Page 27 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

CHARLOTTE

Because of the looming threat to my life, Cassian had pleaded for me to live with him, to stay under his roof until I healed.

He wanted me back in our home. The house we once shared as husband and wife. The one filled with ghosts I couldn’t bury and memories I didn’t ask to remember.

Everything in me wanted to say no.

But I didn’t.

Maybe I was too tired to argue. Maybe the ache in my bones outweighed the one in my pride. Or maybe some masochistic part of me wanted to see if I could survive the same walls that once ruined me.

Now, morning crept slowly through the curtains like a haunting.

I lay stiff on the familiar bed I used to call mine, wide awake after another night of torment. My body throbbed in angry pulses—wrists aching from the bandages, my side burning with every breath where the knife had gone in.

Even my legs throbbed—as if they remembered the blade I drove into them. As if my own body hadn’t forgiven me for trying to destroy it.

The meds helped, sure, but they were just a numbing veil. The doctor had warned me: “ This kind of pain takes time to fully heal.”

Cassian didn’t sleep beside me.

Instead, he spent the entire night in the study corner of the room, seated at his desk, back turned toward me.

But I felt him. The way his eyes kept glancing over his shoulder when he thought I was asleep. The way he tensed every time I shifted. He never said a word. Neither did I. My heart was too cold for conversation.

And yet... I hated how much it hurt.

Why did it still cut me so deeply that he hadn’t defended me yesterday? That he let those strangers mock me—my chest—like I was a mutilated circus act. He just stood there, smoking, silent.

We were no longer married. He owed me nothing. So why did I care?

Because no matter how many legal documents said otherwise, Cassian Moretti was still carved into the softest part of me.

I blinked against the light trickling in. I needed to get up. Shower. Maybe that would help. Maybe washing off the memory of yesterday would bring me back to life.

But I already knew it would hurt—physically and emotionally. Most of my wounds were bandaged and stitched. The doctor had warned me not to let water soak into them.

Still, I sat up, jaw clenched through the sharp flare of pain. Every movement was a betrayal. My body, once my weapon, now felt like something broken I was dragging behind me.

And then I saw it.

Blood.

A dark, damp stain on the white sheet where I had been lying.

But it wasn’t from my wounds.

I froze. Mortification punched me square in the gut.

No. No, please, God...

I turned my head slowly—and saw him. Cassian was no longer at his desk.

He was standing.

Facing me.

He’d seen.

My breath hitched. I backed away from the bed, horror rising like bile in my throat. My gown clung to the back of my thighs, and I knew—I knew—it was soaked too. Humiliation hit me like a tidal wave. First my breasts... now this?

Now I’m bleeding all over his sheets like I don’t even know my own body anymore.

Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t remember feeling the usual cramps. No warning. No clue. My body was betraying me again. I wasn’t just broken—I was disgusting.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” I choked out, voice cracking. “I didn’t know—I just—”

He didn’t speak.

He walked toward me.

I flinched without thinking, trembling from the weight of shame. But his hands were soft, careful. He reached for the uninjured one, curled his fingers gently around mine, and pulled me slowly into his chest.

His voice was low. Unshakable.

“You think I care about stained sheets? You think I’d love you less because your body’s doing what it’s meant to do? No, Charlotte. I love you—all of you. Blood and scars. Rage and silence. I’ll clean it up. You just go take your shower.”

I wanted to resist. To fight him. But something in his voice cracked open a dam inside me.

I pressed my forehead into his chest and let myself sob—quiet, ashamed, uncontrollable tears. I didn’t deserve this softness. Not from him. Not from anyone.

But he held me.

He held me like I wasn’t filthy.

He held me like I was still human.

After a long while, I pulled back, wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, and walked toward the bathroom, trying to ignore the dampness between my legs and the echo of his heartbeat against my face.

The shower was... hard.

The steam fogged the mirror, and the water’s warmth brought no comfort.

I kept the spray low, using a cup instead of the showerhead to carefully avoid the bandaged areas—my side, my wrists, the bruised parts of my legs.

Every touch was delicate, every motion slow. The hospital had given me a special antiseptic soap, and I used it mechanically, as though I were cleaning someone else’s body.

When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel from chest to thigh, my heart slammed with relief.

He was gone.

But the room... it was different.

