56. Violet
VIOLET
Julia should’ve never come here.
The thought settles quietly in my mind as her car starts outside, then rips out of the driveway.
Good. She’s gone.
Even so, I still feel her presence lingering in the space, sharp and cold.
She’s so different from me.
My fingers curl slightly at my sides.
She won before.
My chest tightens as I think about seeing him in that hospital.
With her.
I clocked it right away. She needed someone, so she settled for him.
Julia has lingered over him for years.
But this time, it was different.
Bumping into him again felt like fate, and this time, I wasn’t just going to let him go without figuring out who she was and what she meant to him.
I was sickened to learn she was his wife.
But when they started arguing while I hid in the corridor, hope blossomed in my chest.
And then he told her he was glad they were divorced.
And I knew fate was handing me an opportunity to have the one thing I wanted since our brush when I was nineteen.
Him.
That’s when I began following him.
Learning him.
And it soon became apparent that his ex-wife’s shadow lingered over him.
Not because he loves her.
Because of what she left behind.
A man who hesitates.
Who doubts.
Who questions whether he’s allowed to want something.
That didn’t come from nowhere.
That came from her.
My jaw tightens slightly.
I’m annoyed that she stopped by, but I don’t let it show.
Because this time, he has me.
And I’m not leaving.
Drew’s eyes lock with mine.
I see the relief in them.
The knowledge that I’m here.
And I’m not her.
He smiles, then pulls me against him. Where I belong.
I wrap around him, hating that she’s made him unsettled. Because she still has the ability to reach into his life and disrupt it.
That’s what bothers me.
That her showing up threw him off-balance.
“You’re thinking about her,” I say softly.
He exhales, his hold on me loosening. “Yeah.”
I move my hand, resting it lightly over his heart.
His body reacts immediately. His heart rate increases. His eyes focus on me.
“You ground me,” he murmurs.
I relish in his attention, glad to have it all on me again. Where it should be.
“She doesn’t understand you,” I say.
There’s something in his expression—uncertainty, maybe.
“I don’t think I understood myself back then either,” he admits.
That shouldn’t matter. But it does.
He stayed with her. Even when she didn't see him.
My fingers press lightly over his heart. “I do.”
His breath shifts.
He pulls back slightly, a questioning look on his face.
I need to tell him.
“What is it?” he asks.
I tilt my head, then just say the words. “We met before.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
I let the moment stretch before I begin explaining.
“We were younger,” I say quietly.
His expression shifts immediately. Attention sharpening.
“I was in college,” I continue. “Nineteen. Nervous. Completely in my own head.”
I let out a soft breath, the memory settling in.
“I had an internship meeting that morning. Something I’d been working toward for months.” A faint smile touches my lips. “And I was running late. Which wasn’t like me.”
His gaze stays on me as he listens intently.
“I stepped off the curb without looking.”
His posture changes slightly as if he remembers the moment.
“I saw the car at the last second,” I continue. “And I remember thinking… this is it.”
His jaw tightens, a flash of fear mixing with possessiveness.
“You grabbed my arm,” I say softly. “Pulled me back onto the sidewalk.”
I can still feel the pressure. The steadiness.
“The car rushed past. Close enough that I felt the air shift.” I exhale slowly. “My heart pounded so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.”
His eyes are locked with mine.
“You told me to pay attention.”
A faint flicker of recognition.
“It wasn’t harsh,” I add. “Just… steady.”
His throat moves.
“I looked up,” I continue, quieter now, “and you were staring at me like you actually cared whether I was okay.”
There’s a pause as we stare at one another.
"I remember," he murmurs, recognition dawning in his eyes. "That's why you always seemed familiar."
“Yes.” A small smile touches my lips. “Some part of you remembered me.”
My smile fades. Sadness washes over me.
“You nodded. Like it was nothing.”
The space between us narrows.
“The light changed,” I say. “People started moving again.”
I hold his gaze.
“And your hand slipped from my arm.”
The silence is heavy between us.
“And you were gone.”
His breath slows.
“Like it didn’t matter,” I finish softly.
I look away.
Even now, I hate admitting how much it did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I was young. And already involved with Julia.”
I nod. “I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew... you made an impact.”
He tightens his embrace, emotion in his eyes.
It’s time he knew the truth.
The whole story.
“I thought that was it. That I’d never see you again.”
There’s a flash of pain in his eyes.
"For weeks, I caught myself looking for you everywhere.” I release a quiet breath. “I couldn't stop thinking about the stranger who'd pulled me back. But I thought I’d never see you again.”
A wistful smile touches my lips. “I was wrong.”
He tilts his head, watching me.
“We almost collided,” I say. “In the hospital.”
His expression tightens as he tries to follow.
“You caught me before I fell.”
His eyes search mine.
“I apologized. You said it was okay,” I add. “Automatically. Like you didn’t even think about it.”
A flicker of recognition dawns on his face.
“I was with someone,” he says slowly. “Julia.”
“Yes.” My tone cools just slightly. “She was impatient.”
His jaw tightens. He remembers that part.
“She told you to hurry,” I continue. “Said you needed to go see her mother.”
His gaze drops for a second, then moves back to mine.
“And you left.” My tone isn’t accusing. Just factual.
“Only this time, you looked back.”
The silence stretches.
"Like you didn't want to go."
His throat moves. “I didn’t… know you then,” he says.
“I know.”
I step closer again. Just enough to pull him back into me.
“That’s when I decided to follow you.”
The words land quietly.
His eyes sharpen. Realization dawns on his face.
“And that’s when it began,” I say softly. “It was fate.”
He stares at me, trying to process what I’m saying.
“I followed you to your hotel. Stood outside and waited.” I say, remembering that day vividly. “You came back out a few minutes later. Walked to the store.”
His expression shifts. His brows draw in confusion.
“You went inside to buy toothpaste.”
Recognition hits harder this time.
“Oh my god,” he mutters.
“I stood close enough to see your name on your debit card.”
Then I kept following you.
But I don’t say the words aloud.
Not yet.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Violet.” The way he says my name is different now. Like he’s trying to fit the pieces together and realizing there are more of them than he thought. "You've been following me?"
“I prefer consistently aware of your location.”
His eyes narrow, studying me. "None of this is normal."
"No."
Silence settles between us.
His gaze searches mine as though he's trying to reconcile the woman standing before him with everything I just admitted.
He blows out a rough breath.
"I..." He laughs once, nervously. "I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
Another long silence stretches between us.
"I should leave." He looks at me. “This. Us.”
I stare at him. “There’s no need.”
His brows furrow. “No need for what?”
“To run.”
Silence settles between us, different now.
“You don’t have to be careful with me,” I say quietly.
His breath catches.
“I already know you.”
That’s what matters.
That’s what makes this different.
And this time?
I’m not losing him.
Not to her.
Not to hesitation.
Not to the doubts she left behind.
She had him once.
She didn’t see him.
But I do.
And I'm never letting him go.