Page 128 of Crushed Vow
And I didn’t know whether to scream or weep.
Chapter 18
CHARLOTTE
Cassian turned without another word, walking away from the brutal scene like a man possessed. I watched, confused, my blood still cold from what had just unfolded. My gaze followed him—until he stepped into my room.
What the hell was he doing?
“Brooks,” I called out, still shaken. “I know you only answer to your boss, but please... leave Manuel out of this.”
Brooks didn’t move. Not a twitch.
I took a breath and tried again. “Brooks, come on. Are you seriously going to kill an innocent man?”
“Innocent?” came a voice that twisted my stomach into knots.
Cassian emerged again—but this time, he was holding something in his hand.
My mother’s urn.
No.
My heart stuttered. My legs gave out for a second. I couldn’t breathe. “The fuck are you doing with my mother’s urn?” I whispered, already stumbling forward. “Cassian, that’s the only thing I have left of her. That’s all I have.”
That urn wasn’t just ashes—it was sanctuary. It was the last piece of her I’d clung to through the dark. I talked to it at night.Held it when I was breaking. It was all that survived the fire, the betrayal, the silence.
And now he was holding it like it was a prop.
Cassian’s face was a thundercloud of fury. And then—God—he unscrewed the lid.
“I’ll empty it,” he said, his voice low and trembling with rage. “And you’ll watch me do it.”
My knees buckled. “No. No, Cassian, please—” I reached for it, my fingers trembling. “You’ve hurt me enough. If you do this—if you do this—my hatred for you will be irreversible. You already had her killed. Don’t make me lose her again.”
He tilted the urn slightly, and a fine shimmer of ash grazed the edge, ready to fall.
Tears flooded my eyes. A scream caught in my throat. “Please—please stop! That urn is everything to me! In my culture, you don’t pour the ashes of the dead. It’s a desecration. Their soul gets lost. It’s like killing them again.”
I collapsed to my knees, hands outstretched. “Please don’t take her from me again.”
Silence.
Then—he paused.
His jaw clenched, his face hollow with something like guilt. He sealed the urn back, then slowly walked over and placed it in my hands.
I clutched it to my chest like a lifeline, sobbing into it. He almost took her again.
The room was dead silent.
I glanced up through my tears—and saw the three men staring at me.
Brooks stood expressionless.
Cassian’s face was unreadable—but the regret there was raw and obvious.
And Manuel—Manuel looked like he’d seen the gates of hell open.
