Page 44 of Crushed Vow
It wasn’t my room phone. It was the intercom.
Someone was at the door.
I assumed it was a staff member—maybe room service, or one of the guards doing a sweep, so I tightened the tie on my robe and crossed the room slowly, heart still heavy with ghosts.
I opened the door slightly—
And froze.
Cassian.
Standing there in the hall like a phantom pulled straight from my chest.
His suit was wrinkled, shirt half-untucked, his face pale beneath the golden lighting of the corridor. He didn’t look polished or terrifying or cold.
He looked wrecked.
How did he even get here?
Wasn’t the front desk supposed to call me if I had a guest? And how the hell did he know what room I was in. There were over two hundred rooms in this hotel.
Then it hit me.
Cassian Moretti. Of course.
He wasn’t just a man. He was an empire. He didn’t need permission. He didn’t need a key.
He was the kind of danger that slipped past locked doors and security systems. The kind of man who didn’t knock unless he already owned the room.
“You left the divorce papers,” he said. His voice was low, barely more than a rasp. “And vanished.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you.”
He blinked once, slowly, like it pained him. “I should’ve expected it. But I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Like what?” I asked, gripping the edge of the door harder. “Like consequence?”
His jaw ticked. “Like I’m being gutted. Charlotte—”
“Don’t. Whatever speech you’ve prepared, don’t.”
His throat bobbed. “You’ll get your divorce, I swear. But not like this. Not on paper. Not like we’re strangers.”
“That’s exactly what we are,” I snapped. “Strangers who just happen to share a last name. You don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t recognize you at all.”
He stepped forward an inch. I stepped back just as fast.
“I’m not waiting for your permission,” I said coldly. “If you respected me even a little, you’d sign them.”
“Of course I respect you,” he said, voice raw now. “That’s why I’m asking. I’m not dragging you back. I came to beg.”
I laughed bitterly. “Hell no. I couldn’t even bear to sleep beside you. What makes you think I’ll let you into my room?”
“Because I need to see you. Because I miss the sound of your voice. Because I haven’t slept since you left and I can’t breathe knowing you’re somewhere else—thinking I wouldn’t come.”
My grip on the door faltered. But not enough to open it wider.
His next words came quieter.
