Chapter 25 Violet
Chapter twenty-five
Violet
I scroll through my meeting planner, my brow furrowed in confusion.
I could have sworn I was down to attend this afternoon’s Monarch meeting.
But now my schedule is empty. I’m about to click out of it when a new event pops onto my screen— Training Session: Internal Project Management Tools—Lead: Violet Harper.
My stomach tightens. What the hell?
“Mmm, that’s odd,” I murmur to myself.
“Are you talking to yourself again?” Seb wheels his chair back, grinning as he glances at my screen.
“Sorry.” I frown, reopening my planner to check for a glitch. “Are you still down for that meeting with Austen this afternoon?”
“I was, but they scaled it down to senior management only. Didn’t Mark tell you?”
“No. Must’ve slipped his mind,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes. “I’ve been taken off the list and reassigned to training.”
Seb squints at my screen, confirming I’m not imagining things. “But they literally have a whole training department for that. Maybe you should check with Mark.” He lowers his voice. “If you ask me, you should be there. You developed most of the goddamn thing.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’re overselling me, Seb. I built the core, sure—but Austen’s the one who took it to the next level.”
Mark stands and slips on his suit jacket, catching my eye like he’s expecting my question, which in itself is odd.
“Ah, yes, Violet,” he says smoothly. “Everyone was so impressed with your work; you’ve been assigned some training exercises to pass on your wisdom, so to speak. Until we receive the scope of our next project, of which you’ll be a major contributor, I’m sure.”
Seb mutters under his breath, “What a fucking crock of shit.”
I don’t argue. This wouldn’t have been Mark’s call. It came from higher up. Chase. Or Austen. And it’s not just me left out—it’s the entire department.
I chew the edge of my thumb as I watch Mark leave. It’s not unusual for senior management to take over in a project’s final stages. I wouldn’t be concerned if not for the other nagging doubt pressing on my mind all week.
Chase.
Since his text bailing on our plans, there’s been nothing—no lunch dates. No messages. Nothing. I told myself he was busy, but my instincts whisper it’s more than that.
“Well,” I sigh, disconnecting my laptop. “I’m heading to the training suite. See you later.”
“Sure thing, Vi. If you’re not back by five-thirty, I’ll come rescue you. Make sure you haven’t died of boredom.”
“Yeah, maybe stage a fake emergency. Tell them my guinea pig is on life support.”
Seb frowns. “You have a guinea pig?”
I shake my head, laughter bubbling up despite everything. “How you got a job here, I’ll never know.”
The training suite is already filled with five fresh-faced college grads, all eager and early.
I introduce myself quickly, setting up my laptop to display the company’s PowerPoint.
At least training threw something together for me to present.
Not ideal, but it’ll do. Time drags as I guide them through each stage, helping them complete tasks on their screens.
We’re nearly done when voices from the hallway catch my attention.
My pulse kicks up before I even process why. And then I hear him.
Just under a week since I heard his voice, and yet it seems like a lifetime.
Footsteps get closer. The door pushes open—Austen steps in first, with Chase and Richard Morgan behind.
Chase doesn’t see me at first, but when he does, he balks. It’s only a second, a quick flicker of hesitation before he recovers.
But I catch it.
And as much as I’ve spent the last few days telling myself this distance was in my head, the way he won’t even look at me confirms what I already knew.
I hate how, even now, he still looks heartbreakingly handsome. His navy suit clings to him in a way that makes it impossible to look away. But it’s the cold set of his jaw, the way his eyes sweep past me without a flicker of recognition, that drains every drop of air from my body.
“Excuse me,” Austen says, his tone surprisingly terse. “I was showing Richard where we could conduct training for the Monarch staff in implementing the new system.”
Richard steps into view, nodding politely, and I force a small smile.
“We’re finishing up now anyway,” I say, my tone even, although inside, I feel like something sharp is lodged in my chest.
Chase doesn’t react. Not even the slightest twinge of acknowledgment.
And that’s when I know.
Something is wrong.
Maybe he’s got cold feet. Or perhaps it’s as simple as the fact he’s an asshole, and this is just what he does.
