Page 15 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

CHARLOTTE

Three endless, suffocating days had passed, and I was still trapped in this godforsaken house.

No maids bustling through the halls, no guards patrolling the perimeter, no one to break the oppressive stillness. Just me, the flicker of a muted television, and these cold, unyielding walls.

Isolation pressed down on me until even silence felt like it had weight.

The only small relief was that the stupid ring my captor had burned into my finger was finally gone.

The procedure was agonizing, a searing pain that left me biting back tears, but the relief of its absence is a small victory.

My finger, still tender and wrapped in a bandage, throbs faintly as a reminder of what I’ve endured.

I’ve scoured every corner of this house for answers, for a way out, for something.

I had also tried using the house computer to search for Ethan—the same Ethan Cassian had mentioned three nights ago during our heated conversation—but nothing came up. Not a face, not even a trace. I didn’t know what he looked like, where he lived, or if he was even real anymore.

How long was I supposed to rot in the shadows like this?

That left me with only one option. Vincent. My brother.

The thought of relying on him twists my stomach—he’s family, yes, but trust is a luxury I can’t afford. Still, I have to be smart. Cunning. If I’m going to escape, I need him.

So I used the house phone, dialing the same number he had called from a few days ago. The line clicked, and after a few tense seconds of silence, his voice came through.

“It’s Charlotte,” I whispered. “How can you get me out?”

His reply was confident. “Just walk to the main gate of the estate. Keep the guards talking. We’ll handle the rest.”

I frown, gripping the receiver tighter. “You mean you’re going to storm the gate with your men? That’s your plan?”

“Don’t worry about the details, Charlotte,” he says, irritation creeping into his voice. “I’ll get you out.”

“Don’t worry?” I almost laughed. “A move like that could start a full-blown war.”

His tone hardened. “We can handle war. Charlotte, do you want out or not?”

My stomach twisted. “How can I even trust you?”

“You’re asking how you can trust your own brother?” he snapped. “I’m the only family you have left. You don’t have a choice.”

My chest tightened.

His words felt like a trap. “Find Ethan first. Then I’ll make my move.”

Silence stretched across the line before Vincent repeated slowly, almost bitterly, “Ethan?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “He’s a close friend. I need to speak with him.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with annoyance. “You’re still hung up on that friend of yours?”

“How could I not be?” I retort, my voice shaking with defiance. “He’s the only one I know I can trust. I need to talk to him, Vincent.”

Another pause, then Vincent finally said, “Fine. I’ll tell him to contact you by four tomorrow.” And the line went dead.

I lowered the receiver, my hands trembling.

The second I set it down, my stomach lurched. Panic shot through me, and I ran to the bathroom, falling to my knees at the toilet before vomiting.

The sour taste burned my throat. I gripped the sink, washed my face with cold water, and stared at my pale reflection. My chest heaved, my heart racing.

Why is this happening?

The nausea, the dizziness, the early morning sickness—it’s been plaguing me for days.

My mind recoils from the thought, but it creeps in anyway: Am I pregnant?

No. It’s impossible.

The idea of carrying a child in this nightmare, of being violated without memory or consent, is too horrific to entertain.

My hands shake as I grip the edge of the sink, willing the thought away.

It’s just stress , I tell myself. It has to be. But the doubt lingers, a poison seeping into my veins.

If it’s true, I need to know—fast. I can’t let this define me, not here, not now. But where in this godforsaken prison would I even find a pregnancy test?

I stumble back to the living room, my legs unsteady, and collapse onto the plush couch.

Fear, exhaustion, and anxiety coil tightly in my chest, each breath a struggle to keep panic at bay.

I flick on the television, desperate for distraction, and settle on Nickelodeon. The bright colors and cheerful voices of cartoons feel like a mockery of my reality, but I let them wash over me, numbing the edges of my dread.

Time slipped away until the sharp ringing of the house phone snapped me back. I glanced at the clock on the table—two hours had passed without me noticing.

My heart pounded as I lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, Charlotte.”

The voice wasn’t Vincent’s.

I froze. “...Who is this?”

“It’s Ethan.”

