Page 82 of Crushed Vow
There it was—that same Cassian. The one who broke me, piece by piece.
I stared at him, my fury burning through my skin.
“This is how you want to rebuild us?” I hissed. “This is your version of ‘starting fresh’? Control. Chains without the metal?”
His jaw ticked. “I’ll allow you to visit Ethan. But only if I come with you. I don’t want you having private moments with him.”
“Because you think something might happen?” I scoffed.
“There’s a camera in his room. If something does happen, I’ll know. And I’ll make sure he dies slowly for it.”
I stared at him in disbelief, chest tightening with equal parts fury and heartbreak.
“Make no mistake, Charlotte,” he continued. “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean you’re free of me. We divorced so we could start properly. So I could earn you the right way this time.”
I opened my mouth to argue again, but my attention snagged elsewhere—a man stepping out of the hospital doors.
A tall, sharply dressed doctor with a Mediterranean look. Olive skin, tousled dark hair, crisp white coat barely containing the muscular frame beneath. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like a runway model who moonlighted as a heart surgeon. God.
My lips curved into a reckless smile.
I moved, quick and deliberate, straight toward him. “Hey...” I called.
He stopped, offering a warm, polished smile. “Hi.”
“I’m Charlotte,” I said quickly, desperate to put space between myself and Cassian before he caught up.
“Doctor Manuel,” he returned. “Do you need help with something?”
I was just about to say yes—anything, really, anything to get out of here with him—when I caught him glancing down at my chest. A quick flick of the eyes. Then again.
Insecurity stabbed through me like a blade. I lowered my gaze, pulse skipping.
“I—never mind,” I muttered. “Forget it.”
He tilted his head. “Charlotte,” he said gently. “If you’re free tonight, we could grab a drink?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “You were just... looking at my chest.”
“Yes,” he said plainly, unapologetic. “Anyone would—except they’re hypocrites. I’m not. I’m a doctor. I’ve seen what cancer can take. Disability isn’t the end of the world. And survivors like you... that’s rare. That’s beautiful.”
He pulled out a card and handed it to me. “Call me.”
I took it. His cologne clung to the card—a smoky, citrus-tinged scent that lingered as he walked away.
I turned.
Cassian was still there, leaning against a pillar like a marble statue, cigarette between his lips, unreadable behind the lenses. He hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t said a word.
That made it worse.
I turned away from him, furious, and hit confirm on the Uber.
But just as the tension in my shoulders began to ease, a voice cut through the air behind me.
“She really thinks she still counts as a woman?”
I froze.