After that, the session blurs. I go through the motions, my body present, my mind miles away.
When I eventually get back to my desk, everyone has already left for the day. I’m not in the mood to fight the rush hour mayhem on the subway. I guess I’d gotten used to Albert driving me and Chase to either his or mine every evening.
The silence stretches, pressing in.
Anxiety creeps in, threading doubt through my mind.
Was I na?ve to think there was more between me and Chase?
But he was the one pushing for more, even when I had doubts.
Lately, we’d almost become inseparable. I stare at my laptop for a long moment before, on impulse, I open a new tab and pull up job listings.
I don’t overthink it. I don’t let myself hesitate. I tweak my résumé, attach it to an email, and hit send.
Just in case.
Because even if everything was perfect, like I thought it was, it makes sense to separate our work lives.
When I glance at the time, I’m surprised at how late it’s gotten. I’m about to shut down my laptop when another meeting request appears on the edge of my screen from Austen’s office—Tomorrow 9:00 a.m. Project Review: Austen Wells.
I can’t see if there are other attendees, as the list has been labeled as confidential. A thread of worry creeps in, but I push it aside. Most likely, it’s a tech issue related to the Monarch rollout. I power down and grab my jacket, grateful that at least the subway won’t be unbearable.
Even though the sky has darkened, gray clouds are still visible, hovering with the threat of rain as I make the short walk home from the subway.
As soon as my apartment comes into view, so does the unmistakable outline of Albert’s black limousine stationed at the front.
My stomach clenches. When I get closer, Albert steps out, his broad smile as polished as ever, but a flicker of uncertainty lingers in his eyes.
“Good evening, Miss. Violet,” he says in his warm tone that instantly disarms me.
“Albert. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Mr. Knight requested that I drive you to his apartment.”
“He did?” Despite the mixed signals recently, my pathetic heart sprouts wings and flutters. Maybe everything is all in my mind after all. Even so, pride has me holding back. “We didn’t make plans. This is news to me, Albert.” I pull out my phone to check, and there’s nothing.
Albert clears his throat, his usual unshakeable composure ruffled. “If you’d rather I leave, that’s fine. But I get the impression he really wants to see you.”
“It’s fine,” I say, taking pity on him. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, Albert, than ferry my ass about all evening.” Albert is far too polite to agree. Nevertheless, he visibly relaxes as he opens the car door, and I slide in.
By the time Albert is pulling up in front of Chase’s steel fortress in the billionaire’s playground of Central Park South, my stomach is twisted in knots.
Today and this week has been a tiny reminder of the Chase I used to despise.
Cold. Untouchable. And liable to sell his soul if the price is right.
Albert opens the car door for me, smiling as I hop out.
“Thank you, Albert.” I smile back. “If I were you, I’d put your phone on mute and enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He chuckles, tipping his head as I head toward the building.
The glass doors glide open, swallowing me into a world that still seems a little surreal.
I’ve been here before, but the scale always gets me—the polished marble floors, the vaulted ceilings that echo every step of my heels, the soft lighting that glows like candlelight over rich wood paneling and towering floral arrangements.
The concierge buzzes me through with a polite nod, and I step into the elevator. It glides upward like it’s floating, smooth and silent. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I haven’t been here before.
I smooth my hair down before I press the buzzer. My heart lurches when the door swings open.
Chase looks fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants riding dangerously low, just enough to expose that V that should honestly be illegal. Droplets of water glisten on his shoulders, the scent of his shower gel still clinging to his skin, warm and masculine and far too inviting.
I barely get a word out before he pulls me into his arms, backing me against the door as it clicks shut behind us.
“My Violet,” he breathes, fingers brushing over my lips like he’s not sure I’m real. There’s a trace of whiskey on his breath, his eyes tired, muted.
“Chase, is everything okay? You seem... tired.”
I study him, worry creeping in. But he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he kisses me—soft at first, then deeper, more frantic, like something inside him is splintering apart. His tongue parts my lips, hungry and searching. And then, just as suddenly, he pulls away, breathless, like the kiss drained the last bit of oxygen from his lungs.