Page 115 of Crushed Vow
The man who gave the nurses orders to sedate me, restrain me and overdose me.
He looked older now—more lines cut into his face, his jaw a little looser. But the cruelty hadn’t aged. It lingered in his eyes like a disease that would never die.
“Fuck.” The word slipped out before I could stop it, breathy and bitter.
My fork slipped from my fingers, clattering against the ceramic with a sound that felt like a gunshot to my ears. The candle between Manuel and me flickered.
“I think I should leave,” I whispered, reaching for my napkin, trying to steady my trembling hands. But my body wasn’t listening.
Before I could even rise, Grayson was there.
He moved like he always had—like he belonged, like he was above rules or invitation.
He yanked a chair from the table beside us, dragging it across the floor with a guttural screech that turned every head in the room for a moment. Then he sat—uninvited, unapologetic.
“Don’t get up,” he said, his voice smooth as glass but laced with venom. “You always were dramatic.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Manuel looked between us, confused. “Sir, I’m sorry, but this is—”
Grayson raised a hand lazily, silencing him with a look honed from decades of domination. “Dr. Manuel Vargas, yes?” he said with a thin smile. “Neurosurgeon. Divorced. Has a daughter with a chronic illness. You’re a brave man to bring my daughter here while knowing nothing about the fire she’s capable of setting.”
My breath caught.
Manuel blinked. “Excuse me?”
Grayson leaned forward, elbows on the table, folding his hands like we were having brunch instead of a confrontation in public. “Charlotte, you look... thinner. Not eating again?”
“You always waste away when you’re being difficult.”
I flinched.
Before I could recover, his cruel eyes dropped to my chest.
And then they lingered.
Like he was studying a deformity. Like he was confirming something.
The world spun.
My vision went white for a moment, the air draining from my lungs so fast I couldn’t breathe. My hands went rigid on the edge of the table, gripping the cloth like I could stop myself from floating off into that hellscape again. The surgery. The pain. The whispers. The mirror.
He always knew where to stab..
I reached for my purse with shaking hands, desperate to escape, but Grayson clicked his tongue. “Sit. We’re not done.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a hiss only I could hear. “Then listen. Luca’s patience is thinning. And if you keep sneaking around with the blind psychopath, you’ll both end up buried before winter.”
Cassian. He meant Cassian.
I clenched my fists under the table.
“I don’t care what Luca wants,” I spat, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not yours to control anymore.”
He smiled. A reptilian smile. “Aren’t you?
