Page 23 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

CHARLOTTE

I stood a few meters away from him—deliberately distant, my lungs burning with the weight of everything I couldn’t scream.

I opened my Uber app, thumb hovering over the glowing screen, fingers trembling despite how hard I tried to steady them.

Each breath was jagged. My eyes blurred. My heartbeat roared louder than the city noise.

Don’t look at him. Don’t let him win.

I tapped Request Ride.

But before the confirmation could even process, I felt it—that shift in the air.

Heavy. Familiar. Possessive.

A shadow stretched over my shoulder, swallowing the sunlight.

I turned, slowly, unwillingly.

Cassian.

His towering form loomed behind me, dark suit sharp against the light. His eyes hidden behind dark lenses. But I didn’t need to see them. I could feel them—cutting through me like a brand.

His presence coiled around my throat like a chain. That same chain I thought I’d escaped.

“I’m not getting on your bike,” I said before he could speak, my voice cold, though it trembled beneath the surface.

“I’ve already requested a ride. I’ll get home on my own.”

His jaw flexed, a single muscle ticking in silence. “You’re not going back alone.”

“Oh, so you’re the one calling the shots again?” I snapped. “Like nothing ever happened? Like I didn’t just get thrown out of a hospital because of your insecurity?”

“I’m not insecure,” he said tightly. “I’m territorial.”

His sunglasses caught the glare of the sun, masking whatever emotion might’ve flickered in his eyes.

His jaw clenched.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” he said dangerously.

I felt the breath catch in my lungs.

“So you’ll what?” I asked, voice cracking. “Throw me over your shoulder in front of everyone? Drag me to your bike like a sack of bones? Like some possession you think you own?”

“Yes,” he said. No hesitation. Just brutal, suffocating truth. “If that’s what it takes.”

I took a step back, my fingers curling into fists. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “Try me.”

There it was—that same Cassian. The one who broke me, piece by piece.

I stared at him, my fury burning through my skin.

“This is how you want to rebuild us?” I hissed. “This is your version of ‘starting fresh’? Control. Chains without the metal?”

His jaw ticked. “I’ll allow you to visit Ethan. But only if I come with you. I don’t want you having private moments with him.”

“Because you think something might happen?” I scoffed.

“There’s a camera in his room. If something does happen, I’ll know. And I’ll make sure he dies slowly for it.”

I stared at him in disbelief, chest tightening with equal parts fury and heartbreak.

“Make no mistake, Charlotte,” he continued. “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean you’re free of me. We divorced so we could start properly. So I could earn you the right way this time.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but my attention snagged elsewhere—a man stepping out of the hospital doors.

A tall, sharply dressed doctor with a Mediterranean look. Olive skin, tousled dark hair, crisp white coat barely containing the muscular frame beneath. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like a runway model who moonlighted as a heart surgeon. God.

My lips curved into a reckless smile.

I moved, quick and deliberate, straight toward him. “Hey...” I called.

He stopped, offering a warm, polished smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Charlotte,” I said quickly, desperate to put space between myself and Cassian before he caught up.

“Doctor Manuel,” he returned. “Do you need help with something?”

I was just about to say yes—anything, really, anything to get out of here with him—when I caught him glancing down at my chest. A quick flick of the eyes. Then again.

Insecurity stabbed through me like a blade. I lowered my gaze, pulse skipping.

“I—never mind,” I muttered. “Forget it.”

He tilted his head. “Charlotte,” he said gently. “If you’re free tonight, we could grab a drink?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You were just... looking at my chest.”

“Yes,” he said plainly, unapologetic. “Anyone would—except they’re hypocrites. I’m not. I’m a doctor. I’ve seen what cancer can take. Disability isn’t the end of the world. And survivors like you... that’s rare. That’s beautiful.”

He pulled out a card and handed it to me. “Call me.”

I took it. His cologne clung to the card—a smoky, citrus-tinged scent that lingered as he walked away.

I turned.

Cassian was still there, leaning against a pillar like a marble statue, cigarette between his lips, unreadable behind the lenses. He hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t said a word.

That made it worse.

I turned away from him, furious, and hit confirm on the Uber.

But just as the tension in my shoulders began to ease, a voice cut through the air behind me.

“She really thinks she still counts as a woman?”

I froze.

The words hit like a slap—sharp, cold, brutal.

Laughter followed. Low. Leering. Loud enough for the world to hear.

