Chapter 46
Say It Again
Violet
For weeks, I’ve been trapped in his penthouse, watching the city from above. Studying every street, every bridge. Memorizing the fastest routes to disappear. I know exactly where I am. More importantly, I know where I need to go if I can just get outside.
I’ve been planning for this. Running through every possible escape scenario since the moment he told me we were going to the lab. Days of restless energy. Of weighing risks. Of waiting. I didn’t know when it would be my moment, only that when it came, I had to be ready.
And now, finally, I’m leaving.
Not free—but closer to it than I’ve been in weeks.
My heart hammers as the elevator doors glide shut, sealing me inside with Asher. The hum of the descent vibrates through my bones, but it does nothing to quiet the storm raging in my head.
Asher stands beside me, hands in his pockets, looking infuriatingly relaxed. I keep my gaze fixed on the descending numbers above the doors, pretending he doesn’t exist.
“Cheer up, Kitten,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “You’d think I was leading you to your execution.”
I press my lips together, gripping my arms to keep from fidgeting.
I should look indifferent. Unshaken. But my pulse is thrumming, my body wired with anticipation, and I can’t stop my fingers from twitching against my biceps.
This is the first time I’ve been out in weeks.
My mind races through every plan, every possible crack I could slip through before they shove me back into my gilded cage.
His eyes flick to the movement. His smirk widens. “You’re practically vibrating, Vi. Excited to see the lab, or are you already scheming?”
I scoff, forcing boredom into my expression. “Maybe I’m just dreading another day in your delightful company.”
He shakes his head. “And here I thought you were finally warming up to me.”
“I’d rather hug a snake.”
He chuckles, leaning lazily against the elevator wall, completely at ease. “That’s a shame. You do look adorable when you think you have the upper hand.”
I grit my teeth and don’t react. He’s so confident. So sure I won’t get away. That I won’t outmaneuver him.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been planning.
He doesn’t know that today, I run.
The unspoken threat lingers between us, thick as the tension I refuse to acknowledge. I clench my fists, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I’ve spent days preparing for this moment, running every possible scenario through my head.
Plan A: Fake a fainting spell. Drop hard. Make a scene. Wait for distraction, then bolt. Plan B: Find an open car door and dive in. If it’s running, floor it. If not, lock myself inside and scream until security gets involved. Plan C: Just run. Don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Don’t look back.
None of these plans are good. But I don’t need perfect. I just need distance. Enough to reach the streets. Enough to vanish into the crowd before he or his men can grab me.
And still—there’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind, whispering doubts I don’t want to hear.
What happens to Ella’s scholarship if I disappear? What happens to the safety net she finally has?
And worse—why does part of me hesitate at the thought of leaving him?
Not after seeing him fevered and vulnerable. Watching him push through pain with that same infuriating arrogance, pretending nothing could touch him. Like he was untouchable.
Except he wasn’t.
I can’t forget the way his hand gripped mine. The way he growled my name like he needed me there.
I shake the thought off. I can’t let myself get distracted. This is my shot.
And I need to take it.
The elevator dings.
My stomach tightens as the doors slide open, revealing the underground parking garage beneath the penthouse. The stale scent of oil and gasoline floods my lungs—but beneath it is something sharper. The taste of freedom.
I keep my expression neutral as we step out, my heart pounding. I don’t hesitate. I scan the space—the heavy metal gate at the far end, the parked cars, and the exits.
The driver stands by the car, his gaze flicking briefly to me before settling back on Asher as they exchange a few quiet words. He looks bored. Uninterested.
That’s my opening.
It’s now or never.
I take off.
My feet slap against concrete as I sprint, lungs burning, heart hammering. The garage is cavernous, empty except for a few blacked-out SUVs. I weave between them, searching for a break. An opening. Anything.
Behind me—boots on pavement.
Too fast. Too close.
A strong arm wraps around my waist, yanking me off my feet. I slam into a broad chest, a breathless curse tearing out of me as I fight against the iron grip.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the driver mutters, adjusting his hold like I weigh nothing.
I kick. Twist. Fight.
Useless.
He sighs, long-suffering, then tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down!” I shout, thrashing.
“You done?” he asks.
“Go to hell!”
He chuckles. “You first.”
