Page 3 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

CHARLOTTE

“Charlotte.”

He said my name like it carried weight. Like it was something sacred he’d spent a lifetime trying to hold onto and was terrified to break now that he had it again.

He stood there—soaked to the bone, hair matted, and eyes that burned like a dying star. He looked... haunted. Like he hadn’t slept in months. Like I wasn’t the only ghost in the room.

I stayed silent. Watching him. Measuring the space between us like it was a cliff I had no intention of crossing.

My thoughts blurred, collapsing into each other—memories I had buried scraping their way to the surface. The feel of his hands, once tender, then cruel. The sound of his voice when he told me to leave like I was nothing. The dark ward. The restraints. The endless silence.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered. “You moved on.”

Twelve months. Twelve fucking months. And he hadn’t searched for me. At least, not fast enough. Not loud enough. Not before the damage was done.

“You vanished,” he said, voice low. “One second you were at my study, the next—gone. I tore through the city trying to find you, but it was like you disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“And in all that time?” I hissed. “You couldn’t even try harder? You let my father rewrite my life. I spent a year locked in a psych ward, Cassian. A year thinking I’d lost my mind. A year thinking you didn’t give a fuck.”

His hands trembled at his sides. He stepped forward. I stepped back.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “If I had—”

“But you didn’t. You never know until it’s too late, right?” I snapped. “So how is your wife? And her unborn baby?”

His face drained of color. “What?”

“My father told me. Said you got married. Said she was pregnant.”

He blinked, stunned. “Charlotte... that’s not true.”

“No,” I snapped. “But it didn’t have to be, did it?”

My voice cracked, bitterness slicing through every word.

“You let it be true. You let them erase me—and you didn’t come.”

“I never touched another woman,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I’ve been looking for you since the day you left. And when I couldn’t find you... I started losing my mind.”

I flinched when he reached for my arm. His fingers brushed my skin and I recoiled like I’d been burned.

“You said I was nothing. That I was filth. The slutty daughter of a whore. And then you let me walk out—straight into a trap.”

His expression shattered. “I know. And I regret it every fucking day. But Charlotte... please, don’t think I gave up.”

“Then where the hell were you?”

Ethan’s voice sliced between us like a scalpel. “That’s enough.”

He stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of me.

“You’re in my home, Mr. Moretti. And I’ve been patient. But if you take one more step toward her, I’ll call the police.”

Cassian turned, slow and deliberate, like death incarnate. “You call the cops—and I’ll make sure they find your body before they find your jaw.

“Cassian!” I stepped between them, chest heaving. “Don’t touch him. Don’t even look at him like that.”

Cassian’s voice dropped to a snarl. “He’s harboring my wife.”

“Charlotte’s not your anything anymore,” Ethan said. “You lost the right to her when you abandoned her to hell.”

“You don’t get to say her name,” Cassian said, stepping forward.

But Ethan held his ground.

And I’d had enough.

“You don’t get to walk in here and treat him like shit,” I said to Cassian, my voice shaking. “He’s the reason I got out of that hell. The reason I’m not still locked in a padded room, drugged out of my mind. The reason I can breathe again.”

Cassian turned to me, a storm behind his eyes—grief, anger, something dangerously close to desperation.

“You’re coming with me.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Charlotte—”

“I want a divorce.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cassian blinked once. Slowly. Then laughed—but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. Disbelieving. A man unraveling and pretending not to.

“You think I’m letting you go?” he said, voice low, deadly calm. “You think you get to leave me twice?”

I didn’t flinch. Not this time.

“We were never something I chose,” I said. “You dragged me into your world. You made me your wife out of spite. And now you want to pretend there’s love in it?”

He stepped closer, shadows falling across his face.

“You think I haven’t suffered?” he said, eyes narrowing. “You think I didn’t bleed every day you were gone? I’ve torn this world apart looking for you. And you want to talk to me about choice?”

“If you try to force me, I swear—I’ll slit my wrists right here and make you watch me bleed.

His jaw locked. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” I snapped. “It’s the only thing you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Losing control.”

He looked away, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something back. Then, softer—barely audible:

“I’m not as untouchable as I used to be.”

That pulled me up short.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just ran a hand down his face, his knuckles white, as if the words cost him something.

“Let’s just say,” he said, voice low, “my sins caught up with me.”

