Something inside me snaps.
I slam the freezer shut so hard it rattles, the sound cracking through the silence— And then I feel it.
Eyes on me.
I spin.
Asher sits at the dining table, coffee cup lifted like he’s been there forever. Like this isn’t a scene he’s walking into—it’s one he’s beenobserving.
His suit is flawless. Crisp. Tailored. He looks rested. Awake. Like sleep is a luxury he takes for granted. Like he’s been waiting.
His gaze flicks to the freezer. Then back to me.
Nothing on his face gives him away. He sets the cup down slowly. Calm to the point of cruelty.
I’m shaking. My fists are clenched so tight my hands ache. My breathing is all wrong—too fast, and too shallow—like I just ran barefoot over broken glass.
How can he be this calm? Is this just another Tuesday for him—death threats, violations, and stalkers leaving breadcrumbs behind like it’s a game?
And if this is his world…What does that make me for standing in it?
His mouth curves, just slightly. “Good morning, Violet.”
I see red.
Chapter 29
The Devil is Polite When He’s Winning
Asher
Violet has been stomping around the penthouse all day, anger buzzing off her like static.
I expected tears. Fear. Maybe quiet compliance.
This—this simmering, barely leashed fury—is infinitely better.
You’d think a kitchen stocked wall to wall with her favorite things would soften her mood.You’d be wrong.
This morning she stormed in, yanked open the freezer, spotted the organic waffles she hoards like contraband, and slammed the door so hard the shelves rattled. I genuinely considered checking the hinges.
I lean against the dining table now, coffee cooling in my hand, while watching her pace. Bare feet. Tight shoulders. Sharp turns like she’s mapping exits that don’t exist.
Every frustrated breath just feeds the problem.
I let her stew longer than necessary before I speak, “Are you planning to pout all day, or is this just your personality?”
She spins on me. “I amnotpouting.”
I lift the cup, take a slow sip. Let the silence stretch. “Sure. Poor little Vi. Saved from prison. Parked in one of the nicest penthouses in Manhattan. Tragic.”
Her jaw tightens. “I want to leave.”
“And go where, Kitten?”
The nickname lands exactly where I want it to. Her whole body goes rigid, heat flashing across her face.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not helpless.”
