Is it an emergency?" My throat closed up. Tears spilled over my eyelashes. "Cassidy, please.

Put Vance on the phone." "My dad is dying. I need thirty grand for the surgery right now!" Cassidy chuckled softly. "Margot, you know company policy.

Thirty thousand isn't pocket change. You have to submit an expense request through the portal." "Vance hates when people bypass the rules. He’ll flip if you demand cash like this.

Just put the ticket in. I’ll approve it the second I see it." The line went dead. My fingers cramped.

The phone slipped against my sweaty palms as I frantically loaded that godforsaken expense app. [ Reason: Dad's emergency surgery. Amount: $30,000.

Attachment: Critical Condition Notice. Submit. ] I stared at the loading wheel. One second. Two. Ten minutes bled by. A notification chimed. Not a bank transfer.

A rejection alert from the portal. [ Denied by: Cassidy. Reason: Attachment blurry. Please rescan and upload. ] The air vanished from my lungs. I snapped another picture.

My hand shook violently, blurring the lens. I snapped another. And another. Every ticking second drained my dad's life away. I slammed the submit button again.

Five minutes later. [ Denied. Reason: High amount requested. Please attach an itemized breakdown of costs, accurate to the individual medication unit price. ] I panicked.

The surgery hadn't even started. Doctors were doing chest compressions down the hall. How the hell was I supposed to get an itemized bill?

I pulled up iMessage and frantically typed to Cassidy. "Please. Push the funds through. It's life or death!

I'll get the breakdown later." Cassidy, he is dying!" A digital sticker popped onto my screen—a cartoon cat shrugging. "Look, it's not that I don't want to help.

It's corporate finance protocol. My hands are tied. You've always been a bit sloppy, Margot." "You can't just drag those poorgirl habits into a highsociety marriage.

Vance said you need to learn boundaries." Chapter 2 I gripped my phone. My knees slammed into the sterile linoleum outside the OR doors. I collapsed forward.

I spammed Vance with texts. Voice notes. "Vance, I'm begging you." My voice cracked into the microphone. "Just wire the funds. I'll do whatever you want." "I'll stop acting out.

I'll stop getting jealous of Cassidy. Just save my dad." Thirty minutes passed. Vance finally shot back an audio message. Ice clinked in the background against a thumping bassline.

His words slurred, thick with drunk irritation. "Do what Cassidy told you. Stop blowing up my phone." The red light above the OR doors snapped off.

The surgeon pushed through the swinging doors. He pulled down his surgical mask.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry." "If we had the medication approval even ten minutes earlier—" Static filled my ears. The world evaporated. I couldn't breathe. My dad.

The man who worked double shifts at the diner to put me through college. Gone. Because of a pixelated PDF attachment. His body cooled on the metal table.

My love for Vance died with him. Three days vanished. I handled the cremation. The ash scattering. Alone. I never called Vance. There was no point. He thought I ran a scam? Fine.

I would never ask him for another dime. I stared at the screen. Vance’s charity text burned into my retinas. A small smile pulled at my lips.

He actually thought this was another stunt for attention. He didn't realize this was the silence of a dead marriage. An Instagram notification popped at the top of my screen.

Cassidy just posted a Story. The photo showcased a Michelinstar Omakase spread. A man’s hand rested on the table.

A Patek Philippe gleamed on his wrist—the exact watch I had begged Vance to let me buy for his birthday. The caption read: [ Thanks to the boss for the treat!

Some people only know how to beg for handouts. Such a vibe killer. ] I doubletapped the screen. A little red heart exploded over the sushi.

My first time ever liking Cassidy's post. A second later, Vance’s name hijacked my screen. Incoming call. He saw the like. He sensed the passiveaggression.

I hit decline. iMessage chimed. "Margot, who are you performing for? Don't start drama with Cassidy. She just followed protocol.

Unlike the post right now." "Don't make me freeze your Amex." Followed protocol? She murdered my father on company time. My chest heaved. A manic giggle spilled out of my mouth.

I opened the comment box on her post. My thumbs flew. [ Gatekeeping the wife's emergency medical funds to score points with the boss. Solid career move, Assistant Cassidy.

Enjoy the blood money. Hope you two toxic psychopaths rot together. ] Send. Block. Power off. Silence wrapped around me. I dragged my suitcase out. I barely had anything to pack.

