Chapter 52 Intrusive
Violet
I wake up already tired.
Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind that settles into your bones and hums there, low and constant, like a warning you don’t know how to turn off.
The house is quiet when I step out of the spare bedroom, the security system lights blinking softly like it’s breathing. Armed. Monitoring. Watching.
Doing its job.
I tell myself that should be comforting.
It isn’t.
Because all I can think about is the man standing across the street the other night. The cigarette. The way he didn’t move closer, didn’t do anything at all. Like he was waiting. Or counting.
I didn’t tell Camille.
I don’t know why. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Maybe because she’s already carrying enough. Maybe because some stupid part of me thinks if I keep it contained, it can’t grow teeth.
I shower, dress, pull myself together out of habit more than intention. When I catch my reflection, I pause.
I look… fine.
Which feels like a lie.
The drive to work is quiet. The driver polite, professional, eyes always moving. Camille is half-awake beside me, muttering something about coffee and murder being acceptable before 9 a.m.
I manage a smile for her.
The building feels different when we walk in.
It always does now.
Eyes track us. Conversations pause. There’s a subtle shift every time, like people aren’t sure what the rules are anymore.
Theo is already there, leaning against the desk Camille hasn’t even sat down at yet, grinning like he hasn’t slept either but is choosing chaos anyway.
“You’re early,” he says brightly.
“You’re loud,” Camille shoots back.
He laughs and kisses her.
Not a peck. Not subtle. A real kiss.
In the office.
My stomach flips, equal parts surprise and… something else I don’t have time to name.
I look away instinctively, focusing on my screen, pretending to check call logs I already know by heart.
When I glance up again, Rowan is standing at the edge of the lobby.
Watching them.
His expression isn’t angry.
It’s… something else. Quieter. Tighter. Almost sad.
The thought catches me off guard.
His eyes flick to mine.
I look away immediately, heat rushing to my cheeks like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I busy myself rerouting a call to legal, my fingers steady even though my pulse isn’t.
Focus.
Work.
That’s what keeps everything upright.
The switchboard lights blink. Calls come in. I answer. I redirect. I smooth things over. I say the same sentences I’ve said a thousand times.
And then my private phone rings.
The sound is different. Sharper. More intrusive.
I frown and glance down.
Rehab Center.
My stomach drops.
I step away from the desk without thinking, slipping into the small alcove by the conference rooms and answering on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Violet,” the head nurse says, voice tight. Professional, but strained. “We need you to come down here immediately.”
My chest tightens. “What happened? Is my mother okay?”
There’s a pause. Too long.
“I can’t discuss details over the phone,” she says. “But you need to be here. As soon as possible.”
“Did she fall?” I press. “Did someone get hurt?”
“Please,” the nurse says gently. “You need to come now.”
My hands start to shake.
“I’m on my way,” I say quickly. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
For a second, I just stand there, staring at the wall, trying to slow my breathing.
No.
No, no, no.
I turn and head straight for Rowan’s office.
I don’t knock this time.
He looks up immediately, taking one look at my face and standing.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I have to go,” I say, words tumbling out. “The rehab center called. There’s been an incident. They won’t tell me anything.”
His expression hardens, all softness gone in an instant. “Get your coat.”
“I can take the driver—”
“I’ll drive,” he cuts in, already reaching for his jacket. “Now.”
I don’t argue.
We’re out of the building in under two minutes. Theo watches us go, concern etched across his face, but I don’t stop to explain.
The car door shuts and the city moves again.
The drive is silent.
Not awkward. Not heavy.
Just… quiet.
Rowan’s hands are steady on the wheel. His jaw is set. He doesn’t ask questions he knows I don’t have answers to.
I watch the streets blur past, my thoughts spiraling despite my best efforts to hold them in place.
Had my mother hurt someone again?
Had someone hurt her?
Did she fall? Did she panic?
My fingers twist together in my lap.
Rowan glances at me briefly. “You don’t have to talk,” he says. “Just breathe.”
I nod.
It helps. A little.
When we turn onto the rehab center’s street, my heart sinks.
Police cars.
Multiple.
An ambulance.
Lights flashing, reflecting off the windows like a warning I don’t want to read.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
Rowan parks illegally without hesitation and gets out, already scanning the scene.
I don’t wait for him to open my door.
I run.
Inside, the air feels wrong. Too sharp. Too quiet in places it shouldn’t be. Nurses move quickly, faces drawn, avoiding eye contact.
I stop at the desk, hands gripping the counter. “My mother. Violet Pierce. I got a call.”
The nurse looks at me and her expression shifts.
“I’ll get the administrator,” she says softly.
Rowan steps up beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat from him, solid and grounding.
“What’s going on?” I demand, voice breaking despite myself.
The nurse doesn’t answer.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
A uniform passes.
My chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.
This isn’t what I thought.
This is worse.
I turn toward the hallway, heart pounding, every sense screaming that whatever I’m about to hear is going to change something irrevocably.
I wasn’t prepared.
Not for this.
Not for what’s waiting just beyond those doors.