Chapter 28 Chase
Chapter twenty-eight
Chase
Three Months Later
I glance at my watch, impatience bleeding through. I let Forbes talk me into a cover feature. They promised it wouldn’t take long — said I’d hardly notice them. I should’ve known better.
The flash of the camera strobes against the glass walls of my office, washing out the view of Manhattan. Forbes sent their senior tech correspondent and a photographer, both circling like vultures, working me for the perfect quote, the perfect angle.
If they thought the old Chase Knight was an asshole, they haven’t met this version. A new beast mode unlocked. The Monarch contract gave me the best thing that ever happened to me, and losing her tore out whatever was left of my soul.
“Knightwell’s pivot into cybersecurity was bold,” the interviewer muses, flipping through his notes, pen tapping against the leather-bound portfolio.
“But the Monarch deal — that was something else. AI fraud detection, global rollout, market confidence overnight. You’ve saved them billions in exposure risk.
Some are calling it the smartest tech play since Zenturion’s risk engines. ”
I let him talk. Let him fill the room with his own voice. The headline’s already written—scrawled hastily in the margin of his notepad: From the Beast of Brooklyn to Wall Street’s Kingmaker.
After the Monarch launch, Knightwell’s stock didn’t just climb — it detonated. Every financial institution worth its boardroom wanted a piece of what we’d built. Even Austen and I hadn’t predicted the scale of it. Knightwell isn’t just a player anymore. We’re the market’s new kingmaker.
But it came at a cost.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew the truth. That I’d tear up the deal in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her.
Because she’s gone. Disappeared. Like she never existed.
Over and over, I replay the last time I saw her. I should’ve handled it differently. I was angry. I wanted answers — fast. I never gave her a chance.
I’ve built an empire on instinct. Trusted it more than I’ve ever trusted people. But this time, something doesn’t sit right. Even when the evidence was stacked high, some part of me refuses to believe it.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
Or maybe — it’s the only thing I’ve been right about all along.
I went looking for her. Even went to her apartment. Another dead end. Someone else lives there now. No forwarding address. No trace. If it wasn’t for her name still sitting in my contacts, I might believe she was nothing more than a dream.
Desperation had me asking Seb if he knew where she was.
His mouth said, I don’t know.
But his eyes told the truth.
A silent fuck you, aimed squarely at me. I’m sure he knows exactly where she is. And judging by his reaction, Violet doesn’t want to be found, at least not by me.
And yeah, a part of me wanted to throw him against the wall and tear the truth out of him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because buried beneath the anger was something else — respect.
People underestimate Seb. He likes it that way. Plays the clown, wears the smirk, but I’ve always known better. The man’s one of MIT’s brightest, but more importantly, he’s the kind of person who would never sell their friend out for any cost.
The interviewer keeps droning, filling the room with projections and bullshit I stopped caring about weeks ago. I’m one second from cutting him off when my phone vibrates across the desk.
A name lights up my screen: Millie Fause.
Doesn’t register at first.
Then I scan the message. One word stops me cold. Violet.
MILLIE FAUSE
I heard from Seb you’ve been asking about Violet. I might have some information. If you want to talk, I’ll be at Leonti’s tonight at eight o’clock.
That’s when it clicks, Millie — Violet’s friend.
I reread the message slower the second time, like the words might vanish if I blink.
For weeks I’ve been living inside four walls, staring at ceilings that don’t give a damn, dragging myself through meetings that should’ve meant everything. Nothing has. Not until now.
My fingers flex, typing before I can think.
ME
I’ll be there.
For the first time in a long time, I feel it. A pulse of adrenaline. A heartbeat. Like I’ve risen from the dead.
“Excellent,” the photographer lowers his camera. “Just got the perfect shot, Mr. Knight.”
“Good,” I reply, already reaching for the intercom. “Because we’re done here, gentleman. Bethany will show you out.”
If you ever wondered what ruthless ambition looked like wearing a three-piece suit, Leontis is the place to be. Where net worth speaks louder than names, and your value is measured in black cards and bonuses.
A few heads turn as I shoulder through the entrance. I nod at a few familiar faces, my gaze scanning the room, hunting for the one person who might finally put me out of my misery.
“Can I help you, sir?” The ma?tre d steps in front of me.
“I’m here to meet Millie Fause.”
“Of course, sir. This way.”
He leads me toward the far corner, and there she is—already waiting. She lifts her hand in a slow, delicate wave. My brow pulls tight, the first red flag unfurling.
