Broken Vows and Buried Twins novel Chapter 1

It was a sweltering summer night. Inside the dimly lit master bedroom, the heavy mattress dipped under their combined weight. Sheer curtains billowed in the silver moonlight, casting swaying shadows over their tangled bodies. Their breaths hitched and mingled in the quiet room.

Julian Weston had been drinking. His touch was far from gentle tonight; in fact, there was a dark, almost punishing edge to his movements.

Hester squeezed her eyes shut, simply taking whatever he was willing to give.

"Hester, open your eyes and look at me."

His fingers suddenly clamped around her jaw. She winced at the dull pain as his low, gravelly voice—laced with barely suppressed anger—echoed from above.

Hester slowly fluttered her eyes open. A sliver of moonlight caught the sharp, aristocratic lines of his profile. For a moment, she was entirely dazed.

It had been exactly a month since their explosive fight at the cemetery. It was the anniversary of their twins' passing. Instead of grieving with her, he had coldly tossed out, "I'm too busy to indulge your hysterics," and walked away. He hadn't stepped foot in their house for a solid four weeks since...

A sudden, sharp bite on her collarbone snapped her back to the present. She gasped, meeting Julian's fathomless gaze.

"Focus," he commanded, his voice raspy and burning with an even deeper flare of irritation.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and a sudden, sharp sting of tears threatened the back of her throat.

"Julian," she whispered, lifting her hand. Her freezing fingertips gently traced the deep crease between his brows. Her voice broke. "Let's have another baby."

He froze. His pitch-black eyes, still heavy with desire, locked onto hers with a piercing intensity.

"Hester, are you serious?"

Instead of answering, she looped her arms around his neck, lifting her chin to press her lips softly against his.

His eyes narrowed. Long, elegant fingers threaded into her hair, gripping the back of her head to hold her in place.

Right as their lips were about to touch, he parted his, his breath scorching against her skin, though his tone was absolute ice. "Hester, how long has it been since you actually looked in a mirror?"

Julian was gone. Again.

The room descended into a deafening silence. Shivering, Hester pulled the duvet up to cover her frail, bony frame. She curled onto her side. The moonlight washed over her back, illuminating the stark ridges of her spine.

He was right. This wasn't the body of a woman who could carry a child. Five years of endless, suffocating nightmares had left her heavily dependent on medication. Half the time, she couldn't even keep her meals down. At five foot seven, she weighed barely ninety pounds.

Slowly, Hester pushed herself up from the mattress, tossed aside the covers, and drifted into the walk-in closet. She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, confronting her reflection.

Even her smallest loungewear hung off her like a sack. Her complexion was washed out, her cheekbones too sharp, her eye sockets hollowed. There was nothing left in her eyes but an empty, deadened stare.

Her trembling fingers reached up to brush through her dry, brittle hair.

Julian used to love her long hair. He had even gone out of his way to import custom-made hair care products for her from overseas.