Page 11 of Crushed Vow
A few minutes later, he returned with two mismatched bowls of popcorn. He handed me one without a word, then we sat on separate ends of the couch, the space between us deliberate, comfortable.
The screen flickered with light, but I wasn’t watching.
I kept glancing at Ethan. At how calm he looked, how gentle. Why was he doing this? Was it really just about high school? A memory of kindness I’d long forgotten?
He caught me looking. “Just so you know,” he said, “I’m not here to catch feelings. My heart’s been broken enough to last me a few lifetimes. I don’t sleep with married women, and I don’t want anything from you. This isn’t that.”
I nodded slowly. “So why are you helping me?”
He leans back, smiling faintly. “You forgot high school? You were my shield, Charlotte—saved my ass from bullies, stood up for me when no one else did. I don’t forget that. I just want you to feel safe here. If you ever want to go back to him, just say it. I’ll call him.” His voice is gentle, steady, the bullied nerd now my savior.
“Can I...” I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Can I get a hug?” I whisper, almost crying, the irony sharp—the boy I protected now protecting me.
He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
I stood, walking toward him, and he opened his arms. I leaned in, resting my head against his shoulder, my chest against his, his scent clean, like soap and coffee, comforting but not alluring. The hug wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t sexual. It was warm. Platonic.
Then his phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
But it buzzed again. Louder. Longer. More insistent.
He pulled away slowly, his expression hardening as he checked the screen.
“What is it?” I asked, sensing the shift in his energy.
His eyes scanned the message. Then he went still. “Cassian... he hacked into my system.”
“What?”
“He’s watching us, Charlotte. He sent a screenshot of this room. Said the next time I touch you, I’m dead.”
I froze. “You’re joking.”
“He said he’s got a sniper on the building. That if I so much as hug you again, I’ll bleed out before I hit the ground.”
My stomach twisted.
“Cassian’s watching us?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Ethan nodded, his jaw tight. “There’s no mistaking it.”
He strode to the wall-mounted camera in the corner. “This shouldn’t be possible. No one’s ever cracked this system—not the FBI, not black-hat hackers. It’s been fortified six ways from Sunday.”
“But Cassian did.”
He didn’t answer. Just grabbed a screwdriver and ripped the camera from the wall.
He storms outside, his lanky frame tense, and I follow, my bare feet cold on the concrete, my sweats flapping in the night air.
We stand outside his loft, the quiet streets stretching dark, no hotels, just brownstones and parked cars. Ethan scans left and right, his glasses glinting. “He’s not gone,” he mutters. “He’s close.”
“Can I talk to him?” I asked.
He hesitated, then handed me his phone. “Be careful.”
I called the number that had just sent the text.
