Chapter 60 Want verses Need
Violet
The question shouldn’t hurt.
It does.
I shake my head. “No.”
Something flickers across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
“I’ve watched other people have it,” I say. “I’ve wanted it. I’ve ruined it before it could start.”
“Why?” he asks.
I hesitate.
Then I do the thing I didn’t expect to do tonight.
I shut down.
My shoulders draw in. My voice flattens. I put the walls back where they belong.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “That wasn’t the point.”
Rowan’s eyes narrow. “You don’t get to dissect my life and then close yours.”
“I didn’t dissect you,” I reply evenly. “You offered.”
“And now I’m asking.”
I meet his gaze. Hold it.
He waits. He’s good at that.
“I had a relationship once,” I add. “At least… I thought it was.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He needed somewhere to stay. I had an apartment. He was between jobs. I had money. He was always ‘figuring things out.’” I give a small, humorless smile. “Funny how that never seemed to include me.”
Rowan’s eyes darken.
“I didn’t notice at first,” I say. “Or maybe I didn’t want to. He only touched me when it was convenient for him. Only spoke to me when he wanted something. I told myself that was normal. That I was asking for too much.”
My voice stays steady. That’s the part that scares people.
“When I finally said no—really said it—he didn’t like that.” I pause. “He got physical.”
Rowan’s hands curl slowly into fists at his sides.
“Not dramatic. Not explosive,” I continue. “Quiet. Controlled. Like it was my fault for pushing him.” I swallow. “Like my father.”
That gets him.
His breath shifts, shallow and sharp.
“I grew up watching my mother flinch,” I say. “Apologize for things she didn’t do. Stay silent when she should’ve screamed. So when it happened to me…” I shrug faintly. “I recognized it.”
“You didn’t deserve that,” Rowan says, immediate and fierce.
“I know,” I reply. “Now.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not hostile.
“That relationship taught me something,” I go on. “Not about love. About survival.”
His eyes lift back to mine.
“I learned how to shut things off,” I say. “Feelings. Hope. Want. I learned how to compartmentalize and focus on what makes sense. What keeps me safe.”
“Logic,” he murmurs.
I nod. “Logic doesn’t hurt you. People do.”
He doesn’t argue.
“I don’t believe in love,” I say quietly. “Not the way people sell it. I think it’s chemistry. A reaction in the brain. Dopamine, oxytocin. Excitement. Attachment. That’s it.”
Rowan studies me like I’ve just handed him a blueprint to my bones.
“And you’re okay with that?” he asks.
“I’m realistic about it,” I answer. “But I know what it’s supposed to look like.”
I hesitate, then push on anyway.
“It’s choosing someone when it doesn’t benefit you. When it’s inconvenient. When the world tells you it’s a bad idea.” My voice drops. “It’s staying because you want to, not because you need to.”
Rowan exhales slowly.
“Even when logic says walk away,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Especially then.”
We stand there, two people who learned the same lessons from different kinds of hell.
“I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” I add softly. “And I’ve made peace with it.”
Rowan’s gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“I don’t know if that’s true,” he says.
I almost laugh. “See? That’s the difference between us.”
“Oh?” he asks.
“I accept it,” I say. “You’d try to control it.”
Something like a smile ghosts his mouth.
“You’re not wrong,” he admits.
Then, quieter, almost to himself:
“But you’re also not as unreachable as you think.”
That should scare me.
Instead, my chest tightens in a way I don’t like.
I straighten. “Don’t read into this.”
“I’m not,” he says calmly. “I’m listening.”
That’s worse.
I nod once, retreating back behind my walls. “Good. Because that’s all this was.”
I turn toward the hall again.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
“Goodnight, Violet,” he replies.
I don’t look back.
But I feel it anyway.
That dangerous, illogical pull.
The kind that has nothing to do with convenience.
And everything to do with want.
The guest bedroom door clicks shut behind me with a soft, final sound.
It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.
The room is… nicer than I expected. Clean lines. Neutral colors. A bed that looks like it’s never been slept in, not because it’s unused, but because it’s controlled. Everything in this house feels like that. Intentional. Prepared. Built for survival, not comfort.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Maybe wanting him isn’t so bad.
The thought slips in uninvited, dangerous and warm.
Rowan is… a lot. Commanding. Sharp-edged. Always ten steps ahead of everyone else. He fills space without trying, bends rooms to his will just by standing in them. And tonight—tonight he showed me the parts he keeps locked behind steel doors. The parts that hurt.
That does things to a person.
It did things to me.
I press my palms into the bedspread, grounding myself.
Wanting him isn’t the problem.
Letting it become more is.
Because we don’t belong together.
Not really.
He deserves someone who fits into the world he’s built. Someone who listens without pushing back. Someone who anticipates his needs before he has to voice them. Someone who doesn’t challenge him every time he tightens his grip on control. Someone who will sit quietly when he says sit, stay when he says stay, and never make him explain himself twice.
That’s not me.
At work, I do what he asks. I anticipate. I manage. I make his life run smoothly because that’s my job, and I’m good at it. I thrive in structure. I understand power dynamics when they’re clearly defined.
But outside of work?
I argue.
I push.
I dig my heels in and fight for space when I feel cornered. I don’t obey for the sake of obedience. I question. I challenge. I make scenes when I feel unheard. I refuse to disappear just to keep the peace.
Work Violet is polished. Controlled. Precise.
Real Violet is none of those things.
And that difference matters.