Page 100 of Cruel Deception
I called Vincent.
He picked on the second ring. “What did that bastard do to you now?”
“I think I killed him...” I sobbed, voice barely a whisper. “Vincent, I—I shot him. I didn’t mean to...”
Now I was full-on crying.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “I’m coming with two guys. We’ll clean it up before anyone finds out. Don’t call anyone else, you hear me?”
“Vincent... I shouldn’t have shot him...”
“No,” he replied. “You did it for Mother. You’re brave, Charlotte. I’ll respect you forever for this. Be there in ten.”
Then he hung up.
I looked down at Cassian’s face—drained of color. Cold. Silent.
I pressed both hands to his chest again, tried every resuscitation technique I remembered. Nothing worked.
Still nothing.
I stood up, staggering back, dazed. The room spun.
I moved like a ghost—aimless. I stumbled into the hallway, into the kitchen, into the living room. Then back to his body. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.
I looked like a madwoman.
And maybe I was.
Cassian and I had only just started becoming something. First sex... then breakfast. Laughing. Talking. He brought me into his world—took me to the underground race, let me in. Even if he swore to punish me until my last breath, it didn’t feel like punishment anymore. Something had shifted. A crack in the ice.
He was still cold—but not cruel. Not like Luca.
Not like I thought.
And now he was gone.
I killed him.
What if the woman in that room wasn’t my mother?
What if Vincent got into my head?
What if I made the biggest mistake of my life?
I was still drowning in guilt, my mind spiraling as I clutched my phone, waiting—begging—for a miracle. Let him breathe. Let him move. Let him open his eyes and curse me if he must. I’d take it. I’d beg. I’d fall on my knees and worship his feet if it would undo what I’d done.
The man who hunted down my violators. The man who made them beg before they died. The man who beat his own brother bloody for laying a hand on me... who slapped my father to the floor on our wedding day and forced him to apologize.
I killed him.
My sobs tore through the silence. My head throbbed from the crying, swollen from the weight of grief and agony.
Then my phone rang again. The estate’s security.
“Vincent and two others just entered the compound,” they said.
“Let them in,” I replied without thinking, my voice flat and hollow.
