Page 140 of Crushed Vow

The sadness etched into his face was palpable, a weight that pressed against my chest.

He dressed slowly, his hands tracing the fabric, compensating for his lost sight.

Without his glasses, he was vulnerable, and yet he turned away, stepping toward the door.

I watched, my heart twisting, as he stumbled into the night.

The estate’s streets were quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Cassian didn’t head toward the penthouse. Instead, he wandered, his hands outstretched, fingers brushing against trees and fences, guiding himself through the darkness.

His steps were uneven, deliberate, as if he were punishing himself, a man lost in both sight and soul.

He moved like a specter, a broken figure swallowed by the night, and I stood frozen, unable to look away.

Do I love him? The question echoed. I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I loved myself, if I even knew who I was anymore. A madwoman, marked by scars and secrets, standing on the edge of a choice I wasn’t ready to make.

Nine months. That was my timeline, a deadline tied to a truth I couldn’t share with him.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever. It wasn’t just the chaos of our lives, the violence of the Moretti world, or the weight of my grandfather’s wishes.

There was something else, a secret buried deep, one that could change everything.

I turned away, the ache in my chest a living thing, and stepped back into the room, the echo of Cassian’s stumbling steps haunting me as I closed the door.

Chapter 20

CASSIAN

The wind whipped across the tarmac of my private airstrip, as I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes locked on Charlotte as she climbed the steps to the jet.

Her silhouette was a knife to my heart.

Brooks stood silent behind me, a shadow of loyalty, but his presence couldn’t dull the ache in my chest, a pain so raw it felt like my ribs were cracking.

She was leaving. Nine months, she’d said.

Nine months to heal, to find herself, to escape me.

But what if it was forever?

What if I never saw her again?

My hands trembled in my coat pockets. Every rejection, every glance of fear in her eyes, was a wound I couldn’t heal.

I’d broken her, and now she was slipping through my fingers, stepping into a jet that would carry her to a life I couldn’t touch.

My breath hitched, a ragged sound lost in the roar of the engines as they began to hum, the plane preparing to take her away.

“Charlotte,” I whispered, her name a prayer on my lips, barely audible as the jet’s door sealed shut with a final thud.

The sound echoed in my chest, a hollow drumbeat of loss.

She needed this—needed the space, the freedom, the chance to mend her shattered mind.

I knew about the suicidal thoughts, the self-harm, the way she hid her scars beneath padded bras and forced smiles.