Two guys—maybe in their twenties, had stopped a few feet away. One of them leaned against a concrete pillar, the other chewing gum like he owned the whole fucking city. Their eyes weren’t on my face.

They were on my chest.

Or what was left of it.

“Another chestless bitch,” one of them muttered with a smirk. “Bet she gets changed in the dark.”

My heart stopped.

Their laughter exploded, cruel and unrelenting, as if they had just discovered the joke of the century—and I was the punchline.

“She should just wear a shirt that says: ‘damaged goods.’ Would save everyone the surprise.”

Something twisted in my stomach. My arms folded across my chest on instinct. Like I could hide. Like I could protect myself from eyes like knives.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t turn.

I just looked toward Cassian.

He was still leaning against the far pillar. Still watching.

His expression?

Blank. Cold. Unmoved.

The wind picked up, teasing the ends of my hair. But I was suddenly boiling inside. Humiliation and fury and sorrow choking me all at once.

“God, look at her—built like a twelve-year-old boy.” One of them sneered, stepping closer. His breath reeked of something sour. “I could grope her right here, and it wouldn’t even count. Nothing to grab.”

His hand twitched toward me.

A sick flicker of fingers—like he was testing the air between us, daring to bridge the space.

I recoiled, my whole body flinching like I’d been slapped.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” I shouted, voice cracking from the back of my throat.

But they just laughed harder, louder.

“If I had a chest like that, I’d lock myself in a fucking basement,” the second one mocked, practically wheezing.

I wrapped my arms across my chest. My breathing hitched. People turned to look—and then looked away. Like I wasn’t worth the mess. Like I was nothing.

And still, Cassian didn’t move.

He just stood there. Watching. Silent.

Like he was part of it.

And that—that—was what broke me.

Not the boys. Not the stares. Not the way my body had become public property for the amusement of strangers.

But him.

The one man who used to kill for me.

The man who snapped Nico’s neck with his bare hands.

Like it meant nothing.

Like Nico was just another problem to erase.

All because he tried to force himself on me.

The same man who hunted down the bastards who once held me down and tore my body apart—and made them suffer until even death begged for mercy.

He just stood there. Stone. Silent. Smoke curling lazily from between his fingers like it was any other Tuesday. Like I wasn’t being humiliated for the body he helped shatter.

I looked down. My arms tightened across my chest, but I could still feel their eyes, their words, crawling over my skin like insects.

Someone took a photo.

The click of the camera felt louder than the laughter.

My cheeks burned. My eyes blurred. The pain behind my breastbone felt like someone had jammed a crowbar into my chest and pried it wide open.

More people had gathered now.

Drawn by the boys’ loud, jeering voices like hyenas to a wounded animal.

Their laughter rolled over me in waves—sharp, cruel, and unbearable.

They didn’t see a person.

They saw a spectacle.

And I stood there, the unwilling centerpiece of their mockery.

God, it hurts.

“Let me guess,” one of them said, laughing, “plastic surgery gone wrong, or did cancer do you the favor of taking them for you?”

I could barely see through the hot flood of shame clouding my vision.

My Uber pulled up to the curb with a soft beep.

Relief, sharp and immediate, cut through the fog. I moved quickly—desperately—toward the car. I had just grabbed the handle when a hand snatched my wrist, tight and forceful.

“Who says we’re done with you?”

Something snapped.

I didn’t think.

With a scream caught in my throat, I raised my knee and drove it into his groin with everything I had left.

He dropped, howling.

I shoved open the back door and threw myself inside, slamming it shut so hard the car shook.

“Drive,” I barked, eyes wide with panic.

The driver turned, startled. “Uh—ma’am, are you okay—”

“Drive!” I screamed, almost sobbing now. “Fucking drive!”

He obeyed instantly, tires rolling forward.

As we pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of them through the window. One was still laughing, while the other clutched his crotch on the ground, red-faced and wheezing.

Behind them, leaning against the pillar like a phantom out of my nightmares—

Cassian.

Still watching.

Still saying nothing.

And it broke something I didn’t even know was left to break.

The moment we were out of sight, the sobs broke free.

Tears spilled hot down my cheeks, my throat closing as I tried to keep quiet—but I couldn’t. My chest heaved with every ragged breath. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying not to wail.

It was too much.

The shame. The grief. The fact that Cassian—Cassian, who used to rip men apart for even looking at me—stood by and did nothing.

My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe. The pain wasn’t just in my chest—it was in my bones. In every memory. In every cell.