Without a word, he scooped me ....

Without a word, he scooped me ....


Violet’s pov 

I know I should be feeling a storm of emotion, but all I find inside is a hollow quiet.

The truth is finally out. My father did not take his own life. He was murdered for refusing a bribe, for trying to expose the danger of Excell sweetener. I had always known it in my soul, and now I have the proof.

It does not feel like a victory.

Because finding justice for my father has shattered the people I love. Richard and Michael’s world is about to be ripped apart. And my mother… my mother is gathering her things to flee from another relationship gone wrong. It is insane that I still feel a pang of sorrow for her after everything, but I do. I understand, logically, that she is a deeply unwell woman. The professor and his assistant preyed on her fragility and manipulated her. It still fucking hurts that she poisoned my food, but I have already forgiven her.

Forgiveness, however, does not mean the memory is gone.

Richard drove us back to the hotel. His jaw was a hard line, his mouth pressed tight, but he still reached across the console to take my hand. My heart gave a painful squeeze. “Richard?”

“Hmmm?”

“I am so sorry… about your father.” I let out a heavy breath. “I never wanted my search for answers to break your family.”

He squeezed my fingers. “None of this is your fault,” he said, his voice low and certain. “We should be thanking you for tearing this whole fucking scheme wide open.” He glanced away from the road, his gaze deep and impossible to read, before looking forward again. “I am glad you have the truth about your father. And I am sorry, so deeply ashamed, that mine is the one who destroyed your family. Whatever comes next, I hope he gets exactly what he deserves.”

“But,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest, “he is still your dad.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know this is bigger than one man’s death. We have to go after Quantum Pharmaceuticals. We have to warn the public about Excell and force them to pull it from the shelves before more people are hurt. My store manager is learning how to walk and talk all over again. How many others are living with permanent damage? How many have died?”

“You are right,” I agreed softly. “But Bentley said it would be difficult and dangerous to take on a pharmaceutical giant. It could ruin your company.”

“We have to try anyway,” Richard stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Because it is the right thing to do. Once my father goes to trial, the fact that Quantum paid to hide their deadly product will have to come out. I am going to speak with Keaton about joining a lawsuit for his stroke, too.”

I leaned back in the seat, a profound exhaustion washing over me. I suppose nearly dying, a sleepless night in the hospital, and the kitchen confrontation will do that. I was empty, completely drained. I also realized I had not eaten in I-do-not-know-how-long, apart from a few bites of my mother’s poisonous chicken carbonara.

We parked beside my car, and Michael pulled up behind us in his truck. His face was as strained and serious as his brother’s. For one of the first times, I could see a powerful resemblance in the hard set of their jaws and the tension around their eyes.

Michael put his arm around my shoulders, and we went back up to the penthouse. I was too tired to feel any awe at the luxury surrounding us. I kicked off my shoes from habit and walked barefoot through the living room to the bedroom. The same bedroom we had shared on that stormy, passionate night.

I had unpacked my few things into the drawers and closet, even though our stay was only temporary. It felt more solid, more real, than living from a suitcase.

I had so much to handle. I would need to find a new place by the week’s end, even if it was just a cheap motel, nothing like the Grand. Bentley told me I must give a statement to the state police, to explain everything I knew about my father’s death and its connection to Quantum.

The thought made me sick. I would rather shove needles under my nails. But it has to be done if I ever want to be free from this nightmare, a nightmare that has lasted three long years.

And when it is over… where will Michael and Richard be?

I sat on the edge of the bed, my shoulders slumped, my head down. Richard says they do not blame me. Today. But what about tomorrow? What about when they watch their father’s reputation be destroyed? What about his trial? They are good men. I trust them.

But even good men have a limit.

I never truly understood their fascination with me in the first place.

I do not know how long I sat there, my thoughts spinning in useless circles. I was about to curl up on the pillow when Michael entered. Without a word, he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the kitchen. He set me down on a stool as if I were a child, and I was too weary to object.

Richard was in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist. It looked so strange on his tall, lean frame that a small smile touched my lips. An array of food was laid out on the counter: strawberries, sliced cheese, cold cuts, a shrimp cocktail. Ribeye steaks sizzled on the stove next to a pan of asparagus. The smell was incredible, and my lost appetite began to stir.

Richard slid a plate in front of me, then one for Michael.

I began to cut my meat on autopilot, my hands working without any instruction from my numb mind. “Thank you for cooking,” I said quietly before putting the first piece in my mouth. The steak was rich and tender, but it could have been made of paper for all I tasted.

We ate in total silence. It was not a comfortable quiet. It was thick and heavy, full of everything we were not saying.

Richard pushed his plate away and looked at Michael. “I cooked, you clean.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael grumbled lightly.

“Do not worry,” I said, gathering the plates. “I will help you.”

“No!” Michael said quickly, and Richard took the stack from my hands.

“No,” Richard repeated. “Tonight, you rest. Actually, we were wondering if you would like to try the hot tub on the balcony? It was raining too hard last time to use it.”

My eyes moved to the French doors leading to the small, private balcony and the large, covered hot tub. A faint wisp of steam escaped from under the lid, promising heat and comfort. “That does sound… relaxing.”