Chapter 26 Violet #2
“This whole conversation is embarrassing, Violet,” he says, each word a deliberate slice. “For you, for me—for everyone who thought you were better than this.”
The words hit harder than a slap. I feel the heat rush under my skin, the hurt blistering into fury.
“Do you really think I’d risk everything I built?” I snap, my palm slapping down over the picture of Elliot and me. “You think I’d burn that to the ground? For what? You know me better than that.”
His mouth twists, bitter and hard. “That’s the point,” he says. “I thought I did, but I’m giving you one last chance to tell us what really happened.”
Our glares lock, eyes blazing, teeth clenched, both of us so close to losing control it feels like the air itself might break. Like wild animals, one wrong breath away from tearing each other apart.
And then I see it — the truth staring back at me, carved into the hard lines of his face.
If he thinks this is something I could do, he never knew me at all.
Every single person at this table has already made up their minds. I can see it, clear as day. No sympathy. Not even curiosity. Just a polite firing squad waiting for the final shot.
Silence drags out until HR finally clears their throat.
“We’ll be terminating your employment effective immediately.
You’ll be given a severance package. The confidentiality and non-compete clauses in your contract are still in effect.
You’re prohibited from working for any direct competitor, including Elliot Hargreaves, for the next eighteen months. Violation will trigger legal recourse.”
The words barely register. I’m still staring at Chase.
He reaches forward and places a pen on the table, sliding it toward me. No emotion. No hesitation. Mechanical. Professional.
That hurts more than if he’d thrown it at me.
I’ve never felt more betrayed.
I swallow the burn in my throat. If my mother could lie on her deathbed and damn well smile, I can do this without falling apart.
I pick up the pen. Sign the first page. Then the next. And the next.
When I’m done, I slide the folder back. Chase flinches, just barely, but I see it. Good, I hope it hurts like hell. Because that’s the last time he’ll get anything from me.
I scrape back my chair and stand, spine locked straight. I stride for the door, refusing to let them see me break.
“Violet,” Chase says behind me, his voice tight. “We need to speak in private.”
I don’t turn around.
“No, Chase,” I say. “We don’t. We’re done.”
I step into the hallway, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the world. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. Keep breathing.
I’m almost in the elevator when I hear footsteps behind me, quick and heavy. Chase. What did I expect? He always has to have the last word.
His hand closes around my arm and spins me around.
“Don’t you dare leave, Violet, without giving me an explanation?”
I stare up at him, my throat constricted, rage and heartbreak tangled together.
“I already tried,” I say, my voice shaking, the tears finally sliding hot and angry down my face. “But you’re waiting for a version of the truth that doesn’t exist.”
And for the first time, I see it — the flicker of doubt. Not in me. In himself.
His face is so close to mine, his racing breaths heat my skin.
How fucked up is it that even now, all I can think about is kissing him.
I push his hand away as he tries to wipe my tears.
“You know, I should have worked for Elliot when he gave me the chance.” I twist the knife as deep as it will go, hurt making me lash out.
“Perhaps he is the good guy, after all.”
He looks at me long and hard, like I just ripped the heart out of his bones. “I could have crushed you, Violet,” he murmurs.
“Oh, were you expecting me to be grateful?” My laugh is brittle. “But I am grateful for one thing.” My gaze locks onto his, steady and final. “For showing me, you didn’t know me at all. I’m not sure who you were in love with, but it wasn’t me.”
I shake out of his grip just as the elevator doors slide open and step inside.
“So that’s it?” he says, his tone like ice. “You’re just walking away. No explanation. Nothing.” His eyes harden, almost like I’m forgotten already—just another casualty of the boardroom.
I lift my chin, gulping back the wreckage sitting in my throat.
“You already made sure I had no choice.”
As the doors slide shut between us, I feel empty. All I have left is a solitary tear.
I almost want to pinch myself, just to make sure this is real. Back in that room, I didn’t even have time to think — it all happened so fast. But now, standing here, the only thing looping through my head is how?
Because the only thing I’m guilty of is bumping into Elliot. Stupidly, I kept quiet because I knew Chase would lose it. What a mistake that turned out to be.
And Chase. All week, he’s been distant. Cold. Detached. Now it all clicks into place — he knew. He knew this was coming, and he let me walk straight into it. I’ll never forgive him for that.
Frantically, I swipe at my tears, forcing them back. Stage one of my humiliation parade is complete. Now for stage two — braving my office and facing everyone while I collect the remains of my life.
