Page 32 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

He smiled, almost too understanding. “I thought maybe we could explore something. But if you’re not ready, that’s okay. Friends, then?”

He offered the word like an olive branch. But something about the way he said it— Friends, then?— felt less like a door opening and more like a net settling.

Still, I nodded. “Friends,” I echoed, the knot in my chest loosening just enough for air to slip through. “Yes.”

The waiter returned just then, placing our plates gently before us.

My grilled sea bass shimmered with lemon and herbs, steam curling upward. Manuel’s risotto glowed golden, fragrant and rich.

I picked up my fork and took a bite, the fish flaking softly beneath my teeth.

For a moment, I let myself breathe. The ordinary act of eating tethered me.

Manuel took a bite, then dabbed at his mouth with the edge of his napkin. “So,” he said casually, tilting his head slightly, “want to tell me about yourself? Or should I start?”

His tone was light and unthreatening. But something in the way he watched me made my pulse skip.

“You go first,” I said, cutting another piece of fish and pretending my fingers weren’t trembling slightly.

He smiled and leaned back slightly, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Alright then,” he said, voice velvety. “Let’s see.

.. I grew up in Argentina, studied medicine in Barcelona.

Moved here six years ago when my daughter was diagnosed.

Best hospitals are here. I’m a neurosurgeon, which probably already makes me a control freak. ”

I forced a smile. “Your daughter... is she okay?”

“Better,” he said simply. “She’s stable. And she’s the reason I’ve stayed grounded. You’ll meet her one day, maybe.”

One day.

My stomach turned slightly, even as I nodded politely.

There was a quiet pause. Long enough for me to wonder why he looked so unbothered by rejection.

But I kept eating.

And smiling.

Then my attention faltered.

A group of men in sharp suits filtered into the restaurant, their movements too synchronized. They didn’t speak to anyone. Just walked in like they had a right to every shadow.

My heart dropped, instinct flaring hot in my chest.

I froze mid-chew, my breath caught.

My eyes scanned their faces. Not for recognition. For masks. For weapons. For a sign that this was another trap disguised in silk and candlelight.

And then—I saw him.

Grayson.

My father.

The man who had me kidnapped and sent to a psych ward without a shred of pity or intention of ever getting me out.

The man who gave the nurses orders to sedate me, restrain me and overdose me.

He looked older now—more lines cut into his face, his jaw a little looser. But the cruelty hadn’t aged. It lingered in his eyes like a disease that would never die.

“Fuck.” The word slipped out before I could stop it, breathy and bitter.

My fork slipped from my fingers, clattering against the ceramic with a sound that felt like a gunshot to my ears. The candle between Manuel and me flickered.

“I think I should leave,” I whispered, reaching for my napkin, trying to steady my trembling hands. But my body wasn’t listening.

Before I could even rise, Grayson was there.

He moved like he always had—like he belonged, like he was above rules or invitation.

He yanked a chair from the table beside us, dragging it across the floor with a guttural screech that turned every head in the room for a moment. Then he sat—uninvited, unapologetic.

“Don’t get up,” he said, his voice smooth as glass but laced with venom. “You always were dramatic.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Manuel looked between us, confused. “Sir, I’m sorry, but this is—”

Grayson raised a hand lazily, silencing him with a look honed from decades of domination.

“Dr. Manuel Vargas, yes?” he said with a thin smile.

“Neurosurgeon. Divorced. Has a daughter with a chronic illness. You’re a brave man to bring my daughter here while knowing nothing about the fire she’s capable of setting. ”

My breath caught.

Manuel blinked. “Excuse me?”

Grayson leaned forward, elbows on the table, folding his hands like we were having brunch instead of a confrontation in public. “Charlotte, you look... thinner. Not eating again?”

“You always waste away when you’re being difficult.”

I flinched.

Before I could recover, his cruel eyes dropped to my chest.

And then they lingered.

Like he was studying a deformity. Like he was confirming something.

