Chapter 22 Violet
VIOLET
The place I live in is an overwhelming extravagance and bigger than anything I’ve ever stepped foot in, let alone called mine.
Every inch of this penthouse screams wealth and power and is way beyond my dreams, let alone reality.
The decor is a blend of beige, deep black-blue, and layered shades of blue, probably Dahlia’s doing. She must’ve told Kane that blue is my favorite color.
Despite my acting strong being on my own, like when I abandoned our movie night the other day, I’d rather have her than this place.
I don’t know how to describe it, but when we used to live in shabby, creaking houses with black mold and health hazards, I was happy knowing she was sleeping under the same roof.
That I wasn’t alone.
That, no matter how hard it gets, she’s just there, trying to make me laugh, and buying me ginger ale while tasting the food I cook.
It’s not that we don’t have that anymore, and I can still spend time with her, but she also has her own life and a dashing boyfriend that I don’t want to annoy, because he’s only treated me well.
But as I walk around the new home that doesn’t feel like home, I just miss my sister.
The walls are smooth, the lighting soft, casting a moody, elegant glow over pristine floors that never creak and furniture that looks too expensive to touch.
The kitchen is a chef’s wet dream, fitted with state-of-the-art appliances, glossy marble countertops, and large cabinets. The island is massive, a centerpiece of luxury, but it’s cold because no one has ever leaned against it, laughed over coffee, or made a mess of flour and sugar.
Or ginger ale.
I close my eyes, refusing to get consumed by that memory.
It might seem ancient in real time, but the months I spent sleeping feel like a couple of hours in my brain. I still can’t force myself to think of that time as months.
My feet are sluggish as I walk out of the ensuite bathroom, draped in a towel. I throw one last admiring glance at the jacuzzi set against a backdrop of ivory marble, brushed gold faucets, and sleek glass panels that reflect too much of my unsightly body back at me.
The bedroom is even more extravagant, draped in soft, rich fabrics and subtle gold accents that glimmer under dim lighting.
Beyond the bedroom, the balcony stretches into a massive terrace, offering an uninterrupted view of Graystone Ridge’s skyline.
From up here, the town is breathtaking—a sprawl of glittering lights, the sky vast and endless in a way I’ve never seen before.
It should feel freeing and beautiful.
But as I slip into the oversized bed, journal and pen in hand, all I feel is discomfort.
The sheets are too soft, the silence too heavy, the air too still.
Because, no matter how stunning this place is, I don’t want to get used to it.
It’s not mine.
And I’d trade it for my old life with Dahlia in a heartbeat.
My eyes skim over the lines I wrote a couple of days ago.
I saw him today. Jude.
It was the first time I’ve seen him since I woke up.
All this time, I’ve waited for him to barge in uninvited and I’ve been…on edge. No, I’ve been hopeful?
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the way he completely ignored me.
It was the first time I’ve truly felt that I actually spent months sleeping.
The world moved on, and so did he. Which is good. Right?
I slam the journal closed, frowning. Why the hell would I be this bothered by that encounter?
The look in his eye.
The way he seemed mad?
I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad, especially after the attempted murder thing. Well, I don’t know about that, really. I never believed Julian a hundred percent, because I feel like if Jude wanted to kill me, he’d make it personal.
I also like to think he wouldn’t hurt Mario like that.
But then again, my name was on his damn list, so…
I open my journal again and scribble a few other notes about the strange erotic dreams I’ve been having since that encounter and how a part of me wants them to come true even if the other part is ashamed I’m even having these thoughts.
The man in my dreams has a name, but I don’t write it.
I can’t make it real.
After I finish scribbling down everything muddying my brain, I pause upon seeing rivulets of water sliding down the bedroom window.
I check the time and frown. The Vipers’ game Dahlia went to see is ending soon, and she didn’t take an umbrella, no matter how many times I’ve told her to.
With a sigh, I put the journal on the nightstand and put on a hoodie and jeans, choosing to forgo the glasses because they’d fog up.
Armed with two umbrellas, I take a taxi to Vipers Arena.
I arrive when the masses are exiting the arena. Crowds of people head to their cars or run in the rain. Some have umbrellas, but most of them hide by the building overlooking the parking lot.
But apparently, the Vipers won, considering all the excited commentary.
“Callahan was a beast.”
“I swear I get so fucking excited whenever he checks someone.”
“And the way he fights? Fucking awesome!”