The walk back to my desk seems longer than it ever has. Every step echoes through the office like a countdown, like I’m walking straight into a battlefield—only this time, they aren’t even bothering to load their weapons. I’m already done.
The silence is what gets me. No typing, no hushed voices pretending not to notice. Just the quiet weight of everyone staring. Even the ones who used to smile at me as I passed don’t bother faking it now.
I reach my desk, hands stiff, heart pounding so hard it makes me light-headed. My things are already in a cardboard box. Neat. Clinical. Efficient. HR must have packed it while I sat there watching my life get erased.
I stand there, just staring at the box until a shadow falls over me.
“Hey, Vi,” Seb’s says softly. “I’ll carry it down for you.”
“Thank you, Seb.” I step aside and let him lift the box, watching my life fit neatly into his hands.
We walk in silence, past the same faces I’ve passed a hundred times. I don’t even flinch now. What’s the point?
The elevator doors slide closed, the metal walls trapping the silence between us.
“So,” I say, my throat dry, “everyone knew.”
Seb shifts the box against his chest, his mouth pulling tight. “Yeah. They only found out today.”
I don’t ask how. I don’t need to. Office gossip spreads faster than fact, and in this place, scandal is currency. I was bankrupt the second the rumor hit the floor.
I swallow, the words scraping their way up before I can stop them.
“Do you think I did it?”
Seb glances at me, his face crumpling just slightly, like it hurts that I even had to ask.
“No,” he says, not a trace of doubt. “I don’t.”
It should make me feel better. It doesn’t. It just makes the ache sharper, the betrayal heavier. Chase didn’t believe me, but Seb does. And that says everything I need to know.
Seb blows out a slow breath. “I just... I can’t wrap my head around it. None of it makes sense.”
I almost tell him about Chase and me. But I bite down the words. Not yet. Not now. And it’s over, anyway.
When the elevator dings for the ground floor, Seb shifts the box into one hand, hesitating. His mouth quirks into the kind of lopsided grin I’ve seen a thousand times — the one he always pulled out when he was trying to make me laugh on the days I thought I’d never smile again.
“What did you expect?” he says, deadpan. “The only happy endings anyone gets in this building are the kind Mark gets when he visits Madame Soapy Hands on his lunch break.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it — almost painful with how sudden it is. The kind that shakes my chest and leaves my throat raw, but for once, it feels good.
I wipe at my eyes, still laughing, and wrap my arms around him, holding on tight.
“God, I’m going to miss you,” I murmur against his shoulder.
He hugs me back, strong and sure, like he’s been holding me together longer than I realized.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too. But you know where I am if you need anything.”
I nod, but I don’t look back as I walk away. If I do, I might fall apart.
The apartment feels hollow when I arrive home. Gracie’s gone — off chasing California sunsets before college ties her down. The silence creeps into everything. No music. No half-drunk iced coffee abandoned on the counter—just me and four walls and the crushing weight of what’s left.
I sit on the edge of the couch, the box still by my feet, untouched. My hands are shaking. My chest aches.
I was in love with him.
The thought hits like a brick to the ribs. Not lust. Not infatuation. Love. I was falling, and he was never there to catch me. He didn’t even try.
A sob claws its way up, but I gulp it back down. The world doesn’t stop just because your heart does.
Rent’s still due. Bills don’t pause for heartbreak.
I click open my phone, fingers hovering over the search button, and start scrolling through job listings. Mind numb. Eyes dry. The same mindless cycle of ‘entry-level but five years’ experience required’ and ‘competitive salary’ that never means what you want it to.
An hour passes before I click into my email. I almost miss it, tucked between bank statements and spam.
A reply.
The application I sent, when Chase started pulling away, when something inside me had already known this was coming, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
They don’t have a position locally. But they have one.
London.
The city I’ve dreamed about since I was old enough to pin maps on my wall. A place I never thought I’d go.
I stare at the email, my heart skipping once, then twice, and before I can second-guess myself, I hit reply.
I’ll come for the interview.
When I finally swipe out of my phone, the silence doesn’t seem quite so suffocating. For the first time all day, it feels like maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t completely closed in.
I glance at the photo still sitting on my shelf. My mother, her smile wide and bright, frozen in time.
It feels like her. Like she’s still here. Like she sent me the sign I needed, just when I couldn’t see past the ruins.
People always think of grief as loss, which it undoubtedly is. But with the loss comes strength.
The strength of knowing someone is watching over you. Guiding you. Ready to step in when you reach your darkest moments.
And I think — maybe this is her.
Maybe this is her saving me.