The world spun.

My vision went white for a moment, the air draining from my lungs so fast I couldn’t breathe. My hands went rigid on the edge of the table, gripping the cloth like I could stop myself from floating off into that hellscape again. The surgery. The pain. The whispers. The mirror.

He always knew where to stab..

I reached for my purse with shaking hands, desperate to escape, but Grayson clicked his tongue. “Sit. We’re not done.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a hiss only I could hear. “Then listen. Luca’s patience is thinning. And if you keep sneaking around with the blind psychopath, you’ll both end up buried before winter.”

Cassian. He meant Cassian.

I clenched my fists under the table.

“I don’t care what Luca wants,” I spat, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not yours to control anymore.”

He smiled. A reptilian smile. “Aren’t you?

Then his smile vanished. His jaw ticked. “I wish I could show you just how much control I still have,” he hissed, leaning closer, his breath thick with rage. “But your blind, psycho ex-husband took that from me. Stripped me of my right—my claim.”

A vein pulsed in his temple. His eyes burned.

“And I still wonder... What does he see in you?” he sneered. “A woman carved open. Incomplete. Broken.” His gaze dropped, cruelly. “What makes you worth bleeding the world dry for?”

I froze, bile rising in my throat.

But he wasn’t finished.

“He started a war for you,” He continued, each word poisoned. “Ended it with sacrifices I can’t even fathom—burned half his empire to ashes just to crawl back to your feet. For what? A girl who doesn’t even know if she wants to die or be adored?”

He smiled again. That same empty grin. “Tell your so-called ex husband to keep watching his back. Because there are bullets with his name carved in them. And some debts, my love, demand blood.”

Manuel’s brows furrowed, clearly missing half the context. “Is there a problem here?”

“None at all,” Grayson said, rising. “Just a family reunion. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

He reached out and tapped my chin lightly with two fingers.

I flinched back like he’d struck me.

He chuckled—then turned to Manuel, offering his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Truly. But she’s not ready, doctor. And trust me... she never will be.”

He walked off, just like that. No fanfare. No apology.

Just silence in his wake.

The restaurant continued around us, but I could barely hear it. My heart was thundering in my chest. My hands were numb.

“I need to go,” I said, rising unsteadily to my feet.

“Charlotte—wait.” Manuel rose too, gently catching my arm. “Do you want me to call someone? Security?”

I shook my head. “No. Just... no.”

I turned and walked fast—too fast—out of the restaurant, not caring that my heels echoed like gunshots across the polished floor. Not caring that a couple turned to gawk.

Let them look.

My chest tightened with every step toward the parking deck, breath shallow, jaw clenched until it ached.

As I reached the frigate level, the cool air hit me—and so did the weight of Grayson’s words.

Cassian ended the war.

Ended it with blood. With fire.

Sacrifices I never knew about. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe he burned parts of himself to keep me alive, and I was too angry to notice.

My throat went thick.

The man I couldn’t forgive... had destroyed empires just to keep me breathing.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes, breath catching in my throat, when my phone vibrated in my purse. I pulled it out with trembling hands and read:

“ If you think I’m done with you, you’re dreaming. I’ll find my chance, Charlotte, and when I do, I’ll make you wish the psych ward was your only punishment.”

The words slammed into my gut like a punch.

But what surprised me more—what terrified me more—was that he had my number. I’d changed it. Twice. Cassian’s men were supposed to erase every trace of me.

But Grayson was mafia.

And I was still his blood.

He would always find a way to crawl through the cracks.

My fingers moved before I could stop them. Fury steadied my hands in a way fear never could.

“I see how you raised Vincent to be just like you, Grayson. You’re doing a stellar job molding a monster. But I’ll be here, watching, when you finally fall.”

I hit send. No hesitation.

And walked.

Fast.

Painfully fast.

As if motion could shake off the filth of his presence, the way his eyes had crawled over me like insects.