Page 13 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

CHARLOTTE

I was still knotted in that storm of confusion and frustration when the house phone began to ring.

The sound jarred against the silence of the estate, sharp and shrill. I didn’t move.

Cassian’s house, Cassian’s phone—surely the call was his.

But then it stopped. And almost immediately, it started again.

I rose slowly, every step hesitant, as though the phone itself might bite me. My hand hovered before I finally lifted the receiver.

Silence. Thick, deliberate. I stayed quiet too. If they wouldn’t speak, neither would I.

Then a voice, low but familiar: “Can I speak to my sister?”

I froze. My sister?

“Who are you?” I asked cautiously.

A beat. Then—sharp recognition cut through the line. “Oh my days! Charlotte—it’s you?”

My breath caught.

“...Yeah.”

“It’s Vincent.”

I gripped the receiver tighter.

Vincent. My brother. I’d seen him briefly at the mafia gathering, but we hadn’t spoken. Not enough for me to know where we stood. Hearing his voice now stirred something faint—like a memory hovering at the edge of the dark.

“Oh my... Vincent,” I whispered.

“I’ve missed you so much, Charlotte.” His tone was gentle, earnest.

“Same here,” I lied. The truth was uglier: I couldn’t remember enough of him to miss him. My chest should have ached, but it didn’t.

“Would you like to meet? Just us. Dinner, anywhere you choose. We have so much to talk about.”

The invitation dangled in the air, dangerous.

I wanted to ask if we’d seen each other in those lost years, if he knew about Elodie, my captor, the divorce Cassian refused to confirm.

But exposing my memory loss was too dangerous.

Luca’s vengeance, Artem’s ambition, Father’s greed—they’d use any crack in my armor. Even Vincent, my little brother, could be a threat.

“Cassian’s security has strict orders not to let me out,” I said, keeping my voice steady, deflecting.

“Come on, Charlotte,” he said, a playful edge creeping in, the same tone he’d used as a kid to coax me into mischief. “We always find a way, you know that. We’re family—family’s everything.”

Family. The word scraped against something raw inside me.

“I’m not ready, Vincent,” I said softly. “I’m not... okay. Not right now.”

Silence stretched. Then his voice dropped, dark with warning: “Cassian will destroy—”

“Let him,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to.

My gut twisted with unease—an instinct whispering that Vincent had already betrayed me once before, though I couldn’t recall how.

“Later, Vincent,” I said firmly, and hung up.

I exhaled, staring at the phone like it might ring again. It should have hurt, hearing my brother’s voice after years. But strangely, there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Dragging myself back toward Cassian’s room, I slowed near the hall and glanced around.

What did he plan for me tonight? The question gnawed, but curiosity pulled me elsewhere. If I could find a clue—anything—about my past, it might unlock the fog.

If Cassian and I had truly lived here as husband and wife, then maybe—just maybe—the walls held fragments of my missing years.

So I searched. Room to room, cabinet to cabinet. Everything was spotless, arranged with obsessive precision, as if no one had lived here at all. Nothing of me. Nothing of us. Nothing of... anyone.

No photos, no letters, no trace of the life I’d lost.

Exhausted, I stepped out of a final room, a sterile office with mahogany shelves, and froze.

Scratched into the wall, in shorthand I somehow recognized, was a single word: RUN.

My breath caught, my heart stuttering.

Run? From what? From whom?

The message felt personal, a warning meant for me, but it could’ve been old, meant for someone else.

Cassian? My captor?

The word burned into my mind, a spark in the fog.

I backed away, my pulse racing, and returned to the bedroom, the warning echoing.

Cassian was gone. Relief and dread tangled in me as I showered, dressed, then slipped beneath the duvet. The silence of the house pressed heavy, as though it too was waiting.

Waiting for Cassian.

Waiting for the punishment he had promised me tonight.

And I lay there, staring into the dark, wondering if I’d survive it.

A sudden lurch pulled me under, and I was no longer in the bedroom but on a boat—no, not a boat, a vessel so large the wooden deck stretched endlessly beneath my feet. Yet it swayed, tilting with the vast black sea that clawed at its sides.

The night air burned my skin with its cold bite, and I realized, with a bolt of shame, that I was naked. My arms wrapped around myself in a desperate shield—one hand clutched over my scarred chest, the other pressed hard against my groin. But it did nothing against the open air. Against him.