Three years in this multimilliondollar penthouse. I owned almost nothing. I stepped into the walkin closet. Vance’s bespoke Tom Ford suits dominated the entire left wall.

Glass display cabinets lined the right. Locked. Inside sat rows of Birkins and diamond sets. Cassidy held the master keys. Her thumbprint unlocked the biometric safe.

Every gala, every charity dinner, I had to request access to my own jewelry. Like checking out library books. I had to return them the moment the night ended.

Once, I spilled champagne on the hem of a borrowed Dior gown.

Cassidy stood right in front of the housekeeper, Beatrice, and forced me to draft a formal apology email detailing my "carelessness." She docked my grocery allowance for the entire next month.

Vance leaned against the doorframe, watching the whole thing. "Cassidy is just teaching you accountability," he muttered. "Those pieces belong in a vault." "You could never afford to replace them." Chapter 3 Yeah.

I couldn't afford it. An orphan. A charity case from the wrong zip code. I cracked open my sliver of the walkin closet. A few pilled sweaters hung on the racks. Faded Levi's.

The only thing remotely wearable was a plain white tee from three years ago—the day I moved in. Back then, I wasn't Mrs. Vance. I was MIT’s youngest physics prodigy.

The girl with the limitless future. Vance used to say he was obsessed with my untouchable aura. He pulled me close and whispered, Margot, marry me. I’ll give you a real home.

I swallowed the lie. I ghosted Professor Winston. I threw away my fellowship abroad. I traded the lab for a golden cage, playing the obedient housewife until I became the punchline.

I kept on the cheap hoodie Vance despised. I carefully folded the yellowed white tee and packed it. I zipped up the denim. The fabric hung off my hip bones.

Twenty pounds gone in three years. I dragged a beatup duffel bag from under the bed. A few textbooks. A stack of Polaroids. My dad's urn. Nothing else.

The rest of this multimilliondollar compound meant absolutely nothing to me. I took the sweeping staircase down. Beatrice was polishing a crystal vase in the foyer.

She spotted my duffel and rolled her eyes. "Running away again, Margot?" "Mr. Vance said if you walk out those doors today, don't bother coming back.

Oh, and he wants his clam chowder for dinner. Don't forget to prep the base." Even the hired help looked down on me. They all knew the truth.

The lady of the house didn't even have the authorization to sign their paychecks. My monthly "allowance" couldn't cover half their salary. I stopped dead on the marble floor.

I locked eyes with Beatrice. "Make the damn chowder yourself. Or get Cassidy to do it." Beatrice froze. The rag slipped from her hand.

She wasn't used to me fighting back. "Excuse me?" "You want me to tell Mr.

Vance about this attitude—" "Do whatever you want." I gripped the handle of my bag and marched straight out the front door. I didn't look back. The afternoon sun hit the pavement.

I threw my hand up to block the light. Three years. I finally walked out of this tomb. Vance moved faster than I anticipated. He must have seen my Instagram comment.

He was absolutely livid. He wasn't rushing back to save our marriage. He was coming to avenge his golden girl. I couldn't get an Uber past the community gates.

Rubber screamed against asphalt. A black Maybach swerved and cut off my path. The heavy door swung open. Vance stepped onto the curb, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Cassidy trailed right behind him. Her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes redrimmed.

Playing the ultimate victim. "Margot, have you completely lost your mind?" Vance lunged forward. His fingers snapped around my wrist like a vice. "Apologize to Cassidy." "Right now!

What the hell is wrong with you, blasting her on Instagram?

Do you get off on ruining people's reputations?" I stared at the face I used to worship. "Ruining her reputation?" I ripped my arm out of his grip.

I leveled an icy glare at Cassidy. "Why don't you ask your assistant if I'm lying?" "Three days ago, my dad was bleeding out on an operating table." "Cassidy rejected my emergency fund request.

Twice. Claimed my PDF was blurry and the amount was too high. Did you know about that, Vance?" Vance froze. He obviously didn't know the specifics.

He only knew I asked for a payout, and Cassidy flagged it as a policy violation. His head whipped around to look at Cassidy. Chapter 4 Cassidy flinched.

She covered her face. "Vance… I didn't." She choked out a sob. "I just followed corporate financial protocols. Plus… Margot came at me so aggressively.

I had no idea it was lifeordeath." She wiped her cheek, looking small and fragile. "Besides, I told accounting to prep the funds right after.

