Page 2 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)
Now in Ethan’s car, I curled into the seat like a child escaping war.
“That bastard,” I spat. “My own father forged a fucking psych history and locked me away like trash. And the worst part is... it worked. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”
Ethan’s grip on the wheel tightened. “A year in that place... I can’t even imagine.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
I turned to the window, pressing my forehead against the glass. “It’s not your fault.”
“You’ll be safe now,” he promised. “My place is secure. No one’s finding you unless we want them to.”
We pulled into a gated neighborhood. Ethan’s house stood tall and quiet under the moonlight. He parked gently.
“I found you using everything I had,” he said. “My tech gear traced back to the ward’s encrypted patient records. They tried to bury your name under fake aliases. But I found it.”
My throat tightened. “I can’t thank you enough, Ethan.”
I stepped out, blinking at the open sky.
Air.
Freedom.
Tears spilled—hot, silent. The cool night air kissed my skin like something holy. My chest rose, lungs expanding with the first full breath I’d taken in a year. It felt too good. Too real. I choked on a sob, the tears of joy burning just as deep as the pain.
Ethan stood beside me—tall at 6’2”, lanky but grounded, like a lighthouse in the storm I’d been drowning in. Without saying a word, he walked me to his front door, then led me into his loft.
It was nothing like the ward.
Exposed brick. Warm, amber light. The faint hum of an old record player. It smelled like cinnamon and safety. My ribs unclenched.
He showed me to a guest room tucked toward the back. It was small, but clean and calm. A soft bed, crisp white sheets, a private bathroom, and a window overlooking the city skyline like something out of a dream.
“Get settled,” he said gently. “You’re safe here. No cameras. No locks. No guards on patrol. Just... rest.”
“I don’t know how to be safe anymore...” My voice trembled as I stared at the floor, hands twitching at my sides. “But thank you for trying.”
I swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“I just... I need to wash that place off me.”
He nodded.
I went straight to the bathroom.
I peeled off the psych uniform like it was poisoned skin and stepped into the shower. The water was warm, but my body remained cold, trembling beneath the spray. I stood there for minutes—eyes shut, arms wrapped tight around my chest—trying to feel human again.
But the memories came anyway. Slipping through the cracks like steam.
There was a time in the psych ward when they strapped me to a gurney, wrists biting into the leather restraints. I was screaming, panicked, and a nurse leaned down and murmured, “You’ll calm down after the sedative. You girls always do.”
Then the sharp prick of a needle.
Then black.
Another time, I watched a woman cry for her dead son for hours. She sat in the corner, rocking and calling his name into the void. No one stopped her. No one helped. And then one day, they came for her. Dragged her down the corridor and locked her somewhere dark. She never came back.
And then there were the nights they shut me in the padded room. No noise. No light. Just white walls and my own thoughts clawing at me like rats. I spoke to shadows. I saw Cassian’s face in the ceiling. I heard his voice whispering apologies I knew weren’t real.
My nails dug into my palms, deep enough to break skin.
I refused to cry.
Not for them.
Not for what they did.
Not for him.
After the shower, I dressed in the soft robe Ethan left. My mastectomy scars were fading, the skin less sensitive now. No pain. Just phantom echoes. I prayed it would stay that way.
I lay in bed, bones aching, exhaustion creeping in like a wave.
But my mind drifted back to him.
Cassian Moretti.
The man who forced me to marry him for revenge. Who called my trauma weak. Who hated me for a crime my mother committed.
And when I left?
He moved on. Married someone else. Got her pregnant.
And the worst part? It still tore me apart.
A knock pulled me out of the spiral.
Ethan stepped in with a steaming plate of food. The scent made my stomach twist with need.
“Thank you,” I whispered, taking it.
He turned to leave, but I called out, “Ethan... can you stay?”
He nodded, grabbing a chair and pulling it beside me. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
As I ate, he kept his eyes on his phone, only glancing at me occasionally—with quiet sadness, not pity.
When I finished and stood to take the plate, he gently took it from me. “No. You rest. That’s all you need to do now.”
Then he smiled softly. “When you feel up to it, maybe join me in the living room. We’ll watch something. Something light.”
I nodded, touched in a way I couldn’t voice.
As he leaves, memories of high school flood back, anchoring me. Ethan, nerdy and awkward, was a magnet for bullies—boys slamming him into lockers, girls mocking his glasses, calling him “Bug Eyes.”
I was his shield, fierce even then. Once, I punched a jock, Tommy, square in the jaw for stealing Ethan’s backpack, my knuckles bruising but my heart soaring when Ethan grinned, “You’re my hero.”
Another time, at a pep rally, girls dumped soda on him, laughing, and I shoved through, pulling him away, drying him with my jacket while he mumbled, “Thanks, Charlotte.”
The best was our late-night study sessions at the library, sneaking snacks, laughing over his terrible math puns, our bond forged in those small rebellions. He was my safe place before Cassian, before this nightmare.
Feeling stronger, I stepped into the hall, heading toward the living room.
But something caught my attention.
The front door was cracked open. Ethan stood there, half outside, talking in a hushed tone.
“I don’t care how you found us. She’s not ready. Stay away.”
My heart stopped.
The door slammed open with a force that rattled the walls. Ethan stumbled back, nearly falling.
And then I saw him.
Drenched in rain. Hair tousled. Black suit wrinkled and clinging to his tall frame. That same cold fire burning behind his eyes.
Cassian Moretti.
My past. My trauma.
And the man I once thought I loved.
Standing in my safe space.
Uninvited.
Unforgiven.