Chapter 84 Absolute
Violet
Sleep comes for me like something cautious at first.
I don’t mean to fall asleep.
I’m aware of Rowan beside me, the steady weight of his arm at my waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest. I’m aware that I am in his bed. My boss’s bed. In his house. In the center of a life that is nothing like the one I thought I would have a month ago.
It should feel wrong.
It should feel reckless.
Instead, it feels warm.
Safe.
His hand is heavy but not trapping, resting against my side like an anchor. His thumb brushes absent circles against the fabric of my shirt, and every time he does it, something in me unwinds another inch.
This is bizarre, I think as my eyelids grow heavier.
I’m in my boss’s bed.
He kissed me in the back of a car.
He carried me upstairs like I belonged there.
And I’m… okay.
More than okay.
I can hear the faint hum of the house around us. The low whisper of the air system. The distant murmur of voices downstairs, Theo’s laughter, Camille’s softer tone. Devin’s measured reply.
Life still happening.
And yet in this room, it feels contained.
Rowan shifts slightly, pressing closer, his breath warm against my hair.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, like he knows my thoughts are spiraling.
I don’t answer.
I just let my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and allow myself to drift.
For the first time in weeks, sleep doesn’t feel like something I’m fighting for.
It feels like surrender.
The knock is soft at first. Distant. Almost polite.
I frown in my sleep.
Another knock. Louder. Sharp.
My eyes open slowly.
The room is dim.
The bed beside me is empty.
Cold.
My heart stutters.
Rowan?
I sit up, disoriented.
The knock comes again.
Three firm raps against the bedroom door.
My stomach tightens.
It’s too late for that to be casual.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. My pulse begins to climb with every step I take toward the door.
“Rowan?” I call softly.
No answer.
Another knock.
Impatient now.
I reach for the handle.
I don’t know why I don’t hesitate. I just pull the door open.
And everything inside me freezes.
Calder is standing there.
He looks wrong.
Unhinged.
His breathing is heavy, ragged, like he’s just run miles. His shirt is dark and soaked—at first I think it’s rain.
Then I see it.
Blood.
It stains his hands.
His sleeves.
There’s a knife in his grip.
A long, gleaming blade dripping red onto Rowan’s polished floor.
My body goes cold.
He smiles.
Not the calm, controlled smile I’ve seen before.
This one is feral.
“You didn’t think this would end cleanly, did you?” he says, voice low and distorted.
I take a step back.
“Rowan!” I scream.
Calder laughs.
A hollow, broken sound.
“He’s dead,” he says casually. “So is Devin. Theo. Your precious little friend Camille.”
My ears ring.
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he breathes, stepping forward.
I turn to run.
I don’t make it two steps.
He’s suddenly there.
His hand slams into my shoulder, spinning me around and shoving me back against the wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs.
The knife presses against my throat.
Cold.
So cold.
“You should’ve listened,” he hisses. “Should’ve cooperated.”
“Rowan!” I scream again, tears blurring my vision.
“He can’t hear you,” Calder says, his grin stretching wider.
The blade drags slightly against my skin.
I can feel the pressure.
The threat.
My hands claw at his arm, trying to push him away, but he’s too strong.
“You thought he could protect you?” he sneers. “He’s nothing.”
Rage flashes in his eyes.
And then—
The knife plunges.
Pain explodes through me.
Sharp.
White-hot.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I scream.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t—
I bolt upright in bed with a cry ripped from my throat.
My chest heaves.
My hands fly to my neck.
My stomach.
There’s no blood.
No knife.
No Calder.
The bedroom door is closed.
The lights are off.
The bathroom door swings open violently.
Rowan rushes in.
He’s wet, water still dripping from his hair down his shoulders. A towel is wrapped tightly around his waist. His chest is still damp, his skin flushed from the shower.
“Violet,” he says immediately, crossing the room in three strides. “What happened?”
I’m shaking so hard I can’t speak.
He’s at the bed in seconds, hands on my shoulders.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
I grab onto him instead.
My fingers dig into his arms.
“He was here,” I choke. “He killed you. He—he killed everyone—”
His grip tightens just enough to ground me.
“Breathe,” he says firmly.
I shake my head, sobbing now.
“He stabbed me,” I whisper. “He—”
Rowan pulls me against him.
Not gently.
Not delicately.
Fully.
His arms wrap around me, pressing me against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
“I’m here,” he says into my hair. “I’m alive. You’re safe.”
I clutch him harder.
“You were gone,” I cry. “You weren’t there.”
“I was in the shower,” he says, voice low but steady. “That’s all.”
I press my face into his skin, breathing him in.
Soap.
Heat.
Him.
“Look at me,” he says again, softer now.
I lift my head reluctantly.
His eyes are dark.
Alert.
Protective.
“It was a nightmare,” he says. “He is not here.”
“But what if—”
“He is not here,” he repeats, firmer this time. “My security system would have alerted. The guards would have responded. He cannot get in.”
My breathing is still ragged.
He slides one hand up to cradle the back of my head, the other flattening against my back.
“I won’t let him touch you,” he says quietly.
The words aren’t dramatic.
They’re controlled.
Precise.
I look at him, really look at him.
Water still beads along his collarbones. His hair is damp and darker than usual. The towel at his waist is twisted tight, like he didn’t even stop to secure it properly before running in here.
He didn’t hesitate.
He came.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“So are you,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens.
“I don’t like hearing you scream.”
I swallow.
“I thought you were dead.”
His hand tightens slightly at my waist.
“That won’t happen,” he says.
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes harden.
“I do.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me stop arguing.
Something absolute.