Chapter 57
Panic isn’t power. It’s loss
Asher
The office at Crimson Inc. is sterile and silent.
I sit behind the glass desk, still in last night’s clothes. The city moves beneath me, indifferent and fast, but I haven’t moved since I got here. Not really. I came straight from the penthouse, hoping—no, lying to myself—that I’d find control here. Something predictable. Something not her.
She said she loved me.
And I left.
Not because I didn’t feel it. But because I did.
The second she said those words, I saw every piece of myself I’d tried to keep buried—every soft edge, and every broken part—and I panicked.
I pulled away before she could see just how far I’d already fallen.
Before I could say it back and make it real.
Before I could admit that she isn’t leverage or strategy or a goddamn weakness.
She’s everything.
And I disappeared like she was nothing.
I haven’t called. Haven’t knocked on her door. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for her to show up—like she always does. Like she hasn’t changed. Like I didn’t shatter something sacred between us.
The words she said still echo: “I love you.”
And I said nothing.
I didn’t even touch her after. Just walked out.
Didn’t even make it to the elevator before I hated myself for it.
Her voice still echoes in my head—soft, hesitant, and real.
'I love you.' I can still feel the way her fingers curled into my chest, the way her body trembled right before she said it. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve said it back.
So I came here, thinking maybe if I buried myself in work, in strategy, or in something—anything—I could get ahead of it. But there’s nothing to control.
Just this.
This hollow ache in my chest and the sick realization that I don’t know how to fix this.
The door slams open.
Maverick barrels in, soaked and breathing like he ran the whole way here. Fury radiates off him in waves. “You motherfucker.”
I blink, slow. “You want to run that back?”
He doesn’t answer. Just slams a folder onto my desk. Pages fan out across the surface—diagrams, notes, and approval forms. And at the top: ZE-03 MILITARY STRAIN – REDMONT APPLICATION REVIEW.
My name.
“What the fuck is this?” he demands.
My blood ignites. I flip the first page like it might bite me, scanning the lines with building fury. Command programming. Sexual bonding protocols. Suggestion imprinting. And stamped right at the top—my name.
My fucking name.
My fists curl so tight my nails bite into my palms. How the fuck did this happen without me seeing it? Without me stopping it? I want to throw the folder through the glass wall. I want to rip something apart.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Maverick barks a laugh, ugly and bitter. “Then who the fuck did? Someone forged your signature? Or did you just stop reading the fine print the second you got your dick wet?”
I stand. “Watch it.”
He meets me toe-to-toe. “No. You watch it. She found this, Asher. Buried in the lab. Hidden. And you know what the first thing she saw was? Your name on every page.”
“I didn’t know—”
He slams his hand on the desk. “Then how the fuck was this happening under your nose? Huh? You let Patel run trials like we’re some third-world militia and didn’t even question it?”
My jaw clenches.
“You promised we’d be better than them,” he says, voice lowering into something that stings more than a shout.
“You swore we’d never become our fathers.
But this? This is them. The manipulation.
The control. The way she was left to find out alone.
You’re no better than the monsters we said we’d bury. ”
That lands like a goddamn bullet to the chest.
I look away. “Where is she?”
He doesn’t move. “She’s gone.””
“What do you mean gone?”
“I mean she gave me that file, took off her necklace, told me to tell you it worked, and walked out the goddamn door.”
I’m on my feet, heart hammering. “And you let her go?”
“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” he yells. “Lock her in a room? Lie to her? I didn’t know about any of this either, Asher! And you think I’m not pissed? You think I’m not wrecked that this happened under our noses?”
I step around the desk. “You should’ve stopped her.”
We’re nose to nose now. Two men who’ve bled together for years—and never hated each other more than we do in this moment.
“She said she loved me, and I walked away. But now...” I say, voice low and wrecked.
Maverick goes still. Whatever fire he had left smolders out.
“Oh fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his wet hair. “She gave you everything, man. And you didn’t just drop it—you left it out in the rain and walked away.”
My phone’s in my hand before I realize it. I call her.
Voicemail.
Again.
Still nothing.
I call Cami.
She picks up.
“Where is she?”
“She doesn’t want to be found,” she says flatly.
“I need to talk to her.”
“No. You needed to talk to her before she cried herself to sleep in a ripped dress and walked out into the storm.”
“I didn’t know—”
“She’s not your experiment anymore.”
Click.
