Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Violet
Light presses the back of my eyelids as sunlight peeks through the curtains.
For a few blissful seconds, as I float in that space between sleep and waking, I’m back in my old apartment, Gracie asleep in the next room, Chase holding me close.
I’d bang on the wall and yell, “Coffee?” and Gracie would grunt in response—her way of saying I’m alive, but don’t even think about talking to me for ten minutes.
But when I reach across the bed, there’s nothing there. Just cold sheets and empty space. But then the familiar scent hits me, the one I tried and failed to forget.
Chase.
I blink against the pale light filtering in, and then the memories resurface—disjointed, uneven, like shards of glass catching the light.
Elliot. His hand gripping my jaw, forcing the drink to my lips. The panic. The way the room spun. That sick sensation of being trapped.
My stomach twists. I remember the sound of the door crashing open. Chase storming in like a force of nature in a blur of fists and blood. The way he dragged Elliot off me like he was nothing and I was everything.
I sit up straighter, rubbing my face, trying to steady the pulse hammering at my temples. Chase saved me. I remember that. He brought me back here, to his apartment.
Then another image slips through—so different, my breath catches.
The bath.
The warmth of the water. The feel of Chase behind me, solid and calm.
His arms around me, his breath against my neck.
The way I turned in his lap. How I kissed him and the way his body reacted to mine.
The heat between us, growing so fast, it blurred everything else.
That low sound he made in his throat, like he was trying not to lose control.
My body tightens with the memory. I swallow hard and press my thighs together beneath the sheets, the sudden rush of heat making me groan quietly into the empty room.
God, I wanted him—just like I want him now.
Even drunk, I wanted him, maybe more so, because then it was raw, unfiltered.
But now I know it’s more than that. When Elliot had me frozen in fear, barely able to think straight, it was Chase I called out for.
Because deep down, I know he’d never let anything happen to me.
I used to think I was in love with the gentler side of him—the warmth he rarely let slip through.
I hated the rest of him. The ruthlessness.
The sharp edges. But now I see it’s all of him.
And somehow, I don’t just want the softness anymore.
I want every jagged, complicated piece. The highs, the lows, the messy middle—the whole damn thing, with him.
The thought hits me hard, and I jolt upright, air stalling in my lungs. I need to see him. Now. Like if I wait another second, he might vanish.
I shove the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the tequila delivers a delayed, skull-splitting reminder of last night.
I pad barefoot into the hallway, drawn by the low rumble of his voice.
With every step, the shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—brushes against my thighs, oversized and soft.
The wide collar slips off one shoulder no matter how often I pull it back up.
It smells like him. That clean, masculine scent that makes my skin flush.
It clings to me like his hands are still on my body.
My heart is a riot in my chest as his voice grows clearer, pulling me forward.
I know what I feel. I just don’t know what the hell to do about it.
He’s exactly where I expected—on the couch, his back to me, facing the wall of glass that looks out over Central Park.
The rising sun slices through the window, casting streaks of gold across his bare chest. He’s in nothing but gym shorts, hair still damp, like he’s already worked off half the night’s rage.
My mouth goes dry.
I’ve no idea the exact moment I fell in love. It crept up on me, day by day, hour by hour, until this moment right here. The moment I know, I’m totally beat. It’s too strong to fight. And the best part? I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to fight it.
I linger before I go in, not to eavesdrop but unable to stop myself, either.
Although he’s talking quietly, his tone is clipped and cold.
“...no, I don’t care where he goes; I just want him gone.
If we get the police involved, his family lawyer will get him off with a slap on the wrist and try to destroy her in the process.
I want him out of her life for good. He’s never to set foot in this city again.
That’s all that matters. He’s finished here, anyway.
” He listens for a second longer, then ends the call, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“Please don’t tell me you’re having him whacked?” I say, my voice teasing but warm.
Chase turns, startled at first, but then his mouth quirks with amusement. “Why are you worried about him?”
I shake my head, stepping closer.
“No,” I assert. “I’m worried about you.”
