Page 76 of Crushed Vow

I ground some coffee beans, the familiar rasp of the grinder calming my nerves. Boiled water. Watched the dark swirl as it filled the mug. I didn’t add cream. I wanted to feel something raw today.

With the hot cup in my hands, I moved to the living room, settling on the couch. The house was too quiet. I couldn’t sit still.

I needed to hear from Ethan.

I hadn’t heard from him in days. No calls. No updates. And Cassian—Cassian could give me answers, but every time I brought up Ethan’s name, he turned cold. Distant. Or worse—furious.

But I couldn’t just sit here and wait. Not after everything Ethan did for me. He had pulled me from that hellhole when no one else would. He got me out of the psych ward. Risked his life.

If Cassian wouldn’t tell me where he was, then I’d find out myself.

I left my coffee half-full on the table and stormed out the door. Crossed the estate grounds barefoot. Anger coiled in my chest as I approached Cassian’s house.

His bike—Sophia—was gone. He wasn’t home.

I called his line.

He picked up after the third ring.

“Hey, Charlotte,” he answered, voice low and unreadable.

“Hi. I didn’t mean to bother you, but I need an update. About Ethan. I’ve been really worried. Can you please—”

There was a long pause. Tense. Heavy.

“I just walked out of a high-stakes meeting to take your call,” he said, voice low and tight. “And the first fucking word out of your mouth is his name?”

I sucked in a breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. “He’s just a friend—”

“Yeah?” His voice was cold now. “That’s what they always say. ‘Just a friend.’ Until they end up in each other’s bed.”

His words stabbed through me.

My voice trembled. “You think I’m just some whore who sleeps with anyone who shows me kindness?”

Another pause.

Then a threat, low and sharp: “Don’t say his name again. If I hear it from you one more time, I’ll kill him for good.”

“No. You wouldn’t,” I snapped, anger flaring. “You wouldn’t dare touch him. He’s done nothing wrong. And even if I did sleep with him—or anyone—it wouldn’t matter. We’re divorced.”

“Then stop calling me,” he said, voice like ice. “Let me fix the mess I created... because of you.”

And then—he hung up.

The silence afterward was deafening.

I stared at the screen, my heart thudding.

Rage curled in my chest like smoke.

He wouldn’t even tell me if Ethan was alive.

Fine. I would find out myself.

I walked toward the garage and grabbed the keys to one of his cars. We were divorced. I didn’t have a claim to anything that belonged to him. But I didn’t care. He owed me at least this.

No one stopped me at the gates.