Shattered Vows: Falling For His Worst Enemy

The silence in the corridor of the St. Regis was heavy, filtered through the scent of expensive floor wax and old perfume.

Christen walked slowly, the heels of her stilettos sinking into the plush Persian carpet. She was looking for the restroom, Her husband Brendon Jimenez had told her he was up here, but he hadn't come back in a while. The second floor, however, turned out to be a labyrinth, and she got lost.

She slowed her pace as she passed a semi-open door. A soft, familiar sound drifted from the gap. It was a low, rhythmic moan that chilled her blood. That sounded familiar. Christen stopped, her breath catching in a throat that had gone dry. She didn't want to look, yet her hand reached out, pushing the door a fraction wider.

A burgundy silk dress lay on the floor, discarded like trash. Christen recognized the fabric immediately. It was the custom gown Kaelynn Hudson had been bragging about all evening. Her best friend's dress.

Her gaze moved to the leather sofa, and her heart felt like it had been hit by a lead weight. Two figures were tangled together. A man's arm was braced against the sofa back, and his hand gripped the leather with an intensity that spoke of raw hunger. On his wrist, the limited-edition Rolex she had given Brendon for their anniversary glinted under the dim wall lamp. It was a cold, metallic reminder of every lie he had told her.

"Brendon," she whispered, though the name didn't leave her lips.

The sweet words flowing from Brendon's mouth were the same ones he had said to her when they were deeply in love three years earlier. They were recycled, hollow, and disgusting. Christen slapped her hand over her mouth, her teeth sinking into her palm to stop the bile. She didn't burst in to start a scene. She wasn't a character in a cheap soap opera. She was a woman who had just realized her life was a fraud.

She turned and walked away, her movements mechanical. She didn't run, but she felt as if she were vibrating with a suppressed, violent energy.

Downstairs, the VIP bar was a blur of noise and expensive gin. Christen sat at the bar, her fingers trembling against the polished wood.

"Dry martini," she told the bartender. "Don't bother with the olive."

The first sip burned, but it didn't kill the image of that Rolex in the dark. She had been a perfect wife. She had played the role Brendon needed. And in return, he was tearing her pride apart in a hotel lounge. The grief was quickly being replaced by a sharp, cold desire for some kind of balance.

She looked around the room. Her eyes landed on a man sitting in a dark corner booth. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like it cost more than most people's houses. He sat with a stillness that felt like a physical weight on the room.

In her alcohol-fueled haze, she saw him as a tool. A way to hurt Brendon. A way to feel anything other than the numbness in her chest.

She stood up and walked toward the booth. Two bodyguards in black suits stepped forward to block her path, their faces like stone.

The man in the booth didn't look up, but he raised a hand. The guards stepped back instantly.

Christen sat down next to him, close enough to smell his cedarwood cologne. It was a clean, sharp scent that cut through the smell of alcohol. She leaned in, her voice low and tight.

"You look like you're bored," she said, her eyes fixed on his profile. "And I'm looking for a reason to regret tonight. You have a much better body than my husband."

The man finally turned his head. His eyes were dark and steady, stripped of any warmth. He didn't look surprised.

His hand moved fast, catching her jaw in a grip that was firm but not painful. He forced her to look at him.

"Christen Craft," he said, his voice a low vibration that she felt in her marrow. "You're playing a very dangerous game for someone who just found her husband in a lounge upstairs."

The shock was like a bucket of ice water. She stared at him, her heart stopping.

This was Kile Barrett. The venture capital giant. The man Brendon had been trying to impress.