Chapter 2
Chapter two
Violet
I power walk out of the elevator through the reception area, hot fury propelling each step.
“Woah, you in a rush, Violet?” Tommy, the security guy, calls out as I stomp toward the exit, a few stray tears finding their way down my cheek.
I swipe them away, forcing a smile as I turn to say goodbye. “Yes, sorry, Tommy, I’ve got to fly. You have a nice evening.”
“Sure thing,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The idea that there is no tomorrow—not here, anyway—hits hard, and the tears fall freely. I wave, barely looking up, darting out of the exit before I lose it completely.
If I’m being truthful, I loved everything about my job.
Not just because it paid my bills, but because I was good at it.
Sure, I don’t have an Ivy League education like my colleagues, but that has always been my secret weapon.
I learned coding the hard way—late nights at the community college, balancing coursework with part-time jobs, and countless hours of self-teaching.
It means I approach problems differently, creatively, with a hunger my peers sometimes lack.
Seb always tells me that being self-taught gives me an edge.
“You see gaps everyone else misses, Vi. They’re trained to think one way, but you find solutions no one else thinks to look for. ”
But now, all of that is gone.
I’m so lost in my despair I don’t notice the person before me until I’ve face-planted into their soft chest.
“Hey! Are you okay?” a familiar voice says, steadying me.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, blinking back tears as I glance up to find Millie’s concerned eyes.
“Violet? You look... terrible. What happened?”
Millie works in marketing, and after Seb, she’s my closest friend at Knightwell.
We bonded during a corporate retreat, united by our mutual hatred for kayaking.
We still hold the company record for the slowest lap.
Whoever thought paddling through freezing water would improve team morale clearly has a sick sense of humor.
Before I can respond, Millie grabs my arm. “Oh boy,” she says, steering me across the street toward our usual café. “You need coffee. Stat.”
I let her guide me like a lost puppy, focusing on taking deep breaths so I don’t ugly cry all over her new Burberry jacket—the one she saved for months to buy and definitely doesn’t want decorated with my snot.
“Okay, drinks are on me,” she declares as we step inside. She gestures to an empty table by the window. “Go sit down. I’ll order.”
I shuffle to the table, sinking into the seat. The café is quieter than usual, which is a relief. I scan the room just in case Mark is here—running into him now would break me. Thankfully, it’s late, and most of the Knightwell crew have already cleared out after their caffeine fix.
Millie returns with two steaming mugs and a plate bearing a double chocolate brownie. “Hard caffeine and sugar,” she says, sliding them toward me. “This should do the trick.” She shrugs off her jacket and drapes it over her chair before settling in.
“So, Vi,” she begins, her brow furrowed with concern. “I take it the big meeting with our very own Bill Gates didn’t go as planned?”
I take a bite of the brownie, letting the chocolate melt on my tongue. “Yes and no,” I sigh. “The meeting with Austen was fine, actually. He even complimented me.”
Millie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Complimented you? Austen? Wow! From what I hear, that’s basically like winning an Olympic medal around here.”
Despite everything, her comment coaxes a small smile from me.
“But it’s what happened after the meeting,” I groan, dropping the brownie back on the plate and burying my face in my hands.
“Go on,” Millie urges, squeezing my hand.
“One word—Chase.”
“Chase? As in Chase Knight, our lovable CEO?” Millie eyes me with confusion. “Why would he be involved?”
“To cut a long story short,” I grimace. “He caught me hiding in his bathroom while he was having, how should I put it, a very ‘hands-on’ meeting with a blonde bombshell. And he fired me on the spot.”
“Wait a moment, you were hiding in his bathroom?”
I nod, shame coloring my cheeks.
“And he was entertaining a woman?”
I nod again, biting my lower lip with a frown. It somehow sounds worse coming from Millie’s mouth.
“He fired you?” Millie’s voice climbs higher, her eyes wider with every question.
“Oh, shit,” she says with an air of finality.
“Oh shit, indeed.”
“But he can’t fire you. You’re my best friend here.” She tears into her napkin, rolling the strips into balls, her favorite habit when stressed.
“I don’t think he’ll take that into consideration, Mills.”
“What about Austen? Perhaps you could talk to him. You know Chase and Austen were roomies at Stanford. A few years after college, Chase used his background in finance and the fortune he’d amassed to invest in Austen’s struggling tech start-up and turned it into the billion-dollar company it is today.
