Page 130 of Crushed Vow

He went quiet, his jaw tightening. “Why?”

“Because you’re irredeemable,” I said, each word a weight dropping between us. “The things you’ve done... they’re too much. You’ve broken me in ways I can’t forgive.”

“I’m just protecting what’s mine,” he said, his voice soft but resolute.

“But I need your forgiveness, Charlotte, even if it doesn’t change who I am. I was raised in blood—killed my own father before I was ten, ended countless lives since. This is my fate, carved into me long before I met you.”

He paused, his gaze dropping to the urn in my arms, then back to my face. “But I never meant to hurt you

He looked up slowly, and for the first time, I saw something broken in his expression.

He swallowed hard. “Do you know I started therapy the day I saw you at that first official dinner with Luca—in my family’s penthouse? Your mother’s betrayal... what she did to mine—it consumed me.”

“I hated you, Charlotte. Hated you so much I wanted to destroy you. But I was also obsessed, drawn to you in a way I couldn’t control. I wanted you to be mine—every part of you, even your last breath.”

He leaned closer, his voice breaking with a rare vulnerability. “I thought therapy would fix me, make me better for you. But it didn’t. I still did to you what your mother did to mine—hurt you, broke you. And the worst part? Watching you walk out of my house, knowing I should’ve stopped you, only for you to be kidnapped and locked in that asylum for a year. That’s what I can’t forgive myself for.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. “Charlotte, I’m sorry. For everything.”

My eyes stung, dry and sore from crying too much. The pain in my wrist, side, and thigh—old wounds that were still healing—had returned, aching with a deep, steady throb. It felt like my blood was on fire, stirred up by too much grief and fear.

“You’re too broken to be fixed. You’re unlovable.” I said, my voice low and cutting

His face crumpled, “I am... truly unlovable,” he admitted, his voice quiet, his eyes lowering, as if the weight of my words had finally pierced him.

“No one will ever love you like this,” I said, my voice trembling, thick with anger. “You kill without thinking. You mutilate people like it’s just another Tuesday. And your obsession with me—it’s not love, Cassian. It’s toxic. It’s poison.”

I clutched the urn to my chest, the edges digging into my skin, grounding me.

“Why don’t you just live alone? Without a woman to destroy. If you really meant it—if you were truly sorry—you’d let me go.”

His eyes lifted slowly behind those concave glasses, and the moment they locked on mine, something in the air shifted.

“I can’t let you go, Charlotte,” he said, voice rough like gravel. “And I can’t stand the thought of you near another man. I’d burn the world to ash before I let anyone else touch you. Protecting you has made me a monster... but I’ll be that monster every time if it means you stay alive.”

I let out a laugh.

“My mind is gone, Cassian. Do you understand that? I was stabbing myself two nights ago, trying to end it. If you keep me here, one day you’ll walk in and find my body cold on the floor.”

His face twisted, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low and cracked. “Don’t talk about death like that.”

“Why not?” I snapped, “I’m already thinking about it all the time. I already see it every time I close my eyes. What more do you want from me? Do you want to watch it happen?”

His jaw tightened, but his voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Do you love me?”

The question hit like a punch to the ribs. My breath caught.

I stared at him, heart racing.

“Don’t ask me something so stupid,” I choked, voice cracking with disbelief. “Not after everything. Not when I can barely stay alive.”

“No, Charlotte,” he said, his voice too steady, like he was forcing it to hold together. “Answer me. You say I’m irredeemable. You say I ruined you. Fine. Maybe I have. But answer the damn question—do you love me?”

I laughed again, a hysterical sound that clawed its way out of my throat. My fingers tightened around the urn until my knuckles turned white.