Margot is the one who ghosted the portal." Such a twisted little narrative. Ghosted the portal. My dad was a corpse on a metal table.

Was I supposed to upload the receipt to the Grim Reaper? The crease between Vance’s brows deepened.

He whipped his head toward me, his gaze dripping with absolute disgust. "You really disappointed me, Margot." "Cassidy just did her job.

Do you have to be this toxic?" He scoffed. "Your dad just has kidney issues, right?" "It’s not that serious. You’re publicly trashing Cassidy’s reputation over a delayed payout.

Where is your basic human decency?" Decency. He wanted me to show decency to a murderer.

I laughed dryly. "Vance, you are clinically blind." I locked eyes with him, feeling absolutely nothing. "Since you trust her so implicitly, we're done here." "The divorce papers are on the study desk.

Sign them." I gripped the handle of my duffel and turned away. Vance lunged. He ripped the bag from my hand and slammed it into the concrete. The cheap nylon ripped open.

The zipper teeth popped. Everything I owned spilled onto the pavement. A few threadbare shirts. Physics textbooks. And a solid black wooden box. The urn hit the asphalt.

It tumbled twice. It stopped dead against the toe of Vance's custom Italian loafer. Vance froze. His gaze dropped to the box.

His pupils shrank. "What the hell is this?" I dropped to my knees. The concrete bit into my bare skin.

I pulled the heavy box to my chest and gently brushed the street dust off the polished wood. "This is my dad." I tilted my head up to look at him. "Are you satisfied now, Vance?" Vance turned to stone.

His eyes darted frantically between the black box in my arms and the dead expression on my face. "Dead?" The word scraped out of his throat, hoarse and jagged. "How?

He was perfectly fine three days ago—" "Yeah.

He was fine three days ago." I held his gaze, my pulse slow and steady. "If that thirty grand had cleared, he would be recovering in the ICU right now.

But your assistant didn't like my PDF formatting. And you thought I was running a scam." The street went completely silent. Cassidy’s face drained of color.

She instinctively shrank behind Vance's broad shoulders. "Vance, I swear I didn't know… I thought she was just making up an excuse to buy another Birkin…" Vance sucked in a sharp breath.

He scrambled to regain his footing, grasping for control of the narrative. "Why didn't you just come directly to me for something this massive?" he demanded, his voice hardening again. "If you had just communicated properly, would I ever say no?" "You insisted on using the corporate portal.

You insisted on playing power games with Cassidy. Margot, you delayed his treatment!" Wow. There it was. Classic Vance gaslighting. The man who could never, ever be wrong.

Even with my father's ashes resting against my collarbone, he managed to twist the knife and blame me. I played power games? I didn't communicate?

I didn't have the energy to fight his delusions anymore. I was just so completely done. "You're right.

It's all my fault." I nodded slowly. "That's exactly why I'm leaving." "So I don't ruin your vibe anymore." I stood up, clutching the urn to my chest. "Give me my bag." Instead of moving aside, Vance shifted his weight.

The sole of his leather shoe planted firmly onto the fabric spilling onto the street. He stepped right onto my yellowed white Tshirt. Chapter 5 "Walk away?

To where?" Vance snarled. "Margot, don't think you can weaponize a dead man to guilttrip me into forgiving you." "Get inside." He lunged, his fingers clawing for my shoulder.

I ducked. My hand shot out, locking around his bespoke lapel. I dragged his weight toward the sweeping staircase. "What the hell are you doing? Let go!" Vance roared. I ignored him.

I hauled him straight up the stairs and into the master walkin closet.

Cassidy scrambled up the steps behind us, her heels clicking frantically. "Margot, please don't do something crazy—" I pointed a golf club straight at the biometric safe. "Open it," I commanded Cassidy.

She froze, shrinking against the mahogany islands. I swung the club. Metal slammed into reinforced glass. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Vance flinched.

He stared at me like I was a stranger. He had never seen me snap. "Are you psychotic?!" "Open. It." I leveled the club at Cassidy's face. She violently flinched.

Her trembling thumb jammed against the scanner. A sharp beep cut the air. The heavy steel doors hissed open. Diamond sets. Rows of pristine Birkins. Limitededition Pateks.

The vault was stuffed to the brim. A smug sneer twisted Vance's lips. "See? Haven't I provided for you?

There are millions of dollars sitting right there." "Provided for me?" A manic laugh tore out of my throat. I dropped the golf club. The metal clattered against the marble.

