Page 97 of Crushed Vow
The shower was... hard.
The steam fogged the mirror, and the water’s warmth brought no comfort.
I kept the spray low, using a cup instead of the showerhead to carefully avoid the bandaged areas—my side, my wrists, the bruised parts of my legs.
Every touch was delicate, every motion slow. The hospital had given me a special antiseptic soap, and I used it mechanically, as though I were cleaning someone else’s body.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel from chest to thigh, my heart slammed with relief.
He was gone.
But the room... it was different.
The bloodied sheets had been stripped and replaced with fresh, warm linens. A soft pad lay carefully folded on the edge of the bed, and the air no longer smelled of iron or shame.
I stared at the pad. Then at the bed.
He’d done all this.
Quietly. Without making a spectacle of it.
I dressed quickly—just a loose gray shirt and simple cotton trousers—and had just finished fixing the pad in place when the door creaked open again.
Cassian stepped in, carrying a tray in his hands. The scent hit me instantly.
Cinnamon rice. Roasted plantains. Stewed beef with onions.
One of my favorites.
He placed the tray on the side of the bed like it was something sacred.
“I figured you might be hungry.”
I nodded, wordless. I was hungry—starving, in fact—but the lump in my throat made it hard to say so. I sat slowly, ignoring the soreness in my legs, and pulled the tray toward me.
“Thank you,” I said, voice barely audible.
He nodded, then stepped back, choosing to stand at a respectful distance.
Watching.
I tried to eat quietly. My hands shook slightly with every bite, but I finished most of it. The warm food settled in my stomach like comfort I didn’t realize I’d been craving. And still, he stood there, eyes never leaving me.
Finally, I glanced up.
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
His voice was calm. “Because I have no one else worth staring at.”
A flush crawled up my neck. I looked down and kept eating.
When I finished, he moved again—collected the tray, wordlessly, like this was routine. Like he wanted to do it.
I sank back into the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. My mind felt like static.
A few minutes passed.
Then his voice, soft but steady, came again. “Your injuries... are they still hurting?”
