Chapter 42 The Watcher
Rowan
She falls asleep at 2:07 a.m.
I know because the feed doesn’t change for a full thirty seconds—no shift of her shoulders, no tightening of her fingers around the phone I gave her, no restless twitch like she’s bracing for something to go wrong.
Her breathing evens out.
Finally.
I lean back in my chair, eyes burning from staring too long at the monitors, the office washed in cold blue light. Outside the windows, the city hums low and distant, oblivious to how close something ugly is circling.
On the main screen, Violet lies curled on her side in Camille’s guest bed, blanket tucked under her chin, hair fanned across the pillow. The phone is still in her hand like she fell asleep mid-thought.
She looks smaller like this.
Less guarded.
Exhaustion did what adrenaline couldn’t.
I switch feeds.
Exterior perimeter.
There he is.
The man stands just beyond the porch light, half-hidden by shadow, cigarette glowing faintly as he exhales. He hasn’t moved in over twenty minutes. No pacing. No approach. No attempt to knock or force entry.
He’s waiting.
That’s what sets my teeth on edge.
People who mean immediate harm rush. This one doesn’t. He stands like time is on his side, watching a house that isn’t even Violet’s permanent address.
Not yet.
I rewind the footage frame by frame until his face turns just enough toward the camera—partial profile, rough jawline, something like a scar near his mouth.
Not perfect.
But enough.
I export the image and attach it to a message.
To: PI
Run this face. Priority. I want a name, affiliations, and who paid him.
Send.
I don’t wait for confirmation.
Instead, I scrub back through the footage from earlier in the night.
Violet and Camille on the couch, legs folded beneath them, takeout containers spread across the coffee table. Violet eats carefully, like she’s making sure she doesn’t waste a single bite. She checks the door twice before sitting back down.
Smart.
She taps through the phone settings slowly, methodical even when she’s tired. Opens the security app. Studies the camera angles. Watches the feeds longer than she needs to.
She doesn’t trust it yet.
Good.
Camille says something that makes Violet snort—real laughter, surprised, like she forgot she could do that.
I toggle audio playback.
“—I’m just saying,” Camille says, amused, “if he installs a moat next, I’m charging him rent.”
Violet hums. “He’s not doing this because he cares.”
“Sure,” Camille replies. “And billionaires don’t breathe air.”
I clench my jaw.
Violet shakes her head. “Camille. He’s my boss. He does things that benefit him. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not romance.”
Camille laughs. “You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
Violet goes quiet.
That silence stretches longer than the joke did.
I mute the audio.
Behind me, Theo clears his throat.
“You know,” he says casually, “this would look a lot less creepy if you weren’t standing like a gargoyle.”
I don’t turn around. “It’s security footage.”
“Mm,” he hums. “Funny. Looks a lot like you babysitting.”
I glance back at the screen. Violet shifts in her sleep, frowns faintly, then relaxes again when the phone vibrates softly with a system check-in.
Good.
Theo steps closer. “You watching her sleep now?”
“She’s already asleep,” I reply flatly.
“That’s worse.”
I turn then. “You’re the one who told them not to walk around half-dressed.”
“For their safety,” he shoots back. “Not so you could play night watchman.”
“She’s under threat.”
“So are about twelve other people connected to this mess,” Theo counters. “You’re not glued to their feeds.”
I say nothing.
Theo exhales slowly. “You want the truth?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You’re going to get it anyway,” he says. “You’re not protecting Violet because she’s useful. You’re protecting her because the idea of someone else touching her life—breaking it—pisses you off.”
“That’s not—”
“You fired Avery publicly,” Theo continues. “You rewired your entire security protocol in under a day. You bribed a nurse, hired a PI, leaned on a landlord, and now you’re sitting here at two in the morning watching a woman sleep like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.”
I step closer. “Careful.”
He doesn’t move. “You don’t do this. You never do this.”
I look back at the monitor.
Violet’s fingers twitch around the phone. Even asleep, she doesn’t let go.
“She functions,” I say quietly. “She stabilizes chaos. She doesn’t panic. She doesn’t waste motion. She doesn’t fold when the world decides to test her.”
Theo watches me closely.
“And I won’t let her be taken,” I finish.
He stills. “Taken how?”
“By anyone,” I say. “By Calder. By the councilwoman. By whoever sent that man to stand outside her house like he owns the night.”
Theo’s voice drops. “You don’t own her either.”
I meet his gaze.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
The silence snaps tight.
On the screen, Violet rolls onto her back, phone resting against her chest, red case bright against the sheets.
I shut the feed down.
“She’s sleeping,” I say. “Which means she’s alive. Which means I’m doing my job.”
Theo studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re going to burn the world down for her.”
“Only if someone forces my hand,” I reply.
My screen pings.
PI: Working on it. This guy isn’t random. I’ll call when I have something.
Good.
I shut off the remaining monitors until the office goes dark.
But the image of Violet asleep lingers anyway.
Not because I want it to.
Because it’s there.
And because for the first time in a long time, the thing I’m protecting isn’t a company.
It’s a person.
And that changes everything.