Chapter 30 Chase
Chapter thirty
Chase
Bethany adjusts her glasses, squinting at her iPad, reciting today’s agenda.
“Good,” I murmur, smiling to myself. London. So she went, after all.
She only mentioned it once—how she’d always wanted to go.
I remember because it stung, hearing her talk about leaving.
She’ll probably hate that I dragged her all the way back here.
Then again, she probably already hates me. With good reason, I let her down.
That won’t happen again.
When I mentioned the possible investment to Austen, he didn’t question it—just raised an eyebrow.
Then he read the report.
Didn’t take long before the lines on his forehead smoothed out, and that quiet, calculating focus of his kicked in.
That’s when I knew he’d seen it—the architecture, the elegance in the logic, and the kind of precision you don’t fake.
“This has Violet’s fingerprints all over it. It’s brilliant,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong.
I zone out as Bethany lists the rest of the day’s activities. There is only one event I care about today. Violet. I grab my suit jacket, eager to get moving.
“Erm...,” Bethany says as I stride to the door, hesitation in her tone, the one she always uses when she fears upsetting me.
I pause, meeting her gaze.
“On the list of attendees for this morning’s meeting, there is a Violet Harper. Is that the...” she takes a breath as if searching for the right words.
“It is.” I don’t hesitate. There’s no point denying it. Bethany is clever enough to know it’s no coincidence.
“If I could offer some advice,” she begins, an anxious crease in her brow.
“Something tells me you’re going to anyway,” I offer a half-smile to put her at ease.
“Be gentle with her. It will be hard for her coming back after what happened.” She wrings her hands together.
“Don’t worry, Bethany. I’m aware I’ve got a mountain to climb. Anyone would think I’m a complete monster.”
“Only on Mondays,” she adds with a wry smile as I head to the elevator.
I feel every beat of my heart, every inhale of breath as the elevator descends, adrenaline pulsing through me, growing every step closer to the meeting room.
The door is open as I approach. The low buzz of chatter reverberates out into the hallway.
British accents, polite laughter, Austen making small talk.
I stride through the door, my mask in place.
On the surface, calm and collected. On the inside, one second away from losing my goddamn mind.
My eyes move on instinct, seeking her out.
When they land on her, I swear I stop breathing.
A moment I know will stay with me forever.
She doesn’t see me at first. Of course, she’s smiling, her dimples on full display.
A smile both punishing and utterly breathtaking.
Punishing because it’s not for me. It’s for someone else.
She looks radiant. Happy. Thriving in a world without me.
People say the best form of revenge is success.
If revenge is what she’s after, she’s achieved it with a single smile.
And, yes, I still love her — fiercely, fully, in a way that guts me.
Not the soft kind.
But the kind that owns you completely.
A few heads turn my way as the chatter dies down.
The smile is still on her face as her head turns.
It disappears the second she sees me. I don’t think anything has ever cut as deep.
I stare. Can’t help it. I’ve waited so long to see her.
Immediately, her eyes dip to her laptop screen, but almost like an instinct she can’t control, they lift back up and lock on mine.
And I see it. The sharp inhale. The flicker in her eyes.
She still feels it. She doesn’t want to, but it’s there.
The caveman in me wants to order everyone but her out of the room.
Wants to reclaim that smile. Remind her who she belongs to.
But that would be a monumental act of self-sabotage.
So, I do what I always do. Turn on the charm.
Work the room. Make sure everyone knows who’s in control.
My feet carry me forward like I’m on autopilot, shaking hands, exchanging names. Austen introduces the leads from Nexora, and I respond in kind, smooth, polite, every inch the investor they expect me to be.
Then I get to her.
“Violet,” I say, so much emotion loaded beneath the surface just by uttering her name.
My arm stretches out, my blood roaring just at the thought of touching her.
“Mr. Knight,” she says, like we’re strangers, like my tongue hasn’t run over every inch of her skin.
But when her hand slides into mine, her cool facade splinters for a second.
I let my thumb drag across her palm. The shiver she tries to hide is immediate.
She’s still as affected by me, perhaps more so, and for the first time today, I can breathe again.
I can tell she hates the fact as much as I love it.
The way she snatches her hand away as if my touch burns.
