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.
