Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Violet
Saturday arrives faster than I expected.
I’ve never thrown a party before. Never had people who wanted to spend time with me or celebrate an achievement of mine. The thought makes warmth bloom in my chest, chasing away the familiar cold that has lived there for so long.
I’m brimming with excitement as I stand in front of the elevator of my building, seven bags at my feet, filled with cups and snacks and drinks. I went overboard at the store, probably bought way too much, but I want everything to be perfect.
My arms ache from carrying everything from the car. I press the elevator button and shake out my hands, trying to ease the burning in my muscles.
“Need some help?”
I turn to find a woman coming to stand beside me. Maybe mid-forties, with graying blonde hair pulled into a messy bun and laugh lines around her eyes. She’s human; I can tell by the absence of that electric current shifters carry, the subtle charge that makes the air feel alive.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, actually. Thank you.”
She smiles warmly and bends to pick up three of the bags. “Moving in? Or throwing a party?”
“Party. I just moved in recently.” I grab the remaining four bags as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
We step inside and set the bags at our feet. She presses a button, then glances at me. “Which floor?”
“Penthouse.”
Her eyes go wide. “The penthouse? Really?”
I shift uncomfortably. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” She laughs, shaking her head. “The rent is absolutely insane.”
My stomach does a weird flip. “Insane?”
“Twelve thousand a month.” She lets out a low whistle. “My husband and I looked at it when we first moved here, but there was no way we could afford it.”
Suddenly, I feel dizzy.
Twelve thousand.
I’m paying five hundred.
“Are you sure?” The words come out barely above a whisper. “Twelve thousand dollars?”
“Positive. I mean, it’s a gorgeous space, but that price…” She studies my face, confusion creeping into her expression. “You seem surprised. How much are they charging you?”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
“Oh, honey.” Her voice softens. “I hope the new management isn’t charging you more. That would be awful.”
“New management?”
“Yes, Arcer Holdings acquired the building about a week ago. Very suddenly. They’ve made a lot of changes already: fixed the elevators, installed better security systems, added cameras outside.
” She fidgets with her purse strap. “Between you and me, I’m worried.
When new ownership comes in and starts making all these improvements, it usually means they’re planning to jack up everyone’s rent.
Or they want to drive out old tenants. Get new ones who’ll pay more. ”
I stare at the elevator doors. My reflection stares back, pale and shocked.
“I’ve lived here for seven years,” she continues. “The idea of having to move is terrifying. Finding something affordable in this city? Nearly impossible.”
“I don’t think they intend to drive anybody out.” The words come out mumbled, automatic.
Arcer Holdings.
The name triggers a memory. I’ve seen it before. On reports at work. In files I’ve reviewed.
The company belongs to Darius.
The elevator reaches the woman’s floor. She doesn’t get out, though—just presses the button for the penthouse. “Let me help you get these bags upstairs first.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble.”
The doors close, and we ascend higher. My mind races.
The realtor. Calling me suddenly to say the apartment I’d signed for was no longer available. But he had a better one to show me. It was perfect, he said.
But five hundred dollars a month for a penthouse that should cost twelve thousand? I should have known. I should have questioned why it seemed too good to be true.
But I’ve never rented an apartment before. Never lived alone. Never had to worry about these things. Five hundred seemed reasonable for what I thought was simply a nice apartment.
God, I’m so stupid.
“How much is your rent?” I force the question out. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Twenty-five hundred. But it’s a small one-bedroom.” She shrugs. “Still expensive, but that’s city living.”
I shove my trembling hands into my coat pockets.
Twenty-five hundred for a one-bedroom. And I’m in the penthouse for five hundred.
The elevator reaches the top floor. We grab all the bags and step out into the hallway.
“This way.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
We walk down the hall to my new place. I fumble with my keys, nearly dropping them twice before I get the door open.
We step inside, and she stops dead in the entryway.
“Holy…” A low whistle escapes her. “This is beautiful. How did you manage to get all this furniture? These pieces look expensive.”
My stomach churns. “It was on sale. At Marks and Woodsons.”