I blinked. “Caught up how?”

Cassian’s eyes lifted to mine—dark, bruised with exhaustion I hadn’t noticed before. “It means I don’t have time to play games anymore, Charlotte. I’m here. I found you. And I’m not walking away.”

My breath hitched.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he added. “I’ll earn it. However long it takes. But don’t threaten to hurt yourself just to get away from me. I’ve already watched too much of myself rot without you.”

The words hit harder than I expected. And I hated that they did.

“You chained me,” I whispered, my voice thin and shaking. “Mocked my scars. Hid the truth about my mother.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer excuses. Just nodded once—like he’d already accepted that every word was a nail in his coffin.

“I’ll carry that to the grave.”

“Then go carry it somewhere else.”

His eyes didn’t move from mine. “I wake up screaming your name.”

I froze.

He took a step forward. “I sleep on your side of the bed. I haven’t touched another woman. I can’t. You’re in my blood, Charlotte. I’d cut myself open just to prove it.”

“I don’t care.”

Another step.

I screamed. “GET OUT!”

My hands flew to my head, yanking my hair, my breath coming in frantic, shallow bursts. My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

Cassian stopped, his face pale. “Charlotte—what are you doing?”

“I don’t know!” I cried, voice raw and rising. “Sometimes I forget where I am. Sometimes I see things that aren’t there. And sometimes... sometimes I scream at shadows and call them by your name.”

My legs gave out. I dropped to my knees on the cold floor, shaking so violently I could barely breathe. The sobs came fast, brutal—like my body was trying to tear the pain out of itself.

“I’m not okay,” I whispered, curling in on myself. “I’m not okay.”

He stood there like a statue, guilt carved into every line of his face.

And then, just as I’d managed to catch a shaky breath, he said—

“Your mother... she’s gone.”

The words hit harder than a scream.

I froze.

Everything inside me turned cold. Numb.

“What?” I whispered.

“She died,” he said softly. “A few months after you disappeared.”

“No...” I blinked, breath catching. “You said she was alive—”

“You tortured her,” I whispered. “You let your revenge kill her—just like it almost killed me.”

“I didn’t—” He stepped forward.

“GET OUT!” I screamed again, slamming my fists against the wall. “GET OUT!”

Ethan appeared, face drawn. “Mr. Moretti. You need to leave.”

Cassian didn’t argue.

He turned slowly, his jaw flexing, the storm in his eyes still crackling. For a second, I thought he might explode. But instead, he just reached into his coat, pulled out a card, and held it out to Ethan.

“If anything happens to her,” he said quietly, “call me.”

Ethan took the card without a word.

Cassian stepped to the door but paused—just for a heartbeat. His gaze flicked to mine. Not pleading. Not soft. Just... searching.

Then, under his breath, low enough that only I could hear it, he muttered, “I wasn’t built to survive losing you twice.”

And then he was gone.

I collapsed to the floor, trembling. My breath hitched. My mind splintering under the weight of it all.

Ethan’s footsteps approach, soft but steady, his lanky 6’2 frame crouching before me, his brown eyes gentle behind his tech-nerd glasses. He doesn’t touch me, respecting the space my trauma demands,

“Charlotte,” he said gently. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. My body felt like it had been turned inside out. I didn’t even know where to put my hands.

“Shall I help you inside?” he asked softly, his voice deliberate and low.

“No...” I choked. “No, I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

He didn’t move to touch me—just nodded, then sat down beside me on the steps. Close, but not too close. The gesture meant more than any hug could’ve.

My breath steadied just enough to speak. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re hurting. That’s not the same.”

Tears filled my eyes. “They gave me pills, Ethan. Every day. And when I refused, they held me down and shot them into my veins. My roommate... she used to scream at walls and call them her ex-husband. And I think I’m starting to do the same.”

He looked at me quietly, but his expression never changed. “You’ve been through something no one should. Of course it’s going to leave bruises. But bruises fade.”

I looked away, ashamed. “If I start slipping again... would I even know?”

“You’d know,” he said. “And I’d know. You’re not slipping, Charlotte. You’re waking up from the worst year of your life. That takes time.”

Silence fell between us again. Heavy. But less sharp this time.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Ethan asked eventually. “Cassian.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the wet ground, the rain-damp gravel glittering under the porch light.