Page 105 of Crushed Vow
I got out. I didn’t even look back as I crossed the road and went into the building opposite. But my thoughts spun like a storm inside my skull.
What was wrong with him? Was he dying? Had something irreversible happened?
I shouldn’t care. Not after everything he’s done. But somehow, that old instinct to worry—it was still there, alive and kicking, even after all the hurt.
Still, as much as what Cassian did to Luca horrified me... it had also satisfied a dark, broken part of me.
After showering, I slipped on one of Ethan’s shirts. It was oversized, soft, and smelled like laundry detergent. My chest still looked wrong. Misshapen. Scarred. But his shirt made me feel a little more... hidden.
I stared at myself in the mirror, then moved to the living room. I just wanted this war to end. This chaos. I wanted a life again. I used to dream about owning an art gallery—my own space, lined with sketches and oil paintings, a haven of color in a world like this.
Maybe someday I’d have it. A shop with tall windows. People walking by. My name on the glass.
To distract myself, I picked up my sketchpad and charcoal. I started to draw a hill, carefully shading the curves, using crosshatching for depth. I added a lone figure at the top, gazing into the wind—small, but certain.
I didn’t hear the door open.
“This isn’t one of the clothes I had my men buy for you,” Cassian said from across the room.
I froze. Then looked up, calmly. “Yeah?”
“And how exactly do you memorize every outfit you got for me?” I replied.
His fists clenched. “Whose shirt is that?”
I dropped my pencil. “It’s Ethan’s. So what?”
“Take it off.”
“No.” I stood, arms crossed. “We’re not in a relationship. You don’t get to dictate what I wear.”
“Charlotte, I’m not going to ask again.”
“Good,” I shot back. “Because I’m not going to answer again.”
He looked like he could break the world with one hand.
But I didn’t flinch.
“You’re mine, Charlotte. Wearing another man’s shirt while living in my house is a gross disrespect to me.”
I shot to my feet, defiance burning in my chest. “Then I’ll leave your fucking house.”
His eyes, hidden behind the concave glass, darkened with a dangerous intensity. “And you think I’d let you? It’s not safe out there, and no, I’ll never stop keeping eyes on you.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a growl. “I bought you the most expensive clothes, Charlotte—silks, linens, everything you could want. And you abandon them for Ethan’s cheap, used shirt?”
“I do what I want,” I snapped, my hands curling into fists, my heart pounding.
“Take that shirt off,” he said, his voice low and commanding, “before I do something crazy.”
He moved toward me, his stride purposeful, his face a storm of rage and obsession I’d never seen before.
He looked like a man unhinged, a psychopath consumed by his need for me, and it sent a shiver of fear—and thrill—down my spine.
I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “If I take it off, I’ll be naked. You’ll see everything. The scars...”
“Your scars are mine,” he said, his voice softening but no less intense. “Take. It. Off.”
Anger flared, but I held his gaze as I yanked the shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor.
