Chapter 32
It Was Supposed to Be a Game.
Asher
The next morning, the penthouse smells like coffee—strong, rich, and the kind that crawls straight into your bloodstream. I lean against the counter, tie loosened just enough to keep me suspended between home and work, and take a slow sip.
Violet stands at the stove, stirring something in a pan, with her hair piled messily on top of her head. Domestic looks good on her. Too good.
“You know,” she says casually, glancing over her shoulder, “for someone who had his tongue flapping nonstop last night, you’re awfully quiet this morning.”
I nearly choke. “Jesus, Vi.”
She grins and turns back to the stove. “What? After the way you wouldn’t shut up about my soup and dessert, I figured you’d still be raving about how sweet I taste.”
I set my mug down carefully, buying myself a second. “I was plenty vocal. I just didn’t think you needed praise first thing in the morning.” I let my gaze drag over her. “Unless you were hoping for a good girl to start your day.”
She hums while plating eggs, but her fingers tremble just a fraction. The flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink.
Fuck. She liked that.
I file it away for later.
She clears her throat and recovers fast. “So you admit I’ve got skills in multiple areas. Or are you just trying to keep my ego fed so I don’t starve in captivity?”
I chuckle. “If running your mouth were a skill, you’d be undefeated.”
She gasps dramatically. “Excuse you. I’m a prisoner. You should be doing everything in your power to keep me entertained.”
“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head. “Should I hire a court jester, or were you hoping for something more… hands-on?”
She shifts her weight, just slightly. “Definitely the latter. Though I have doubts about your ability to keep up. You talk a big game, but can you actually deliver?”
There it is.
My smile turns sharp. “Careful, Vi. Keep pushing and I’ll prove you wrong. Hope you’re ready to be thoroughly entertained.”
Her phone buzzes on the counter. The moment shatters.
She glances down, and everything about her changes—shoulders stiffening, grip tightening, and the playful spark draining out of her expression like someone pulled a plug.
My stomach knots.
She hesitates, then turns and steps onto the balcony. The air cools instantly, the warmth slipping away before I can catch it.
I almost follow her with another joke. Almost pull her back into it.
But something about the way she walks away—too fast, too controlled, and fingers pressing hard against her temple—keeps me where I am.
Damn it.
Instead, I stay at the counter, staring at the space she left behind. Already thinking. Already planning. Because now that I know she can loosen up, I’m not letting her disappear again.
The teasing dies completely when I step outside.
She’s standing still, phone lowered, and eyes fixed on the city like it’s the only thing anchoring her. I join her, the cool air doing nothing to ease the sudden weight in my chest.
“Hey,” I say, quieter. “What’s wrong?”
She exhales, wrapping her arms around herself. “I hate this. Not being able to tell Ella anything. Pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.”
I grip the railing, knuckles tight. “I know this is hard.”
“It is,” she says softly. “I miss her. And I hate feeling so… alone.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I’ve been so busy watching her fire, and her sharp tongue, that I assumed she was fine because she looked fine. But she isn’t. She never was.
She’s been holding everything together since she was a kid. Losing her parents. Raising Ella. Carrying weight that was never hers to begin with.
And now I’ve done it again.
Guilt settles in, heavy and unwelcome. I didn’t mean to hurt her—but intent doesn’t matter much when the damage is already done.
She stands there holding herself together, and I know I can’t let this keep happening.
“I’m sorry, Vi.”
She looks at me, surprise flickering across her face, but I don’t give her time to respond. I squeeze her shoulder gently, lingering just long enough to make sure she feels it before stepping away. Grabbing my keys from the counter, I head for the door, but my mind is nowhere near work.
As I head out the door, I steal one last glance at her standing on the balcony, with the city stretching out before her. I’ve made up my mind—I’m going to be better for her. No more making her feel like she’s on her own.