She laughs. Actually laughs. “Are you sure? That store has been open for ten years and has never had a sale. Not once. It’s one of the top luxury furniture stores in the country.”
The room spins slightly.
“What about”—I try to remember the other stores I visited—“Ashford Home Goods?”
“Also luxury. No sales.”
“Bennett’s Kitchen Supply?”
“Same. High-end, exclusive.” She sets my bags on the kitchen counter, concern etched in her features. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“Yes. I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically. “Thank you so much for helping with the groceries.”
“Anytime, honey.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “I’m Emma, by the way. Emma Fitzgerald. 3B.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Violet.”
“Come by for coffee sometime,” she says with a warm smile. “I’d love to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that.”
She leaves, and I sink onto the couch. The beautiful, expensive couch that I thought I got for seventy percent off.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone.
I start with Marks and Woodsons. Pull up their website. Scroll through their inventory, looking for any mention of sales.
Nothing.
I check their social media. Their press releases. News articles about the store.
Not a single mention of a sale in ten years of business.
I move to the next store. Then the next. Each search confirms what Emma said. These aren’t regular stores. They’re high-end, luxury retailers that cater to the wealthy.
And somehow, I walked in and bought thousands of dollars’ worth of furniture at an enormous discount.
My fingers fly across the screen, pulling up corporate information. I have access to business databases through work, and I use them now. Ownership details. Parent companies.
It takes me twenty minutes of digging to find it. All three stores are owned by the same company. A shifter-run corporation.
I click through to the board of directors. CEO and primary shareholder: Ethan Rosario.
Darius’s friend.
The phone slips from my hands, clattering onto the coffee table. I cover my mouth with both hands, trying to breathe through the panic rising in my throat.
Darius did this.
He bought the building. He arranged the low rent and all the discounts. He orchestrated everything, from the realtor showing me this place to the furniture I’m sitting on right now.
But why?
I press my fists against my eyes, trying to make sense of it. Trying to understand what game he’s playing.
He said he was wrong about me. Said he didn’t mean those things he told his father. But that doesn’t explain this. Doesn’t explain why he’d spend a fortune to give me a penthouse and furniture without even telling me.
Is it guilt? Pity? Some twisted attempt to control me?
My chest tightens. The strange ache that has been present for weeks intensifies, spreading through my ribs like fire.
The doorbell rings.
I freeze on the couch, my heart hammering against my ribs.
It rings again.
I stand on shaking legs and move to the door. Press my eye to the peephole.
Darius.
He’s standing in the hallway with a large, wrapped box in his arms. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered, and he’s wearing dark jeans and a black sweater that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. I could pretend I’m not home. Could wait until he leaves. But the anger building in my chest won’t let me.
I yank the door open.
His eyes meet mine, and he looks surprised at the force with which I just opened the door.
“Hi.” His voice is cautious. Controlled. “I know I’m early. I hope that’s okay.”
I stare at him.
He shifts the box slightly. “I brought a housewarming gift. Can I come in?”
“You bought this building.” My tone is flat. Accusatory.
He goes very still. “What?”
“Arcer Holdings. Your company. You bought this building.” My voice is rising but I can’t stop it. “You planned the whole thing. The realtor. The penthouse. The furniture. The other stores.”
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even try to look surprised. That tells me all I need to know. Except…
“Why?” My question comes out broken. “Why would you do that?”
“Can we talk inside?” His eyes flick down the hallway. “Please.”
I step back, letting him enter. Not because I want him here but because I need answers.
He sets the box on the counter, and we stare at each other across the kitchen island.
“Explain.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Now.”
His jaw clenches. “You needed a place to live.”
“I had a place. I had already signed a lease on an apartment.”
“That apartment wasn’t good enough.”
“Says who? You?” Anger flares hot in my chest. “You had no right to interfere. No right to manipulate my life without asking me.”
“I was trying to help.”
“By lying to me? By making me think I could afford all this on my own?” My voice cracks. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? Finding out that everything I thought I achieved was just you pulling strings behind my back?”
He takes a step around the island toward me. “That’s not what this was.”
“Then what was it?” I back up, maintaining the distance between us. “Charity? Pity for your weak little sister who can’t take care of herself?”