The bloodied sheets had been stripped and replaced with fresh, warm linens. A soft pad lay carefully folded on the edge of the bed, and the air no longer smelled of iron or shame.

I stared at the pad. Then at the bed.

He’d done all this.

Quietly. Without making a spectacle of it.

I dressed quickly—just a loose gray shirt and simple cotton trousers—and had just finished fixing the pad in place when the door creaked open again.

Cassian stepped in, carrying a tray in his hands. The scent hit me instantly.

Cinnamon rice. Roasted plantains. Stewed beef with onions.

One of my favorites.

He placed the tray on the side of the bed like it was something sacred.

“I figured you might be hungry.”

I nodded, wordless. I was hungry—starving, in fact—but the lump in my throat made it hard to say so. I sat slowly, ignoring the soreness in my legs, and pulled the tray toward me.

“Thank you,” I said, voice barely audible.

He nodded, then stepped back, choosing to stand at a respectful distance.

Watching.

I tried to eat quietly. My hands shook slightly with every bite, but I finished most of it. The warm food settled in my stomach like comfort I didn’t realize I’d been craving. And still, he stood there, eyes never leaving me.

Finally, I glanced up.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

His voice was calm. “Because I have no one else worth staring at.”

A flush crawled up my neck. I looked down and kept eating.

When I finished, he moved again—collected the tray, wordlessly, like this was routine. Like he wanted to do it.

I sank back into the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. My mind felt like static.

A few minutes passed.

Then his voice, soft but steady, came again. “Your injuries... are they still hurting?”

I nodded slowly. “A lot.”

He was quiet for a beat.

Then: “I was thinking... maybe we could watch something. A movie. I set up the theatre room.”

I swallowed the answer down, keeping my eyes on the ceiling.

“I don’t want to watch a movie with you,” I said quietly.

What I didn’t say: I’m afraid if I sit too close, I might start to remember how much I once loved you.

And how much it still hurts to bleed in front of you now.

I could see the look of defeat flicker across his face—the way his shoulders sank ever so slightly, how his lips parted like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

But I didn’t care.

I wasn’t watching a movie with him.

That was final.

“You’ve been hiding something from me,” I said quietly. My voice was steady, but there was a weight to it. “And you’ve refused to tell me. Why?”

Cassian was standing near the bookshelf, one hand resting against it like he needed the grounding. He turned slightly, his face unreadable. “I already told you. It’s not important.”

“Not important,” I repeated, tasting the bitterness of the words as they curled off my tongue.

I looked away, “I should go.”

“No.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Stay. At least until you’re better.”

“No.” I rose slowly, trying not to wince, my body still a battlefield of pulsing pain. “And thank you for today. But I can’t keep pretending.”

I started for the door, each step stiff with defiance and ache, but he moved faster. His hand found my uninjured wrist, gentle yet impossible to ignore. “Some things are better left unsaid, Charlotte. You don’t have to be angry about that.”

I smirked coldly. “You think this is about that secret?” My eyes shimmered, not with tears, but fury.

“You think I’m angry over words unsaid?” I turned fully to face him, rage flickering behind my calm mask.

“You think what happened yesterday... the humiliation... the past you keep shoving into shadows—it all just vanished from my memory?”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“It’s enough that I spent the night here,” I added, voice rising. “But I won’t stay.”

I tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t let go.

“I already had those boys from yesterday apprehended,” he said quietly, like he thought it would make a difference.

“Let them go,” I snapped, brows furrowing. “It’s useless now. The damage is done, Cassian. The humiliation I suffered yesterday can’t be undone—it’s permanent.”

I tore my hand from his grip and turned to the door. But just before I twisted the knob, I looked back.

“I’m going to see Ethan today,” I said. “And you can’t come with me.”

He stepped forward. “Charlotte, you’re injured. You could barely walk this morning. How are you still thinking about running off—?”

“Because I promised him I would,” I bit out. “Because he makes me feel safe. Because Ethan would never stand by and let strangers mock me while he watched in silence.”

I paused, my voice trembling.

“And because no matter how much you beg or say you’ve changed, you’re still Cassian. And Cassian... doesn’t know how to protect the things he loves. You can’t change that.”

I flung the door open and began walking out.

He followed, but didn’t try to stop me this time. Just his voice, hauntingly soft behind me. “They won’t let you in unless I come.”