Page 9 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

My chest tightened—because I hadn’t told him that. Not recently. Maybe not ever, out loud.

I gave a small nod. “I did. I do.”

He leaned back, folding his hands loosely in his lap. For a while, we just sat like that—beside each other, not touching, not speaking. Just breathing the same air. Letting the silence do what our words couldn’t.

Finally, he asked, “Do you feel safe here?”

I hesitated.

“I don’t mean because of me,” he added quickly. “I mean... the room. The house. This version of it.”

I turned toward him slowly. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t feel caged. That’s... something.”

His shoulders eased a fraction, as if those words mattered more to him than they should’ve.

“I’ll keep changing whatever you need me to,” he said. “Until it feels like yours.”

I didn’t answer right away. But I didn’t pull away, either.

“Can you eat now? The food’s ready,” Cassian asked, his voice quiet.

I nodded slowly, rising to my feet. “Yeah. I can eat.”

I took a step toward the kitchen, but before I could cross the threshold, he moved in front of me—not forceful, just enough to pause me. “Sit at the table,” he said gently. “Let me serve you. If you want, I can even feed you.”

I folded my arms, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not sick, Cassian. You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile.”

“I’m not treating you like a patient,” he said. “I’m treating you like you matter. Like the woman I should’ve cherished from the start.”

I stared at him for a beat. “You had every chance to treat me like that back then. You didn’t.”

He didn’t argue.

I stepped around him, walked into the kitchen, and plated the food myself. He didn’t stop me again. Just followed in silence, keeping a respectful distance.

Back at the dining table, I began eating without a word. Cassian sat across from me, watching. He hadn’t touched his own food.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask why he wasn’t eating, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and picked up, his posture still, his voice low.

“Yeah.” A pause. “I’m listening.”

He didn’t say much else, but when he hung up, his fist remained clenched around the phone. His knuckles had gone pale. On the surface, he looked composed. But something was simmering underneath.

I set my fork down, heart ticking with an old, familiar unease. “A year ago, before I left... I saw a message on your phone,” I said quietly. “Someone said they missed you. That I could have you back after they were done. Who was it?”

His expression didn’t flicker. “My coach.”

My brow arched. “A female coach?”

He gave a brief glance to a new notification, then met my gaze again. “Male. He’d been out of the country for months, on a contract. He’d just gotten back. The message was about training—reworking my schedule for the finals.”

I studied him. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You don’t have to. But it’s the truth.” His voice stayed calm. “If I were seeing someone else, I’d tell you to your face.”

I said nothing for a long moment, just kept eating. Then, without looking up, I asked, “You didn’t win the biker championship, did you?”

He shook his head. “No. First loss I’ve ever had. I made it to the finals, but I was falling apart. I was too far gone.”

He let out a hollow laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Someone actually tried to hit me with a bottle after I lost. But the worst part wasn’t the defeat. It was realizing that nothing—not even a title—mattered without you.”

His gaze dropped, and his voice lowered even more. “I thought about you every second. To the point that I...”

He trailed off.

I stilled my hands. “To the point that what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shook his head and muttered, “It’s not important.”

Then he stood abruptly. “I need to take this call. It’s personal.”

He walked out, and I didn’t chase the conversation. Some part of me knew—when Cassian said something wasn’t important, it usually meant it would hurt too much to explain.

I finished my food in silence, stood, and carried the plate to the sink. As I rinsed it, I heard him behind me again.

“Ethan says he has information about your brother.”

I froze. My fingers stopped under the stream of water.

I turned. “Where is he?”

Cassian’s expression was unreadable. “In the living room.”

My eyes widened. “You let Ethan into your house?”

It didn’t make sense. Cassian, who wouldn’t so much as let another man look at me for too long, had allowed Ethan through the gates?

“He waited at the estate entrance for eight hours,” Cassian said, leaning against the doorframe. “Refused to leave. Said it was about Vincent. Eventually, I told the guards to let him in.”

I swallowed hard, my voice quiet. “Thank you.”

I dried my hands with a towel, composed myself, and stepped out of the kitchen.

Ethan stood as soon as he saw me. His eyes warmed instantly, like I was someone he’d missed without even realizing how much.

“Charlotte,” he breathed.

I moved toward him without thinking—but I didn’t make it far.

“No hugs,” Cassian snapped from behind me.

I stopped mid-step. That tone. That possessiveness. I’d almost forgotten how fast it surfaced, how naturally it lived in him.

Ethan caught my hesitation and gave me a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He gestured to the couch, and I sat, still catching my breath from the sudden tension in the air.

“Mr. Moretti,” Ethan said, glancing pointedly at Cassian, “Could we have a minute? Just to talk, privately?”

Cassian didn’t answer. He just stood nearby, pacing with slow, deliberate steps—like a lion circling prey.

“I wouldn’t give her privacy with her own blood,” he said flatly. “Let alone you. Say what you need to say before I decide you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Ethan clenched his jaw but didn’t push it. We both knew Cassian wasn’t one to be reasoned with when it came to territory—and I was his territory.

Instead, Ethan reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek box, placing it carefully on the coffee table in front of me.

“I got you something,” he said. “It’s not much, but... I thought you might need it.”

I opened it slowly. A brand-new iPhone.

My lips parted in surprise. “You bought me a phone?”

“It’s already set up. Sim’s registered in your name. My number’s saved in there too.”

Something in my chest softened. I hadn’t realized how much I missed simple things—small acts of thoughtfulness with no strings attached.

“Thank you, Ethan,” I said quietly. “I didn’t even realize how much I needed one until now.”

He smiled, just a little. “I figured. And there’s more—it’s secured. No one can track it. Not your father. Not even Cassian. In case... you ever need a way out.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

I felt Cassian’s gaze sharpen from across the room—intense, possessive, searing into my skin. And then, to my surprise, I heard his footsteps retreating. He was walking away.

But I didn’t look at him.

My attention was still on Ethan—because right now, it was easier than facing the man who’d once made me feel like I had no escape.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked gently. “Are things... better?”

“I spoke to a trauma specialist,” I said. “Not a hospital doctor. He took a blood sample—wants to see what drugs were still in my system from the ward. I’ve been having episodes... flashbacks. He thinks it might be withdrawal, or some kind of memory interference.”

Ethan’s expression darkened. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”

He leaned back slightly, voice low. “A friend of mine is throwing a party tomorrow. Not wild—more like a low-key thing. Food, music, games. I think it might help... to be around people. Somewhere normal.”

“I want to,” I admitted. “God, I want to. But I don’t think Cassian will let me go.”

Ethan’s voice softened even more. “Talk to him. If he loves you... truly loves you, he’ll want to see you healing. He’ll want to give you that freedom.”

I didn’t respond right away. I just looked down at the phone in my hands.

Then, finally, I whispered, “I’ll try.”