She’s dressed to kill—a red dress hugging every curve, her hair and makeup like she just stepped out of the salon. As I close the distance, her cheeks flush, her lashes dipping and lifting like she can’t decide whether to hold my gaze or avoid it altogether.
And just like that, I know Violet is the last thing on her mind.
“Millie.” I drop into the seat opposite, keeping my tone all business.
“Chase.” Her tone softens, the syllables rolling out like silk. “Thank you for coming. I hope you don’t mind — I ordered us a bottle of wine.”
I glance at the unopened bottle, fingers tapping once against the table. “Actually, I’m in a bit of a rush. So, if you don’t mind cutting to the chase, tell me what you know about Violet.”
The shift is instant. Her smile tightens, and I watch her pull back, shoulders squaring off like I’ve just reminded her this isn’t the night she imagined. I swallow down the frustration tightening my jaw, knowing I’ll have to play this stupid game to get what I need.
I lean back, smoothing the edge of my voice. “Sorry, Millie, it’s been a long day.” I offer her a slow smile, dialing up the charm. “You’re right — wine’s exactly what I need.”
It’s like flipping a switch. Her face melts into a deep smile just as the server arrives to pour the wine.
I lift the glass, watching her over the rim as I take a sip. The way her hair falls just so when she flicks it off her shoulder, the quick, almost involuntary glance at my mouth, the way her foot edges closer beneath the table. I’ve seen this a thousand times before, but I wasn’t expecting it here.
Millie is Violet’s friend. That was the piece of the puzzle I’d walked in with, expecting loyalty or, at the very least, some self-righteous lecture. Instead, I get this. I’m pretty sure if I suggested fucking in the bathroom right now, she wouldn’t hesitate.
She sets her glass down, nails tracing the rim, fake concern brimming in her eyes. “You must have been really hurt by the way Violet betrayed you.”
There’s a long pause as I rack my brain for an appropriate response. Clearly, she wants me to criticize Violet. The silence drags on, and it’s a relief when she moves on to her next line of attack.
“She was so angry when you fired her. I think she wanted to make you pay. She’s always been close with Elliot.”
I keep my features impartial, but inside, it feels like my heart just shriveled up and died. Violet doesn’t strike me as a vengeful person, but what if all along that’s what this was? Nothing but petty revenge since our initial meeting.
“Are you still in touch with Violet?” The question is out before I can cage it, the edge in my voice more desperate than I intended.
Her expression flickers—anger, barely masked—like I’ve just veered off her script.
I lean in slightly, holding her gaze, hastily changing tack. “Let’s not talk about Violet.” I reach for the wine bottle, refilling her glass with an easy charm. “I want to hear all about Millie.”
“Oh,” she blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well, what would you like to know?”
“You can start with what restaurants you like.” My gaze holds hers, my voice deepening. “In case we need to do this again.”
That’s all it takes. The hunger in her eyes is unmistakable. She wants this too much to see that she’s being played.
So I let her talk. I keep her glass full and my expression interested, nodding at the right moments, praying for some kind of slip-up.
It doesn’t take long.
“Why would Violet meet Elliot in Bittrade Coffee of all places?” she muses, wine loosening her tongue.
“How do you know where they met?” I’m quick to say.
For a heartbeat, guilt flashes in her eyes before the mask slides back into place.
“Everyone knows about the photos. You must know how people gossip.”
I tilt my head, letting the silence bite before I answer. “Sure. But nobody knew the location, Millie. Only Devlin, Austin, and me.”
Her mouth opens and closes, words stalling behind the panic. A nervous smile twitches across her lips.
“Violet told me,” she blurts, the excuse tumbling out, messy and unconvincing. “We still speak... now and then.”
Lie.
I lock eyes with her, letting the weight of the moment stretch. She knows I’m not buying it, and I have no intention of pretending otherwise.
The second red flag comes without warning. Mid-sentence, her words falter, face draining of color as her gaze snaps to the entrance. I follow it and land on Elliot Hargreaves, sliding through the door like he owns the place.
Millie stiffens. Elliot sees her first, then me. The smugness I expect doesn’t come — just a spark of recognition, quickly chased by fear.
He drifts toward the bar, deliberately turning his back, but the damage is already done. Millie can’t unsee him. Her nerves fray, her thumb worrying against her lip.
“Perhaps we should go,” she mumbles, her tone brittle. “It’s getting late and...”