Before the tension breaks us completely, Martin, Nexora’s lead, speaks up, “Violet told me you worked together before. She’s been a real asset to the project. We’re lucky to have her.”
I don’t look away from her. I can’t. “Our loss is your gain.” And boy, does the truth hurt.
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, her attention shifting to Martin like he’s her safety net, her body inching closer to him.
I don’t like that. I don’t like it one fucking bit.
But then I’m hit with the bitter truth. He’s the one who rescued her when we tossed her out in the cold.
My fingers curl in on themselves, the harsh reality almost enough to floor me. But I suck it up and press on.
I bury the chaos and force my focus back to the room.
This is the first time in my life that business has come second to something else.
I don’t need this deal. The fact it has Violet’s brilliance stitched into its very foundation is a bonus. But I’m in no doubt that all this—this whole charade—is for her. My one last shot at fixing my epic mess.
Martin launches into the last part of the presentation, walking us through Nexora’s predictive analytics software—their crown jewel.
It’s clever. It doesn’t just forecast market trends; it adapts, learns, and sharpens with every data point.
I should be thinking about its potential, the obscene profits it’ll generate when Knightwell takes it global.
But I’m not; I’m watching her.
Violet sits there, spine stiff, hands folded too tightly on the table. She doesn’t look at me, not once. As if ignoring me could protect her.
“Well,” I say when Martin finishes, dragging myself back into the room, “we’re looking forward to seeing what you deliver.”
Martin beams, already mentally counting his bonuses. Violet just nods, her face carefully blank.
The meeting wraps up smoothly after that—next steps, timelines, the usual polished corporate bullshit.
When everyone rises, I move toward her, catching the quick hitch in her breath.
“Violet,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, professional. “Can I have a word? Upstairs.”
Martin glances at her, expectant, making it impossible for her to refuse without drawing attention.
For a second, she hesitates. I catch the flicker of resistance in her eyes. The way she wants to say no.
But she can’t—not with him standing there.
“Of course,” she says finally, tight and controlled, the words falling like stones.
Violet looks tight enough to snap as I walk by her side to the elevator. I want to pull her into my arms until the tension uncoils.
It’s a sobering thought—that I’m the cause of her turmoil.
It seems like forever as we wait for the elevator. She won’t look at me, like if she just keeps her eyes fixed ahead, I might disappear.
The polished chrome of the doors throws back our reflections—me, standing there like a man seconds from falling to his knees, and her, every inch slipping further from my grasp.
Eventually, the doors slide open, and I step back to let her in. She steps inside, almost pressed up against the side wall in an effort to maintain distance.
A part of me wants to tear that distance to shreds.
I feel the edges of my patience fraying, but Bethany’s warning looms large in my mind—be gentle.
So, I hold back. Barely.
As the elevator ascends, I watch her in awe. How has she somehow got more beautiful? Her hair is slightly longer, maybe a shade darker, making the green in her eyes almost iridescent.
Her plump, red lips are caught between her teeth with worry.
And God help me; all I can think about is tasting them again.
“It’s good to see you, Violet,” I finally manage—words that hardly skim the surface of what this moment means.
That’s all it takes for her stonewall to crack.
“Why?” she snaps. “Last time I saw you, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. So excuse me if I don’t buy that bullshit.”
And there she is. My little hellion. Bold. Brave. Eyes on fire.
“That’s not true,” I say, voice low. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“For what?” she scoffs. “You fired me. What were you expecting? That we’d roll into La Cantina Mexicana for margaritas at sundown and a friendly chat?”
Despite the hell-storm raging between us, that punches a small, twisted laugh from me—the kind only Violet could ever wring out.
“So now you know I’m in the clear,” she spits. “You invite us here for a pity deal. I don’t care if you drag me into your mess, but not them. They’re good people.”
I try to keep it together, but my composure slips—my breath jagged, the tempo off.
“No,” I say firmly. “That’s not what this is. I admit, I only looked into Nexora after I saw your name attached, but the software is brilliant. Someone else would’ve snapped it up. I just got lucky.”
“Oh, please.” She folds her arms and presses back into the wall, like she needs more space, not just physically, but emotionally, like maybe she’ll lose a part of herself if I’m too close.