Callahan this and Callahan that.
Yes, some others praise Preston and Kane, but most people seem to have a boner for Jude. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand hockey, because why is a notoriously violent player everyone’s favorite?
It takes me a while to slip through all the fans and stand on an empty corner, holding one of the umbrellas over my head. I text Dahlia.
Me
You forgot your umbrella, Dahl. It’s raining. I’m in the arena’s parking lot near Kane’s car. Come pick it up.
Dahlia
Aw, thanks, Vi. You didn’t have to.
Of course I did. I don’t want you to catch a cold.
On my way.
The moment I look up, I nearly drop the phone.
I’m holding the umbrella so low, I can only see sneakers, jeans, and the hem of a leather jacket. But I know it’s him, even before I tilt the umbrella up, watching the rain cascade down.
Jude stands in front of me, fully drenched, absolutely unconcerned about the rain that beats down on him. His hair is glued to his temples and his face is tight.
Too tight.
“What are you doing here, Violet?”
I pause because his voice sounds rougher, deeper. I wish I didn’t recognize that, and I wish my heart wasn’t beating so damn loudly right now.
“That’s none of your business.” I turn and start walking.
I don’t know where I’m going or why I’m running away from him.
Maybe it’s because a part of me felt a crushing weight lift off my chest upon seeing him.
Maybe it’s because, really, I knew Kane could have an umbrella and Dahlia wouldn’t have been walking in the rain, but I still chose to come here anyway.
Whatever it is, I realize I don’t truly want to face Jude right now.
A large hand grasps my wrist and spins me around. The umbrella falls from my grip and hits the ground as Jude slams me against the wall.
I’m drenched within seconds, rain falling on my face and hair, gluing my clothes to my body, but I’m consumed by Jude.
He’s so close, I can smell him, the scent of wood and leather provokes memories I wanted to ignore until the end of my days.
“Why is it yellow this time?” His gruff words slip beneath my skin, feeling too intimate, too raw.
“What?”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me as if I’m not real. The place where he grips my wrist tingles and burns, not even the rain is able to douse it.
The silence stretches for long, suffocating moments, and the tension wraps around my throat like a noose.
I can’t read his expression.
But I can feel the tightness in his emotions spreading from his hand to my wrist, to my soul.
“Why did you do that to Mario?” I ask. I don’t blurt it out, don’t shout, just ask in a low, steady voice.
“Do what?”
“Let him be collateral damage. I know you hate me and want to kill me, but Mario was following your orders; he didn’t deserve to be hurt by you.”
“Hurt by me?”
“Yes! He’s in a coma because you sent people to attack us—”
Jude grips my chin, slamming his other hand on the wall above my head. “You believe that?”
“That’s what Julian said.”
“And you believe whatever the fuck Julian says?”
No. But if it’s not Jude, who else would want to hurt me?
“Believe whatever you want, but, Violet…” He leans down, his breaths skimming my skin. “I better not see you parading yourself around the team, looking for a boyfriend like your sister.”
Slap.
I don’t know how I do it, how I lift my hand and just slap him, but I do. Because how dare he insinuate anything about my sister? I’ll stab him to death if he ever hurts her, even with words.
My breaths are heavy as I stare at him, expecting his usual anger, but I’m slammed with a smile.
Almost as if he’s…proud of me? Why would he be proud?
I think he’ll say something, but Dahlia runs in our direction and drags me to her side. “Go away, Jude!”
My heart thunders when he glares at her. I swear I’ll turn into the most toxic person if he causes her harm.
And I tell him that with my eyes when he looks at me. Touch her and I’ll hurt you, Jude.
I don’t know how I’ll do that, but I’ll figure out a way.
Instead of using his fists or force like he usually does, Jude actually walks away, and I release a long, fractured breath.
I’ve been overthinking since last night.
Dahlia joined Kane and the others to celebrate the Vipers’ win but then came straight here to spend the night with me. She was visibly concerned about the way Jude cornered me.
I told her not to worry and even said I’d be fine on my own today, catching up on orders and sleep.
And while it’s true I need to fulfill the order for one of my favorite clients, UnderTheUmbrella, who keeps paying me more than I deserve, I don’t like being alone.
“I should probably get up and change from the bathrobe I threw on last night into my pj’s, but I don’t feel like it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trembling slightly, because the thought of sleep still terrifies me. I can feel the shadows lurking in the room, even though I keep the light on low.