“Stop following me,” I bite out, picking up my pace as his footsteps fall behind me.
“I’ll go where I damn well please, Violet,” he growls. “In case it escaped your notice, this building and everything inside belongs to me. I’ll burn it to the fucking ground if I wish.”
“Please go ahead,” I snark, hammering the elevator button. “And make sure you’re still inside when you do.”
He lets out a dry, mirthless laugh, standing so close I feel his breath on my neck. I hate the way his proximity makes every hair on my skin crackle.
“You always shake this much, or am I just special?”he murmurs, voice dippedin cruelty. “Relax, Violet, I’m just making sure you leave.”
The elevator dings, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I stride in and spin around, unable to resist one last dig. “And one more thing,” I drawl. “You might want to remove those dirty, wet panties from your desk. They might present a hazard and we don’t want it getting flagged by health and safety.” I flash him a sarcastic smile as the elevator doors close, pleased to have had the last word for now.
But just before the doors slide shut, he makes his final play.
Not with words—just a smile.
The kind of smile that could start wars, end them, and make you forget what damn side you were on, to begin with. Only an utter bastard could grind someone into the dirt and steal their breath away at the same moment. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t need to. His dark hair tumbles into his eyes like some cruelly choreographed accident, his black gaze gleaming with a heat that makes my cheeks flush against my will. The hard planes of his chest tease through the gap of his unbuttoned shirt.
And there he stands, hands tucked casually into his pockets, like he’s just saying goodbye to a friend after coffee. Cold. Untouchable. Infuriatingly perfect.
Amonster disguised as an angel.
Chapter two
Violet
I power walk out of the elevator through the reception area, hot fury propelling each step.
“Woah, you in a rush, Violet?” Tommy, the security guy, calls out as I stomp toward the exit, a few stray tears finding their way down my cheek.
I swipe them away, forcing a smile as I turn to say goodbye. “Yes, sorry, Tommy, I’ve got to fly. You have a nice evening.”
“Sure thing,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The idea that there is no tomorrow—not here, anyway—hits hard, and the tears fall freely. I wave, barely looking up, darting out of the exit before I lose it completely.
If I’m being truthful, I loved everything about my job. Not just because it paid my bills, but because I was good at it. Sure, I don’t have an Ivy League education like my colleagues, but that has always been my secret weapon. I learned coding the hard way—late nights at the community college, balancingcoursework with part-time jobs, and countless hours of self-teaching. It means I approach problems differently, creatively, with a hunger my peers sometimes lack. Seb always tells me that being self-taught gives me an edge. “You see gaps everyone else misses, Vi. They’re trained to think one way, but you find solutions no one else thinks to look for.”
But now, all of that is gone.
I’m so lost in my despair I don’t notice the person before me until I’ve face-planted into their soft chest.
“Hey! Are you okay?” a familiar voice says, steadying me.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, blinking back tears as I glance up to find Millie’s concerned eyes.
“Violet? You look... terrible. What happened?”
Millie works in marketing, and after Seb, she’s my closest friend at Knightwell. We bonded during a corporate retreat, united by our mutual hatred for kayaking. We still hold the company record for the slowest lap. Whoever thought paddling through freezing water would improve team morale clearly has a sick sense of humor.
Before I can respond, Millie grabs my arm. “Oh boy,” she says, steering me across the street toward our usual café. “You need coffee. Stat.”
I let her guide me like a lost puppy, focusing on taking deep breaths so I don’t ugly cry all over her new Burberry jacket—the one she saved for months to buy and definitely doesn’t want decorated with my snot.
“Okay, drinks are on me,” she declares as we step inside. She gestures to an empty table by the window. “Go sit down. I’ll order.”
I shuffle to the table, sinking into the seat. The café is quieter than usual, which is a relief. I scan the room just in case Mark is here—running into him now would break me. Thankfully, it’slate, and most of the Knightwell crew have already cleared out after their caffeine fix.
Millie returns with two steaming mugs and a plate bearing a double chocolate brownie. “Hard caffeine and sugar,” she says, sliding them toward me. “This should do the trick.” She shrugs off her jacket and drapes it over her chair before settling in.