The car door swings open and I’m dumped into the backseat. Before I can sit up, it slams shut and the locks click into place. I lunge for the handle. Nothing.
Then the other door opens.
Asher slides in beside me—already laughing.
Not a smirk. Not a chuckle.
Full-bodied, unrestrained laughter that shakes his shoulders and makes his eyes gleam with something wicked. He tips his head back, hand dragging through his hair as he tries—and fails—to rein it in.
“I— I can’t breathe—” he manages between laughs.
He looks at me, still shaking. “I would’ve paid good money to see my driver’s face.
You really thought you had a chance, didn’t you?
Watching you try to escape might be the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks.
” He clutches his side, still grinning. “The determination. The confidence. It almost makes me want to let you get a little farther next time. Just to see what you’d do. ”
Heat burns up my neck as I cross my arms. “It could have worked.”
He grins. “You’re relentless. I’ll give you that.”
I sink back into the seat, seething. He’s enjoying this far too much. I hate how infectious his laughter is. How, for a second, I almost forget that I hate him.
Because like this—unguarded, grinning, and alive—he’s devastating.
I shove the thought away.
“You can’t keep me locked up forever,” I mutter, staring out the window.
His smirk softens into something smug as he leans closer. “Oh, Kitten. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”
The car eases out of the garage.
And as the city slides past, reality settles in.
The second I step into the lab, my entire body locks up.
The scent of sterilized metal and faint acetone hits my lungs, sharp and clinical, a jarring contrast to the damp, muggy air outside.
Stainless steel countertops gleam beneath fluorescent lights.
Compounds sit in neat, methodical rows. Everything is pristine.
Too pristine. Too controlled. Too perfect.
I hate it.
This isn’t like my old dorm room, where chaos ruled and chemistry felt alive—messy, unpredictable, and thrilling.
There, I worked late into the night surrounded by textbooks with frayed edges and handwritten notes scrawled across every inch of free space.
A tiny hot plate. Stolen glassware. The occasional explosion that sent me ducking for cover.
That was real science.
Even Cami’s warehouse had personality. It smelled like old wood and motor oil, a place where ideas thrived because no one was watching. No one demanded perfection. It had energy. Life. Possibility.
This place has none of that.
It’s cold. Clinical. Soulless. It doesn’t feel like a space for discovery—it feels like a machine. An assembly line meant to strip my work of its genius and turn it into a commodity.
I don’t trust this.
I don’t trust him.
Asher strides ahead of me, unhurried, and casual, like he hasn’t been keeping me captive. Like he didn’t just ruin what should’ve been a dramatic and successful escape.
His man doesn’t try to restrain me—probably because the last time I ran, it ended with me slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“This, Violet,” Asher says, voice dripping with amusement, “is where the magic happens.”
“Oh, great,” I deadpan, hugging my arms around myself. “Should I expect doves and a top hat? Or is this more of a chainsaw-someone-in-half situation?”
He smirks but doesn’t bite. Instead, he gestures to the room’s occupants—scientists, techs, and white coats. They all look far too comfortable around him.
One of them—a wiry man with oversized glasses—looks up and grins. “Asher. You didn’t tell us we’d be getting her today.”
Her?
Before I can respond, my attention snaps to the workstation behind him.
Beakers. Data sheets. Chemical compounds.
My stomach drops.
I know that formula.
It’s mine.
My feet move before I can stop them, fingers skimming over handwritten notes scattered across the table. Molecular structures. Ratios. Failed tests. The handwriting isn’t mine—but the work is unmistakable.
I knew I was here to perfect Zephyra. That much was clear the moment Asher decided I was more useful alive than locked away. But this?
This is different.
They’ve been trying to replicate it without me. Running trials. Brute-forcing a formula that was never meant to be theirs.
The realization cuts deeper than I expect.
This isn’t just control.
It’s theft.
A bitter laugh escapes me as I grab one of the sheets and hold it up. “Wow. So close. Just a tiny chirality flip away from actually making the real thing.” I flick the paper at Asher’s chest, watching him catch it effortlessly. “But hey—what’s an enantiomeric disaster among friends?”
Silence.
Glasses Guy clears his throat. “What do you mean?”
I exhale through my nose, deeply offended. “This.” I point at the structure on the whiteboard. “You flipped the wrong enantiomer. You turned the S version into the R version.”
Blank stares.