He smiles, a genuine one that lights up his face, and for a second, I can’t breathe. It somehow breaks my heart and puts it back together all at once.
“You don’t need to. Even though he deserves a bullet in the head, unfortunately, he’s very much alive. But he won’t bother you anymore, Violet. I promise.”
The t-shirt rides up slightly as I perch on the arm of the couch. I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to my legs before they jump back up to mine.
“Thank you, Chase,” I say, my voice soft. “I don’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t come.”
“But you’re okay? He didn’t hurt you?” His eyes rake over me, shining with worry.
“He didn’t,” I confirm, trying to swallow back the mess of emotions swirling in my chest. “How did you know where to find me?”
“When you didn’t show at the restaurant, Seb was worried.
” He rubs a hand over his mouth, the tension barely contained.
“He told me you’d gone to Millie’s. I called her from Seb’s phone, and she cracked right away.
Whether she was trying to save you or herself, I don’t know, but I could hear the guilt in her voice. ”
Even though I know my friendship with Millie is over, there’s a strange comfort in knowing she felt some remorse. A tiny crumb to hold on to.
“Don’t go after Millie,” I blurt, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My fingers twist the hem of my shirt, my eyes holding his, searching for understanding.
He exhales, frustration lacing his features. “How can you say that after all she’s done?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, my shoulders sagging. “But I know she’s not all bad. She’s lost, and Elliot manipulated her, and God knows what else.”
He takes a slow breath, jaw tightening. “I’m not happy about it, but if you promise to keep the fuck away from her?”
“I promise.”
A silence falls between us, thick and loaded. His expression softens, but there’s something else there too—something heavier, like he’s pulling back. He looks away first, his gaze drifting to the window.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes fixed on the skyline like it holds the answers he’s too afraid to look for in me. “This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t dragged you back to New York.”
“It wouldn’t,” I admit, keeping my tone even. “But—”
He cuts me off, his voice flat, distant, like he’s already halfway out the door. “I’m glad things worked out for you. You’re safer in London. You have your friends; you’re happy.”
He drags a hand across his jaw like the words taste bitter in his mouth. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... I bring nothing but trouble into your life. And maybe you were right to let go.”
The words hit harder than they should, scraping across nerves I didn’t think were still raw. I study him for a beat—how still he is, how practiced the distance in his voice sounds.
“Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me?” I try to keep my voice light, but there’s a crack running beneath the words I can’t quite seal.
He glances at me now, brows pulling together. “Pretty sure you already beat me to it. Remember?”
He leans in slightly; the couch dipping beneath his weight.
His knee brushes mine, and I go still, ridiculously aware of even the slightest contact.
Something in me tightens, like my body is reacting before I’ve even given it permission.
I sense the change in him, too—more watchful now, like he senses the air between us has tilted.
“I told you exactly how I feel in the elevator, Violet. Every word was true. But the thought of what could’ve happened last night—” He pauses, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to break something.
“I can’t stop replaying it. I’m barely holding it together.
That’s why you’re better off without me. ”
“But you came,” I murmur. “You saved me. You can’t punish yourself for what Elliot did—or let him ruin things.”
He shakes his head slowly, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “Ruin what, Violet?” His voice is low, but there’s steel under it. “I didn’t think there was anything left to ruin.”
He reaches for my chin, tilting it up with maddening gentleness until our eyes lock. He’s doing what he always does—refusing to let me hide. Dragging the truth out of me, whether I’m ready or not.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” I mutter, throwing my hands up in surrender. “I decide I want to be with you, that I love you, and you’re basically telling me to have a nice life.”
He stills, like I just pulled the ground out from under him.
“Wait - What?”
I shrug, twisting my lips into a half-smile. “But if that’s how you feel, I should get going. London won’t wait forever.” I start to rise.
His hand shoots out, curling around my wrist with enough force to stop time.
“Oh no, Violet,” he says, voice gruff. “You don’t get to tell me you love me and then walk away like that.”
His tone softens, but there’s nothing soft in the way he’s looking at me.
“Tell me you mean it. Tell me you’re not messing with me.”