“How do you expect me tocalm down?” I cut in, my voice shaking with rage. “You’re telling me that the person I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with is selling me out to Elliot Hargreaves?”
“You’re in love with her?” His face slackens, his eyes flickering closed for a split second.
“Yes,” I choke out, realization slamming into me like a dagger to the heart. “Believe me, it’s fucking news to me, too.” I rake a hand through my hair, slumping onto the edge of my desk. Why the fuck did it have to be at this moment I realize I’m in love for the first time in my life?
Austen exhales slowly, giving me a beat before he continues. “The first red flag came when I.T. ran an audit on access logs to our internal system.”
“And?” My voice is hoarse.
“They flagged Violet’s login credentials being used to access restricted files—files she had no reason to open. At first, we suspected a mistake, but Devlin had security pull detailed logs. Turns out, her credentials were used multiple times to retrieve high-level project documents—especially drafts of the Monarch proposal.”
My hands clench into fists.
“That’s what led Devlin to sweep her desk,” Austen continues. “They found a printed copy of the latest draft buried beneath stacks of unrelated paperwork. It was so well hidden they almost missed it.”
Cursing, I push off the desk and pace, my mind racing. “Go on,” I grit out, my throat thick.
“Even though Violet developed the core of the algorithm, she wasn’t the only one who worked on it. We traced unauthorized data transfers from her laptop—she accessed files outside her scope, copied them onto an external drive, and transferred them to an unknown recipient. The data was masked, but Devlin’s team cracked it—Elliot’s company was the final destination.”
My stomach churns.
“And the last piece of evidence—” Austen hands me a brown envelope I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying.
I rip it open. Photos spill across my desk. Each image tightens the noose around my neck.
Violet in a coffee shop with Elliot. Sharing a plate of cakes like young lovers. Him reaching out with a napkin to wipe cream from her lips. Sharing an umbrella in the heavy rain.
Rage boils in my veins, white-hot and suffocating. Elliot better leave the fucking continent before I bury him alive.
But even with the damning evidence, I still can’t bring myself to hate her.
Then I see the final photo. It twists the knife as deep as it’ll go—Violet at the subway, smiling at him with those damn dimples that probably got me into this mess in the first place.
I slump back down into my chair, my mind replaying everything like a goddamn highlight reel straight from the pit of hell. Violet sneaking around in my office. The forged Princeton certificate. How close she was with Elliot at Velvet Lounge.
Every single red flag I ignored because I wanted her more than the fucking air I breathe.
Finally, I break the silence. “I admit this is damning evidence. But let me talk to her. Give her a chance to explain herself.”
“No,” Austen asserts, his tone final. “Youcan’tspeak to her. She’ll go running straight to Elliot, and the investigation will have been a waste of time and resources.”
Anger flares, hot and suffocating. “This is my goddamn company. I’ll do what I like.”
Austen’s gaze remains unwavering. “This isexactlywhy you can’t get involved. You’re too emotionally invested.”
“Theremustbe a logical explanation. Violet must have been desperate.” The words sound deluded, even to me.
“Listen to yourself,” Austen snaps, his icy control fracturing for a second. “If you speak to Violet now, you’ll tip her off. You’ll be a laughing stock. The ruthless Chase Knight, played by a honey trap—the oldest trick in the book. You owe it to the shareholders and everyone invested in this deal toplay smart.”
I grit my teeth, breathing hard through my nose.
“We need time for legal to go through her contract,” Austen continues. “Make sure she’s locked into strict non-compete and confidentiality clauses. That way, she can’t run to Elliot with anything else—or use our algorithm after she’s gone. Once everything’s airtight, we bring her in and make sure she can’t hurt us when she walks out that door.”
“She’ll have to sign the paperwork,” I murmur, the weight of it settling over me.
Austen nods grimly. “Exactly. Once legal ties up the loose ends, we’ll bring her in for a meeting and have her sign.”
I drag a hand over my stubble. Suddenly, everything I’ve built feels pointless if I can’t have the one thing I want more than anything. And I wantedeverythingwith her. The rage is still there, burning beneath my skin, but something else gnaws at me, too—a bitter taste I can’t shake.