I plunged my hand into my pocket and ripped out a thick stack of crumpled papers. I whipped the entire stack straight into Vance’s face.

The receipts exploded in the air, raining down over his custom oxfords. "Open your damn eyes, Vance!" I screamed. "These are the checkout logs for the last three years!

May 20th." "Borrowed: one Hermes Birkin to attend your corporate gala. Returned: the next morning. Approved by: Cassidy." "August 15th.

Borrowed: Cartier necklace for the family dinner. Returned: same night. Minor scratch detected." "Penalty: Five hundred dollars deducted from grocery allowance." "January 1st.

Haircut request: forty dollars. Denied by Cassidy. Reason: You can cut it yourself." "Stop wasting company funds." Vance bent down. He snatched a receipt from the floor.

His fingers developed a visible tremor. He stared at the ink, his brain shortcircuiting. Cassidy's perfectly looped handwriting stared back at him.

Every stroke mocked his illusion of being a generous provider. I pointed to the pathetic, empty sliver at the end of the closet. "That is my wardrobe.

Except for the thrifted clothes I brought before the wedding, you haven't bought me a single thread in three years." "You told me to be a stayathome wife.

You promised I'd never worry about money." "The reality? I had to draft a thousandword essay just to trim my split ends!

Is this the highsociety fairy tale you promised me, Vance?" "Your purebred Doberman eats imported wagyu, and I have less dignity than him!" Vance turned pale.

He snapped his head toward Cassidy. "What is this? Didn't I order you to wire her a monthly household allowance?" Cassidy's knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the plush rug, tears streaming down her contoured cheeks. "Vance, I was just scared she would blow it all… She grew up so poor." "I didn't want the sudden wealth to ruin her… I saved every penny of it!

I swear. I was building a trust for your future kids…" "Saved it?" I barked out a bitter laugh.

I dug into my jeans and yanked out a folded property deed. "Saved it in your own bank account, right? Last month, a luxury condo downtown was registered under your name.

Paid in full. Straight cash." "Where did that money come from, Cassidy? Was it my 'allowance'?" Cassidy’s face went paperwhite.

Her lips trembled violently, but not a single sound came out. Chapter 6 Vance squeezed his eyes shut. He sucked in a sharp breath, scrambling to salvage the narrative. "Enough.

Cassidy crossed a line. I'll handle her." He turned to me. His tone softened, dripping with that signature savior complex. "Margot, you've been wronged. I get it." "Here's the deal.

I'm wiring you a hundred grand a month. No more expense portal." He slid a sleek black Amex from his wallet and held it out. "Take this. No limit.

As for Cassidy, she's been loyal to me for years." "She put in the work. Apologize to her. You came in here screaming and terrified her.

We squash this right now, and we go back to normal." I stared at the black card. It looked like literal garbage. Apologize? My dad's life.

Three years of psychological torture in this walkin closet. To him, it was all fixable with a hundred grand and a swipe of plastic? A quick let's move on?

He was still defending her. I reached out. My fingers pinched the plastic. Vance exhaled. His shoulders dropped, assuming I was folding. Cassidy smirked. Snap.

The heavy plastic cracked in half. I flicked the jagged pieces straight into Vance's aristocratic face. "You actually make me nauseous, Vance. Keep your blood money.

Buy Cassidy a really nice coffin." I spun on my heel. Vance lost his mind. His roar echoed off the marble floor. "Margot!

You take one step out that door!" "I will cut off every single cent of your father's medical bills! I will bulldoze his damn grave!" My combat boots stopped. I slowly turned around.

I stared at him like he was a psychiatric patient. "Vance. Are you having an aneurysm?" "My dad is dead. You and your pet assistant killed him." "You want to bulldoze a grave?

Go crazy. He had a miserable life anyway.

A plot of dirt doesn't mean shit to him now." "As long as he's far away from you two toxic psychopaths, his soul can finally rest." I grabbed the strap of my duffel.

I marched down the hallway. Glass shattered against the wall behind me. I didn't even flinch. I pushed open the heavy front doors. The crisp evening wind hit my face.

God, it felt good. I didn't book a hotel. I didn't call anyone to cry. I took a cab straight to MIT. I knocked on Professor Winston's office door. Winston pulled the door open.