I panic; she’s retreating, and I can feel it, feel her sliding out of reach.
My feet move of their own accord, my chaotic thoughts slipping out.
“But you know what I think, Violet?” My voice deepens, steady but tightening. “I think you’re scared that you still feel something. Terrified.”
“No.” Her voice spikes, loud and shattering in the confined space. “That’s not what this is. I’ve forgotten you. Erased you. Moved on.”
Every word hits like a blow. But it’s the idea of her moving on, someone else touching her, knowing her like I did—that’s what finally unhinges me. I glance at the floor panel—two floors left. Not enough time. Nowhere near.
Before I can second-guess it, my hand slams onto the emergency stop.
The elevator lurches violently, jerking to a dead stop.
She gasps, grabbing the side rail for balance. Her eyes snap to mine, wide with fury and something else that tugs at the edge of me. I close the distance in steady, measured steps, like a man walking into a hurricane he welcomes.
A tinny voice blares through the elevator speaker. “Is there a problem?
“Not now,” I yell.
I drive my palms into the wall beside her, caging her with nothing but the thrum of anger and need between us.
Her breathing is erratic, lips parted, pupils blown wide. She hates me, but her body remembers.
I trace her jaw with my thumb, featherlight. Her eyelids flutter, jaw clenched like she’s bracing for impact.
“Let me kiss you,” I whisper. My lips hover over hers, close enough to count her heartbeats.
“No,” she breathes, her gaze slicing into mine. “You’ll never kiss me again.”
“Liar.”
We stare, locked in a silent war. Nothing moves but the violent rise and fall of our chests.
“Why does it feel like you still love me?” I ask, my voice low now, reverent.
A muscle jumps in her jaw, something fierce and wounded flashing through her.
“I never said I loved you.” Her voice falters, the fight slipping from her like breath from lungs too tired to keep going.
“So tell me now. Did you?” I lean in, drawn to her with a heat that borders on madness. Her gaze flickers—not away, but inward—like she’s peeling back layers she doesn’t want me to see. Then her eyes lift to mine again, and for a second, time halts.
“Yes, I did.”
Something detonates in my chest. My hand moves before I can stop it, cupping her jaw like I need to feel the truth of it in her skin.
“You did, Violet... or you do?” I press, afraid to hear the answer, as my thumb brushes the edge of her cheekbone.
The air thickens, heavy enough to drown in.
“It’s a simple question, Violet.”
“You don’t deserve the answer.”
She doesn’t deny it—and that, that tiny shard of hope spears through my ribs.
“If you knew you were innocent,” I murmur, “why didn’t you fight for your job? I would’ve made damn sure everyone knew they were wrong.”
She exhales sharply, and the weight behind it floors me.
“Why would I stay in a place where everyone thought I was a liar? Where you thought I was?” Her voice quivers, betrayal pulsing through every beat. “That’s what hurt the most, the thought that you didn’t know me at all.”
“Just because I love you, it doesn’t mean there won’t be times I’ll misunderstand you.”
“That’s the whole point.” Her voice cracks open as her anger bursts free. “You can’t love me if you thought that of me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” My voice drops to a raw whisper.
“I still loved you. Even when I believed the worst—I still loved you. If it had all been a lie, if you played me from the start—I would’ve loved you, anyway.
If you hated me, I’d still love you. I will always love you.
That’s never going to change, Violet. Ever. ”
The quiet stretches, pierced only by the tremble of her breath and the heavy thud of mine.
Sighing, I press my hand over the restart button. With a sudden jolt, the elevator kicks back to life.
She blinks like she’s surfacing from underwater.
The numbers tick higher as we stay rooted to the spot.
When the doors slide open, I force myself to step back, to give her space. But before I leave, I turn to her one last time.
“You’re coming to dinner tonight?”
She doesn’t follow me out, but her chin lifts, eyes fixed on mine. “Yes,” she says, soft but sure.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice barely a breath. “Despite what you think and how badly I handled things, I never wanted this. I still wanted to be together...” I lower my gaze, letting my words settle before I finally meet her eyes again. “Don’t hate me. Please.”
As I walk away, something inside me buckles. The last time I watched her leave, it hurt.
This time, I know it might kill me.