Austen is literally the only person he trusts. ”
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I think it’s a lost cause. You see, I may have lost my head and told him a few ‘home truths’ after he fired me.”
“You did what? Oh my god, Violet, have you got a death wish?” Her eyebrows practically jump off her forehead.
I shrug my shoulders, picking up the brownie, stuffing my cheeks full to dissolve the pain.
“Speak of the devil,” Millie says, tilting her head toward the window. I almost choke on my brownie when I see Chase leaving the building, looking every inch the master of his kingdom framed against the backdrop of the towering skyscraper he rules with an iron fist.
The company black limousine is stationed at the curb, his driver waiting with an open door. He’s dressed impeccably, his navy tailored suit emphasizing his honed physique and a midnight cashmere overcoat to offset the New York early spring evening chill.
Just before he gets in, he pauses—then turns.
For the briefest second, his eyes lock on the café window, zeroed in like a sniper sighting a mark.
I duck, heart racing, hiding behind my coffee mug like it’s a shield.
Why does it feel like he knows I’m here?
Like he can sense my presence, even from a distance?
I let out a breath when he slides into the car, and in a flash, he’s gone.
Even though he just blew up my life in spectacular fashion, I imagine I’m nothing more than an irrelevant footnote in his day. Forgotten about already.
I polish off the rest of my brownie, the sugary sweetness doing little to soften the bitter pit in my stomach, washing it down with my favorite Brazilian coffee while Millie stares after Chase’s retreating limousine with starry-eyed devotion.
No one, it seems, is immune to his charm.
In fact, I can’t help but think Millie is exactly his type.
Long legs, cascading platinum blonde hair, and not a single ounce of body fat out of place.
She looks like the kind of cover girl he probably keeps on speed dial.
“Uh, Mills?” I nudge her foot under the table. “Could you stop ogling the man who just fired my ass like you’re auditioning to be the mother of his future children?”
Millie startles, tearing her gaze from the window, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Damn, sorry, Vi,” she says with a wistful sigh. “But you can’t deny the man is smoking.”
“You know,” I muse, chin in my hand, stirring my coffee, “you’re probably exactly his type.”
Millie blinks, taken aback. “Who, Chase?”
I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, you know—long legs, glossy hair, that whole glamor-puss thing you’ve got going on.”
“Oh, please. Chase doesn’t even know I exist. Besides,” she leans forward with a conspiratorial smile, “I’d kill for your style, Violet.”
I blink, surprised. “My style?”
“Yeah! You’re like... a Parisienne girl in one of those effortlessly chic Instagram reels.
The short pleated skirts, the chunky platforms, and oversized sweaters.
It’s like you just walked out of some indie film where the main character falls in love with a painter.
You know, all cute, but with that edge.”
I laugh, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear; my honey-blonde hair falls past my jawline, spilling down my back. “Well, I’m definitely not falling in love with a painter, so I guess the look’s wasted.”
Millie shakes her head, grinning. “No way. It’s cool, it’s you, and it’s not trying too hard. That’s why it works.”
“Wow, you can tell you work in marketing,” I say with a grin. “You just pulled together an entire ad campaign like it was nothing. Maybe I should hire you to do my PR.”
I laugh, though the sound seems hollow, a fleeting distraction from the dread gnawing at me ever since Chase fired me.
For a moment, it fades, but like a bad penny, it resurfaces—insistent and heavy.
The clock is ticking and sitting here drinking coffee won’t magically land me a new job. I need to get home and start hustling.
“I should go now, Millie,” I say, draining the last drop of coffee. “Gracie will wonder where I am.” I haul myself to my feet, my shoulders slumped as I pull my jacket on. It almost feels like I’m in the middle of a movie shoot, and any second now, the director will shout cut.
“Okay, Vi,” Millie says, worry in her eyes. “I’ll put some feelers out for you in other tech companies. You’ll find something soon, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, there’s always that Parisienne girl indie shoot,” I wink, trying to keep things light, swallowing back the giant lump in my throat.
“Yep, you’re a shoo-in for that. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Will do.” I blow her a kiss, turning to the door.
I make the short walk to the subway in a daze, my thoughts tangled in a thousand unanswered questions. I need to pull myself together and come up with a plan—fast. That job wasn’t just a career; it was our lifeline. For me and my eighteen-year-old sister, Gracie, it was everything.