Page 8 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

And then—

A force slammed into me, hard and sudden, knocking the air from my lungs. My body hit the ground, pain exploding in my ribs, and darkness swallowed me.

I woke in a bed.

My fingers curled into unfamiliar sheets—too soft. I blinked at the ceiling, the air cool against my skin. This... didn’t feel like the DEN.

Where the hell was I?

I sat up slowly, disoriented. My limbs felt heavy. The room was sleek, too clean for the underground.

My heart pounded as I slid off the bed, my green-and-white uniform wrinkled, my boots gone. My bare feet sank into a thick rug as I moved to the door, flashes of déjà vu hitting.

This hallway... this view... I’d been here. I’d lived here. Maybe.

The marble beneath my feet gleamed. This was no training ground.

I stepped into a grand living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a sprawling estate—manicured lawns, a fountain, two sleek black cars parked beside a marble driveway.

This wasn’t the underground fortress; this was the outside world.

My breath caught, confirming I’d been torn from the House of Devils.

A figure sat on a leather sofa, glass in hand, newspaper open, reading with regal calm.

My heart skipped as I approached, the silhouette sharpening into focus. “Sir... ?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the paper. “Go take a bath.” He said, his voice laced with that familiar menace.

I glanced around, disoriented. “Where am I?”

“In my house,” he said, finally lowering the newspaper. “Right where you belong.”

My jaw clenched. “Right where I—?”

His eyes finally met mine. “You think I’d let you burn? If that was some twisted plea for freedom, you’ve miscalculated.

My stomach churned—not from fear this time, but fury. Twisted plea for freedom?

I stepped forward. “I was doing it for my team. I didn’t have a choice—”

He cut me off, rising smoothly. “You always have a choice.”

My throat went dry.

“Am I still in the House of Devils?” I asked, though everything around me said no. But I needed to hear it from him. I didn’t want to believe that one of the House’s bosses, especially the one who seemed to hold a grudge tied to a past I couldn’t remember, would pull me out without my consent.

Cassian’s gaze was sharp. “You’re in my house,” he said, his tone dark. “Which, trust me, will be far worse than the House of Devils.”

Worse?

I turned on my heel and stormed out. I needed to see it for myself—just to be sure, to confirm the truth my gut already knew.

The door opened to a private terrace. Beyond the tall gates, rows of pristine homes lined a cul-de-sac. Trees rustled in the breeze. The sky stretched wide and open. Real air filled my lungs—fresh, clean, and nothing like the recycled cold staleness of the underground.

I was out.

I was in the world again. Not the underworld.

I stood frozen. He had no right.

I’d gone to the House of Devils to claim my birthright, to win the fortune Grandfather had tied to the Moretti name without sacrificing lives or chaining myself to a mafia lord.

I’d risked everything—my disguise, my life—to strip my father of his stolen power, to avenge the exile that left us scavenging in that cabin.

Cassian had stolen that chance, pulling me from the fire’s edge. I didn’t care what history we shared, what crimes he thought I’d committed in those missing years. He owed me answers.

I marched back inside, ready to confront him, but the living room was empty—no Cassian, no newspaper, only silence.

On the coffee table lay a single card, its gold-embossed edges catching the light. I picked it up, my heart lurching as I read: Cassian Moretti weds Charlotte Grayson .

My breath caught, the world tilting. What the hell?

Wait.

Cassian... Moretti?

The last name slammed into my chest like a punch. My pulse stuttered.

One of those Morettis? The very monsters I had sworn I’d rather rot in the House of Devils than marry?

No. No, no, no.

It made sense now—why he’d looked at me like that, like he knew me.

But this wedding card...

I stared at it again, fingers trembling. Cassian Moretti & Charles Grayson — 2024.

Married?

A marriage I couldn’t remember?

My thoughts spiraled, frantically trying to stitch together the missing years.

The promise I’d made to Grandfather on his deathbed, back in the first quarter of 2024—to marry into the Moretti family—echoed like a curse. Had I fulfilled it, only to lose it in the fog of my mind?

My heart was in freefall.

I glanced down at my hand. That cursed ring. The one I couldn’t remove no matter how hard I tried.

Was this his ring? Proof of a marriage I couldn’t recall? My pulse raced, my chest tightening with a panic that felt like drowning. God, no. It can’t be.

Why am I more scared now than when I walked into the House of Devils?

The wedding card slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.

I couldn’t breathe.

I left the living room without thinking, the need for answers clawing at my throat. My legs carried me down the hall—back to the bedroom where I’d woken up.

I shoved open the door.

Cassian stood by the window, running a razor down his jaw with unbothered precision, as if the world wasn’t tilting under my feet.

“Were we married?” I blurted.

He paused mid-stroke, his blue eyes flicking to me with a condescending glint. “Don’t insult me with questions you already know the answer to.”

I stepped closer, undeterred, my hands shaking but my resolve ironclad.

“Listen, I lost part of my memories. I don’t know if there’s a medical term for it, but I can’t remember anything from when Grandfather died in early 2024 to December 2027, when I applied to the House of Devils.

” My voice cracked, the weight of those blank years spilling out.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” My voice cracked. “I need answers, Cassian. I need someone to fill this... this void in my head, and you seem to know more than I do.”

He turned back to the window like I wasn’t worth the effort. That only made me angrier.

“You said I’m the reason some girl named Elodie is dead. You said I betrayed you. But I don’t even remember doing it! You’re accusing a version of me I can’t access, and I’m the one left to pay for it.”

His voice was calm. Colder than before. “You don’t get to escape consequences just because you forgot them.”

He turned now, slowly walking across the room like a man with time on his side. Like a man who knew he was feared.

“Do murderers get to plead innocent just because they blacked out when the knife slipped? Memory or not—you still did it.”

I took a breath, steadier this time. “You had no right to pull me from the House of Devils.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “You think you can escape your crimes by throwing yourself into a death match? You’ll pay your debt before you die, Charlotte.”

My fists clenched. “And how do you plan to do that? Huh? Now that I’m here—what’s your grand punishment?”

“There are more than a thousand ways to make you pay,” he said smoothly, pausing in front of me. His presence pressed in. “And I don’t need to rush a single one.”

I didn’t back away.

I wanted to.

My entire body was screaming run, but I held my ground, spine straight, even as he towered over me. Because fear would only feed him. And whatever we were... had been, I wasn’t that girl anymore.

Even if I didn’t remember who she was.