A masked man leaned against the boat’s railing, his silhouette dark against the starless sky, his eyes—hidden behind a black cloth—boring into me with cold amusement.

The boat rocked, waves crashing against its hull, the sound a deafening roar that drowned my thoughts.

“No one will save you here, Charlotte,” he said finally, his voice casual, almost bored, as if my terror was routine. He gestured lazily at the horizon, where the sea stretched into a void that had no end. “Look around. This is nowhere. Even if you scream, the waves will swallow you first.”

I couldn’t stop trembling.

My teeth clattered, my words came out broken, stuttering, barely forming a plea. I didn’t even know what I was begging for—release? Mercy? An explanation? Why me?

The masked man tilted his head. “I’m sure you don’t know me.” His boots echoed as he walked toward me. Each step felt like a countdown.

My body froze, locked in place, refusing to run though every instinct screamed.

“But you will,” he finished. His gloved hand shot out, clamping around my arm. The grip burned, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“No—” My voice cracked.

“Let’s see if you can swim through death itself.” With one merciless heave, he dragged me to the edge and flung me into the water.

The scream tore through me before the sea did.

My body plunged into liquid ice. The cold wasn’t just sharp—it was cruel, biting, wrapping around me like claws. My lungs convulsed, sucking in salt and panic.

I flailed, thrashed, my arms fighting water I could never master. Swimming had never been mine to claim—especially not like this. Not naked, not drowning in a graveyard sea.

Then—hands. Not the sea’s hands. A hand gripping mine. Tight. Still dragging.

“No! Please! Let go!” I screamed, choking on water, choking on fear.

“Charlotte—hey—it’s me. It’s me.”

The voice tore through the nightmare like a blade. Cassian’s voice.

The sea blurred into shadows, the icy waves thinned to sheets, and I found myself on a bed, thrashing against covers instead of water. My chest heaved as if it still held the ocean.

Cassian’s hand clamped at my upper arm, in the exact same place the masked man had seized me. My skin burned beneath his touch, the nightmare refusing to let go.

I yanked my arm free as though his fingers could pull me back under. Curling into myself, I pressed my knees up and wrapped both arms around my body. The air in the room was warm, but I still felt drenched, frozen, vulnerable.

“What was your nightmare?” Cassian asked. His tone was cold, stripped of comfort, as if even my fear belonged to him to dissect.

I didn’t look at him. “None of your business.” My voice came small, brittle, but the words were defiant.

My throat ached from screaming in the dream, my body still shivering with the aftertaste of drowning.

I wondered if that wasn’t just a dream. If maybe it was a memory. One of the missing years bleeding through.

Cassian’s silence sharpened the room. Then, his mouth curved—not in sympathy, but in something darker. “Wrong answer.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” he said.

He stepped closer, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the edge, his scent flooding my senses, overwhelming the lingering chill of the nightmare. “You screamed like you were dying. Tell me what you saw.”

I shook my head, my resolve hardening despite the fear.

“It was just a dream,” I said, my voice steady. “A boat, a sea, some man. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said, his tone sharper now, his hand reaching for my wrist, his grip firm but not bruising.

“You’re mine, Charlotte, and I need to know what’s in your head. Was it him—your captor?” His eyes darkened, a mix of anger and something deeper, almost protective, flickering in their depths.

I pulled my wrist free, my skin tingling where he’d touched me, that conflicting pull stirring again.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking.

“This is the truth, Charlotte,” Cassian said at last, his gaze heavy on me.

There was pity in it, but also something darker—like he wanted to both ruin me and hold me together at the same time.

“We were married—truly, deeply. But I was cruel to you. I said things that cut deeper than knives, acted in ways that broke you, until you couldn’t take it anymore and left. ”

The words struck like a blade.

I stared at him, my breath catching.

I waited for him to stop, but he didn’t.

“I searched for you,” he continued, his voice heavy, his eyes never leaving mine. “I paid off informants, bribed cops, spoke to men I’d sworn never to cross—cartel lords, even presidents of nations. I tore the world apart looking for you, but you were a ghost.”

I leaned forward despite myself, breath caught in my throat.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I was broken, Charlotte. Destroyed. I hated myself for the pain I’d caused you—every word, every act.

I stood on rooftops at night, staring at the city, wondering if I’d find you dead or if I’d end myself first.” His voice cracked, a rare fracture in his control, and my chest tightened.