“Ethan?” My heart skipped. His voice was strange yet familiar, like an echo from a dream I couldn’t place.

Have I heard it recently? I push the thought aside, focusing on the moment. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah. I’m so glad you’re safe, Charlotte,” he said, his tone raw with emotion.

“When I heard you went missing again, I tore through every contact, every lead I had. It drove me mad that Cassian failed to protect you—twice. What’s the point of all his power and wealth if the one person who matters most to him keeps slipping through his fingers? ”

His words hit a nerve, echoing my own doubts about Cassian, the man who’s supposed to be my protector but feels more like a specter haunting my life. “Ethan, I need to see you,” I say, my voice raw with urgency. “You’re the only one I trust right now.”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone is heavy. “Cassian’s made it clear I’m not welcome in New York. He says I’ll be dead on sight if I show up.”

Anger flares in my chest. “I don’t trust Cassian either,” I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “So much has happened in the last three years, Ethan. Things I can’t even begin to explain. Please, find a way for us to meet.”

Silence stretched, and I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. Unlike with Vincent, I didn’t feel resistance with Ethan. His voice didn’t repel me—it drew me in, like I already knew him.

Finally, he spoke. “Maybe I can smuggle you a burner phone. We could do video calls, stay in contact. But coming in person...” He trailed off. “It’s too dangerous.”

I bit down on my lip, torn between desperation and the small thread of comfort his words offered. At least Ethan was real. At least I wasn’t entirely alone.

“Okay, Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I clutched the phone, “there’s something you need to know.

I... I’ve lost my memory of the last three years.

From the moment my grandfather pushed me to marry into the Moretti family in 2024, up until late last year when I entered that damned contest, House of Devils—it’s all gone.

I don’t remember marrying Cassian. I don’t remember anything.

But I believe you can tell me the truth.

You sound like the only person I can trust right now. ”

A heavy silence stretched across the line, and I could almost feel Ethan’s shock through the receiver. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Yeah,” I replied. “The doctor said there’s a fifty percent chance I might recover my memories... or I might not. It’s driving me insane, Ethan. I’m trapped in a life I don’t even recognize.”

“Jeez, Charlotte,” he muttered, his voice softening. “Listen, Cassian might have this line tapped. Stop using this phone. I’ll smuggle you a burner phone so we can talk securely. Let’s hope he’s not already listening to our calls.”

My heart sank at the thought of Cassian’s reach extending even to my private conversations. “Okay,” I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Vincent wants to see me. Do you think I should go?”

“Hell no,” Ethan said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You can’t trust Vincent—or your father, for that matter. Honestly, I’d rather you stay with Cassian than get tangled up with your family again.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, confirming the unease I’d felt about Vincent’s sudden interest in me.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, hesitating before adding, “Um... can you send a pregnancy test with the burner phone?”

There was a pause, and I could almost see Ethan’s brow furrowing. “You think you’re pregnant?”

“I’ve been having symptoms,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “Nausea, dizziness, morning sickness. I’m terrified, Ethan. I need to know.”

“Don’t worry, Charlotte,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll have both the phone and the test tube smuggled to you within twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, a lump rising in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As I ended the call, a wave of relief mixed with dread washed over me.

Ethan’s warning about Vincent echoed my own suspicions—Vincent’s sudden eagerness to “rescue” me felt like a trap, a chess move in a game I didn’t understand.

But what was his endgame? And why did the thought of trusting anyone, even Ethan, leave a knot of unease in my chest?

Hours later, I sat alone at the polished dining table, picking at a plate of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, the rich sauce fragrant with garlic and parmesan.

The food was exquisite, but each bite felt like ash in my mouth.

My thoughts churned.

The clink of my fork against the plate was the only sound in the cavernous room, until soft, deliberate footsteps broke the silence behind me.

I knew it was Cassian.

His presence was unmistakable, a storm cloud rolling into the room.

I didn’t turn around, focusing instead on twirling a strand of pasta around my fork, as if ignoring him could make him disappear.

He moved to the opposite end of the table and sat, his chair scraping faintly against the hardwood floor.

I felt his gaze, intense, like a spotlight pinning me in place.