He almost didn't recognize me. My cheekbones jutted out under my sallow skin. I wore a yellowing tshirt. A total wreck. But his eyes locked onto mine. He saw the spark.

The dead ashes catching fire. "Professor. I want my spot back on the advanced research team." Winston stared at me. A heavy silence stretched between us.

He finally sighed. "Look at what you've done to yourself these past three years." "Is your brain even still functioning?" I unzipped my duffel.

I pulled out a battered Moleskine notebook. Three years of playing the billionaire's trophy wife.

Three years of hiding in the master bathroom, scribbling down quantum mechanics and advanced material theorems.

Even while I was pureeing organic soups in a gilded cage, my brain never stopped running. Chapter 7 Professor Winston flipped through the frayed pages of my notebook.

His eyes lit up. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. We ship out tomorrow. Deep into the Southwest mountain range." "The conditions are brutal.

Can you handle it?" "Try and stop me." The next morning. I took a pair of kitchen shears and hacked off the long, perfectly styled waves Vance had been so obsessed with.

A blunt, jagged bob hit my jawline. I strapped myself into tactical camo and heavyduty combat boots. I followed the advanced research team straight into the wilderness.

No cell service. No corporate expense portals. No Cassidy playing the ultimate victim. Just raw dirt, jagged granite, and an endless stream of pure data. My muscles screamed.

Every day, I waded through waistdeep sludge and scaled sheer rock faces. But I was breathing. Truly breathing. I finally clawed back the real Margot.

The girl whose heart beat for quantum physics. Two weeks vanished. Our team hit a massive breakthrough.

We successfully isolated a new derivative of a hyperrare mineral ore deep in the fault lines. A billiondollar discovery. Professor Winston was ecstatic.

He slapped my shoulder, promising me lead author credit. We were popping cheap beers around the campfire when the roar of engines shattered the peace.

A fleet of matteblack GWagons crunched over the gravel, killing their headlights. The "Vance Group" insignia gleamed on the doors. Small world.

Vance's conglomerate was the primary backer of this expedition. Vance stepped out of the lead car. Cassidy clung to his side.

She was entirely decked out in pristine, headtotoe Chanel skiwear. A full face of Sephora glam. She looked like a plastic doll dropped into a war zone.

Vance wore a black jacket and sunglasses. The second their boots hit the dirt, their eyes locked onto me. I was calibrating the spectrometer. Dried mud caked my cheeks.

My chopped hair stuck to my forehead in greasy spikes. A sharp, condescending giggle burst from Cassidy’s glossed lips. "Oh my god, is that Margot?

You ran away for two weeks to cosplay as a homeless person?" "Mingling with these bottomtier bluecollar workers… you are totally humiliating the Vance legacy." The camp went dead silent.

My team gripped their tools, glaring daggers at her. I calmly wiped a streak of wet mud off my jaw with the back of my hand. "Assistant Cassidy, this is a ClassA geological site.

Not Coachella.

The ambient radiation from these raw extraction samples is known to severely warp cheap silicone." "For the sake of your face, I’d suggest backing up." The entire camp erupted.

A chorus of brutal laughter echoed off the trees. Cassidy gasped. Her manufactured features twisting into pure ugly rage. "You—!" Vance ripped off his sunglasses.

He glared at me. "Are you done throwing this pathetic tantrum?" He closed the distance, looming over me to cast a suffocating shadow. "This is your grand declaration of independence?

Rolling around in the dirt like a feral animal just to get my attention?" "Pack your shit. Go back to the penthouse, scrub yourself clean, and apologize to Cassidy.

I’ll be generous and pretend this little phase never happened." I rolled my eyes. Seriously.

Attempting to communicate with a malignant narcissist was infinitely harder than proving string theory. "Fuck off." I spat the words and spun on my heel, walking back to my tent.

Being publicly humiliated in front of his own subordinates completely snapped Vance's fragile ego in half. He whipped out his iPhone.

He viciously punched in his executive assistant's number. He slammed it onto speakerphone.

He roared into the mic, his voice echoing off the canyon walls: "Cut off every single cent of Margot's medical funds immediately!

Throw that old man out of my hospital onto the street! Let’s see how long she can keep up this toughgirl act!" Dead, suffocating silence dropped over the camp.

Every single scientist stared at him like he belonged in a psych ward. Cassidy gasped. She lunged forward, her manicured claws frantically swiping for the phone.

But it was already too late. Chapter 8