Page 71 of Crushed Vow
His words cut through the fog like a wire. Tears rolled silently down my cheeks.
I opened my eyes—blurry, terrified—and saw him.
Smoke-smudged glasses. Unseeing eyes. But steady hands. Kneeling before me with more patience than he ever had in his life.
I broke.
“You came?” My voice cracked.
He nodded. “Always.”
I let out a broken sob, my body curling toward him without permission. He didn’t move—just opened his arms slightly.
And I moved toward him, unable to stop myself. My body gave out the moment I reached him, collapsing into the solid warmth of his chest. I was shaking all over. Tremors I couldn’t control.
He held me.
Not with urgency or restraint, but with something slow. Careful. Like he was afraid I’d fall apart in his arms if he touched me the wrong way. Like I was something precious, something long-broken he was trying to gather up without causing more damage.
He inhaled deeply when I curled closer, his hand flexing against my spine like he could recognize me better by scent than sight.
“I thought you were him,” I whispered, voice splintering. “Dr. Hargrove. And Nurse Callahan—I thought I was back there with them.”
“I know,” he murmured, stroking the back of my head with a touch so careful it hurt. “I know. But you’re not. You’re here. With me.”
I held on tighter.
For a moment—just one—I let myself forget everything. The lies. The chains. The agony of being loved by him.
Just let myself feel the safety of a man who once broke me—now desperately trying to hold the pieces together.
His breath stirred the hair at my temple.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I swear to God, I’ve got you.”
My body trembled as the panic melted into something quieter. “Thank you, Ethan,” I whispered.
Cassian’s body went still.
So still I could feel the shift in his chest.
I pulled back—just slightly—and the storm in his face was unmistakable.
Still, he didn’t say anything. Just lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bathroom.
He undressed me gently, fingers fumbling once on the straps, pausing now and then like he was mapping me through touch alone, then guided me into the warm bath with quiet focus.
His jaw was tight. His movements were careful, but something burned behind them. A quiet storm.
Jealousy.
Anger.
After washing me clean, He carried me to the bed—but stopped short, his foot catching on the edge, his nose wrinkling faintly as he scented the soiled sheets before I could say a word.
I had wet them during the nightmare.
I turned my head in shame.
