Page 33 of Crushed Vow
Because tonight, I wasn’t trying to be pretty.
I wanted to feel powerful.
When I stepped outside, Cassian was already leaning on his black Ducati—Sophia. His hair slicked back, his suit impossibly tailored. Only Cassian Moretti would wear a suit to a party meant for fun and games.
His eyes swept over me slowly, possessive and unflinching. “You look...” He stopped himself, like the words burned too much. “Stunning.”
I kept my tone cool. “If we’re taking that thing, my dress won’t survive. Can we use a car, please?” I gave him a look—not playful. Strategic.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “For you.” He walked to the car and opened the door.
I slid in without a thank you. I didn’t owe him one.
In the car.
Cassian drove in silence, his hands firm on the wheel.
“You really wore a whole suit to a club?” I asked.
“I don’t do parties,” he said quietly. “But I’ll do anything to stay close to you.”
I kept my gaze on the window, the city lights blurring. “You had your chance to keep me close. You ruined it.”
He didn’t argue. Just swallowed hard—like the weight of what he lost was sitting in his throat.
We pulled into the underground garage of the club, the hum of the engine fading as Cassian killed the lights. I stepped out first, heels echoing softly against concrete.
Two guards at the entrance moved toward me—straight-backed, hands twitching like they were about to ask for ID. But then they saw him.
Cassian.
Their expressions shifted. One twitched. The other stepped back. And then, like someone had issued a silent command, they both moved aside—parting like the sea for a king.
I turned slightly, arching a brow. “Even these guys know you?”
Cassian didn’t respond at first. His gaze stayed forward, calm but razor-sharp.
“They know whose world they’re standing in,” he finally said. “And who owns the oxygen they’re breathing.”
The music hit as the club doors opened—low bass, warm gold light spilling over the sleek crowd. Laughter. Movement. Freedom.
It felt foreign. I hadn’t seen a room this alive in over a year.
Then I spotted Ethan on the balcony above, surrounded by two guys in casual conversation. He hadn’t noticed me yet.
“Remember,” I said quietly, “you promised not to hover.”
“I remember.” His voice was flat. But beneath it—something tightly coiled.
“I’m going to say hi to Ethan.”
His jaw flexed once. Just once. The silence between us pulsed. Then—
“Fine,” he said, eyes still scanning the room.
I left Cassian behind and pushed through the crowd, the music thudding like a second heartbeat in my chest. I barely noticed the bodies around me—only the staircase ahead. Only Ethan.
But just as I reached the first step, someone blocked my path.
