Chapter 13 Possession
Rowan
I don’t take Avery upstairs.
That alone should tell me something is wrong.
She’s draped across my living room couch when I get home, heels discarded, lipstick smeared, the sharp smell of alcohol clinging to her skin. The television hums softly to no one. She murmurs something incoherent when the door closes, but I don’t slow. I don’t look back.
I go straight upstairs.
I shut the bedroom door behind me and stand there for a moment longer than necessary, hands braced against the wood, jaw tight.
Because Violet Pierce is still in my head.
Not the way she usually is—efficient, precise, quiet in the background of my day. Not the way I notice her competence and file it away as useful.
Tonight, it’s the dress.
Black. Sleek. Shining faintly under the restaurant lights. The way it fit her like it had always been meant for her body, not Avery’s. The way she moved in it—careful, contained, like she was wearing armor she hadn’t asked for but refused to let crack.
She didn’t preen. Didn’t enjoy it.
She endured it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I strip my jacket off and toss it over the chair, unbuttoning my cuffs with sharp, impatient movements. My reflection in the mirror looks unchanged—controlled, collected—but my thoughts refuse to follow.
She belonged there.
That’s the problem.
She looked like she fit in my world. Like she had always been meant to sit beside me at that table, fielding questions, absorbing attention, handling pressure without flinching.
Like she was already mine.
The thought settles heavy in my chest, unwelcome and undeniable.
I reach for my phone, intending to check the time, maybe message Theo—anything to redirect the spiral—
It rings instead.
I don’t look at the screen. “What?” I say, already irritated.
“Rowan.”
Devin.
That gets my attention.
I straighten slightly. “What is it?”
His voice is clipped, professional—but there’s tension under it. “I’m at the station.”
My stomach tightens. “Why?”
“It’s Violet,” he says. “They’re holding her.”
The room goes very still.
“Explain,” I say.
“They tracked her brother’s phone,” Devin continues. “Pinged at the docks. They found him.”
I don’t ask what that means.
“And now?” I prompt.
“And now they’re treating her like a suspect,” he says. “She was the last call on his phone. They’re not letting her leave.”
Something cold and sharp slides into place inside me.
“She’s crying,” Devin adds, quieter. “Barely holding it together. They tried to intimidate her before I stepped in.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Who’s leading the interrogation?”
“Detective Calder.”
I remember the name immediately. The tone. The pressure.
“Are you handling it?” I ask.
“I am,” Devin replies. “But I wanted you aware. This could escalate.”
“I’m coming,” I say.
There’s a pause on the line.
“You don’t need to—” Devin starts.
“I said I’m coming,” I repeat.
This time, he doesn’t argue. “Understood.”
The call ends.
I don’t move right away.
Then I grab my jacket and head back downstairs.
Avery is still on the couch, passed out, oblivious. I don’t even feel annoyance now—just distance. She’s noise. A distraction. A problem I’ll deal with later.
Violet is not a problem.
She’s an asset.
No.
She’s more than that.
I step into the night and slide into the car, already issuing instructions to the driver. The city blurs past again, but this time I don’t see it. My thoughts are fixed on a single image—
Violet, sitting in a sterile room under fluorescent lights, holding herself together because that’s what she does. Because she doesn’t break where people can see.
They have no idea what they’re touching.
They’re treating her like a suspect because they don’t understand her value. They don’t see what she carries. What she holds together.
That’s their mistake.
Because Violet Pierce works for me.
Because she runs my company more than anyone realizes.
Because I need her functional. Protected. Untouched by sloppy authority and small men with badges and egos.
And because when I handed her my lawyer’s card tonight, I didn’t do it out of generosity.
I did it because she’s mine.
The realization settles with a frightening sense of certainty.
I don’t hesitate at the station. I don’t slow. Devin is already there when I arrive, expression grim but relieved when he sees me.
“She’s inside,” he says. “They’re pushing.”
“Then they stop,” I reply.
He studies me for a beat. “You’re personally invested.”
“Yes,” I say without shame.
The doors haven’t even finished closing behind me before I speak.
“Detective Calder.”
My voice carries.
It cuts through the low murmur of the station like a blade.
Heads turn. Conversations stall. A man near the front desk stiffens, then slowly pivots toward me. Calder looks exactly like I remember—self-important, tense, already defensive.
“Yes?” he says.
“Where is Violet Pierce?” I ask.
He hesitates for half a second too long.
Before he can answer, movement catches my peripheral vision.
Theo and Camille come through the doors together.
Theo looks confused. Alert. Camille looks furious.
“She’s in interrogation,” Calder says finally. “At the moment.”
I take one step closer. “Why?”
He doesn’t lower his voice. Doesn’t soften it. “She’s a suspect in her brother’s death.”
Camille explodes.
“What?” she shouts, the word cracking like a gunshot.
Every head in the station snaps toward us.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Camille continues, stepping forward. “Are you actually this stupid, or do you just enjoy harassing women who don’t fall apart when you glare at them?”
“Ms. Carter—” Calder starts.
“No,” she cuts him off. “You don’t get to interrupt me.”
Theo reaches for her arm. “Camille, calm down—”
She shoves him away without hesitation.
“Do not touch me,” she snaps. “You are not my boss right now. You’re not anyone to me in this building. Try that again and I’ll walk.”
Theo freezes.
Then, wisely, he steps back.
I barely restrain the smile threatening to form.
Camille turns back to Calder, eyes blazing. “Let me get this straight. You think Violet murdered her own brother?”
Calder squares his shoulders. “We’re exploring all angles.”
“All angles?” she laughs sharply. “She reported him missing. She came down here voluntarily. Multiple times. Who does that if they’re guilty?”
“People trying to look innocent—”
“Bullshit,” Camille fires back. “Why would she spend weeks begging you for answers if she knew where his body was? Why would she keep working twelve-hour days to pay for their mother’s rehab if she had something to hide?”
Calder opens his mouth.
Camille doesn’t let him speak.
“Did you check her work records?” she demands. “Her badge logs? Her security footage? Or did you decide it was easier to pin this on the woman who didn’t cry on command?”
The room is dead silent now.
Theo clears his throat. “Camille—”
She whirls on him. “No. I warned you.”
Theo raises both hands in surrender and steps fully away this time.
Good man. Slow learner.