Silence. Again.
I stare at the folder in my hands.
Then I move—fast.
I pull up the penthouse security feed on my office monitor, flicking through hallway cams, and entry logs. Nothing’s changed. No activity. Her room is still sealed. Lights off. Not even Dorian’s badge shows since he dropped her off at the lab.
“Check the apartment footage,” I bark, already dialing. “Find me anything from the last twelve hours. And send the feed from the street cams.”
Maverick watches me like I’ve lost it. “You think she went back there?”
“She didn’t come home.”
I call down to security. “Track Violet Cole’s phone. I want location history, current ping, and her last known contact within five minutes.”
“Sir, I believe the device was powered down—”
I slam my hand on the desk. “Then use the damn cameras! Traffic logs, surveillance grids, and subway timestamps—something! She didn’t just vanish.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Then trace it through transit activity. Traffic cams. Facial recognition. I don’t care what it takes—find her.”
Maverick steps closer, folding his arms. “You think she’s at Cami’s?”
“She has to be,” I mutter. I face him fully. “Go to Cami’s. If she’s there—bring her back.”
Maverick stiffens. “You want me to drag her here like some prisoner?”
“I want you to tell her I didn’t know. That I’m going to make it right.”
“She doesn’t want to see you, Ash.”
“Then you make her want to,” I snap. “Because I’m not letting her walk away thinking I used her.” I slam the phone down and grab my coat.
Maverick blocks the doorway. “Where are you going?”
I shove past him. “I’m going to fix this,” I say instead.
“How?”
“I’m going to burn every trace of it.”
The sub-lab is colder than usual. Darker. The lights flicker as I step through the door. It’s late—everyone else is gone for the night. But I knew he’d still be here. He always lingers, like a stain that won’t lift. Still smug. Still fucking alive.
He doesn’t even flinch when he sees me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, looking at me over a microscope.
“I should’ve been here sooner.” I seethe.
He adjusts his cuffs, unbothered. “Is this about the girl? Because if it’s about her emotional reaction—”
I punch him.
Hard.
He crumples into a rolling cart and smashes through the metal tray.
“Wrong answer.”
He tries to crawl, but I grab him by the collar and slam him against the workstation. The vials shake. A few roll to the floor.
“You used her,” I growl.
“She wasn’t in the trials. Not technically—”
“You built this because of her. You watched her and replicated it. Turned it into programming. Into obedience.”
I punch him again. Blood sprays across the counter.
“And you used my name to do it.” I slam him backward, fury boiling over. “You stamped my fucking name on documents I never saw. Tied it to me. Made her think I was behind it.”
He wheezes. “It was—an oversight. Strategic. We needed authority—”
“You needed permission you didn’t have. So you forged it.”
I reach for the canister of gasoline I brought.
His eyes go wide.
“Boss—wait—”
“You took her genius and made it into a weapon. You made me look like I held the blade.”
I splash every surface. Monitors. Cabinets. Glass vials. The server stack in the corner.
“You’ll lose everything,” he pleads.
“I already did.”
I strike the match.
The lab goes up like tinder. The heat roars, swallowing every trace of what we built.
Flames snake along the counters, licking at wires, monitors, and walls.
Smoke begins to thicken—acrid, suffocating.
The fire alarms blare overhead, but the exhaust and sprinkler systems can’t keep up.
This isn’t a contained emergency. It’s a death sentence.
The air ducts are already glowing red from the heat. The fail-safes won’t hold.
Patel stumbles toward the exit, coughing, trying to shield his face.
I kick the door shut wedging a chair under the handle
“What are you doing?” he screams, slamming his fists against the glass. “Asher! Let me out!”
I meet his eyes through the growing smoke. “You branded me a monster. Let’s see how you burn for it.”
He pounds harder, voice hoarse now. “Please! I can fix this! I’ll delete the backups—Asher, please!”
I say nothing. Just stand there a moment longer, watching through the glass as the smoke thickens and flames curl higher. He’s screaming now—raw, and panicked; it’s the kind of sound a man makes when he finally realizes no one’s coming to save him.
The fire catches the solvents on the back shelf. A muffled boom reverberates through the floor, the warning shot of something far worse coming. The chemicals in here—once they fully ignite—it won’t just be a fire. It’ll be a crater.
And I hope he feels every second of it.
I turn and walk away, boots steady on the tile, smoke licking behind me like judgment I’m not afraid to face