Page 89 of Crushed Vow
I flinched.
Cassian.
It had to be.
He was trying to break in. I could hear the frantic desperation in the way he hit the door—over and over—like he could somehow claw his way through the steel.
But he couldn’t. The security system was top-tier. Bulletproof. Reinforced. Designed to keep me safe.
Designed to keep him out.
My phone rang in the bedroom. I almost ignored it.
But something made me stagger toward the sound, my body aching with every step. I picked it up, saw the name.
Vincent.
My brother. Now nothing more than betrayal wrapped in familiar skin.
I pressed the speaker button and tossed it onto the bed like it burned me. His voice came through—soft, cautious, like a coward dressing his knife with honey.
“Charlotte... how are you?”
My mouth twitched. Then I started laughing so hard it sounded like crying. Maybe it was both.
“How am I?” I echoed, voice wild. “What a fucking joke.”
“I’m sorry,” he said too quickly. “I was high that day. I didn’t know what I was doing—I swear to God, Charlotte. I was already gone before I realized what I’d done. I didn’t mean to shoot Ethan. Or... cuff you. I swear it.”
I laughed again. Louder.
“No, you meant every second of it.”
My voice cracked as I kept going, unstoppable now.
“You raised the gun. You pulled the trigger. You held the cuffs in your hands. You dragged me to the car—with Luca watching like it was sport.”
The tears came fast.
“You didn’t lose control. You made a choice.”
I was choking now—on the sobs, on the grief, on everything I’d buried just to stay upright.
My chest felt like it might rip open from the pressure.
“What do you even want, Vincent?” I cried, my voice breaking into pieces. “Why did you call? To beg? To confess? Or just to watch whatever’s left of me finally shatter?”
Silence.
Then, softly: “The Volkov Bratva... They have a spy inside Cassian’s estate. They said they’ll kill you both in seven days if you don’t surrender. They want you to publicly accept the engagement to Luca.”
I froze. The knife fell from my hand and clattered on the tiled floor.
I laughed. Then I paused—my lips trembling, my throat burning. The tears dried on my cheeks all at once, as if they’d been scorched off by fire.
My chest ached like it was collapsing inward.
A part of me—some stupid, naïve part—had just begun to wonder if maybe his apology had been real. If maybe he’d meant it.
