Chapter 87

Chapter 87
Violet's POV:

"Violet." Daemon's voice came. "Kael mentioned you didn't come to the office today. Where are you?"

I blinked at the darkening sky beyond my bedroom window, disoriented. The clock on my nightstand read 6:47 PM. I'd slept through the entire day.

"Just taking a sick day," I managed. "Nothing serious."

"You sound terrible." The assessment was clinical, devoid of sentiment, yet something in his delivery made Ember stir uneasily in my consciousness. "Have you eaten anything?"

I pressed my free hand against my eyes, fighting the urge to snap at him. "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself."

The effort of standing made my head swim slightly, dehydration from sleeping so long combining with early pregnancy symptoms to create a nauseating cocktail. I steadied myself against the nightstand, then made my way to the bathroom with careful, measured steps.

After splashing cold water on my face and dragging a brush through my tangled hair, I headed downstairs to assess my food situation. Opening the refrigerator confirmed what I already knew: aside from condiments, a half-empty carton of milk, and some wilting vegetables, I had nothing substantial. I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and bit into it, the crisp flesh and tart juice providing minimal satisfaction to my pregnancy-sharpened hunger.

My phone buzzed with an incoming video call from Sienna. Her face filled the screen, noticeably rounder than the last time we'd spoken in person, her features softened by the contentment of recent marriage and early pregnancy.

"You look like hell," she announced cheerfully. "Please tell me you're at least horizontal and resting."

"I was until about ten minutes ago." I settled onto the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. "You, on the other hand, are glowing disgustingly."

She laughed, the sound warm and unguarded in a way that made something ache in my chest. "Marriage to a reformed playboy suits me, apparently. Lucian's been absolutely ridiculous—coming home exactly at five every day, hovering like I'm made of glass, meal-planning like a suburban dad." Her expression shifted to mock outrage. "Speaking of which, I spent three hours last night interrogating him about your situation. That idiot finally admitted Celeste is just a girl with some minor schemes, not actually malicious. Can you believe that? Men are completely fooled by her wholesome girl-next-door routine!"

I bit back a smile despite myself. "Don't work yourself up on my account. Stress isn't good for the baby."

"Babyies, actually." Sienna's grin turned smug. "Plural. I'm having twins."

"What? Sienna, that's incredible!" The surge of genuine joy caught me off guard. "If they're boy-girl twins, you'll have your complete set in one go!"

"That's what I'm hoping for, but honestly, I don't care either way. Two boys would be fine too—then if you or Lily or Jade have daughters later, they can marry my sons, and I'll be the mother-in-law protecting them if my boys ever step out of line."

My hand drifted unconsciously to my lower abdomen, where the smallest curve had begun to form, barely noticeable unless you knew to look for it. Most people's stomachs showed more definition after a large meal than mine did carrying new life. "If I ever have a daughter," I heard myself say, "I'll let her choose her own path. Marriage, no marriage, whatever makes her happy. Why force someone into a system that causes so much pain?"

"Exactly!" Sienna nodded emphatically. "Their lives, their choices. We can support them without—"

The doorbell's chime cut through our conversation, sharp and insistent.

"That's probably my food delivery," I said. "Talk soon?"

"Sure. Take care of yourself, Vi."

Through the peephole, Daemon stood in the hallway holding two large takeout bags. I opened the door, keeping my body language deliberately closed.

"This is unnecessary," I said by way of greeting.

"My mother informed me that if I can't ensure your wellbeing while we're both in Silver Ridge, she'll disown me."

I sighed, stepping aside to let him enter. "Victoria doesn't need to concern herself with my welfare. We've dissolved our bond. I'm not her responsibility anymore."

"Try telling her that." Daemon moved past me into the apartment, setting the bags on my kitchen counter with practiced efficiency. "I'm barely managing to juggle pack responsibilities remotely and oversee project developments in person. The least I can do is ensure you eat one proper meal tonight."

The scent hit me as he opened the first container—curry, thick and pungent, mixed with the unmistakable fishy musk of the seafood base. Instantly, my stomach roiled. The nauseating combination of spices and ocean tang filled my small kitchen with suffocating intensity, and I felt my carefully maintained composure cracking under the assault to my heightened senses.

"I need to..." I barely got the words out before bolting toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over my mouth. "The sink—I left the water running—"

I slammed the door behind me and immediately turned the faucet on full blast, the rushing water providing auditory cover as I hunched over the toilet and retched violently. Nothing came up except bile and the partially digested apple, my empty stomach contracting painfully with each heave. Sweat broke out across my forehead and the back of my neck as wave after wave of nausea crashed through me.

"Violet?" Daemon's voice carried through the door, edged with something that might have been concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I gasped between dry heaves, my voice barely audible over the running water.

I flushed the toilet, rinsed my mouth repeatedly, and finally emerged.

Daemon stood just outside the bathroom, arms crossed, his expression cycling through concern and frustration before settling on something harder to read. "You look awful. We should go to the hospital."

"I've just never particularly enjoyed fish," I moved past him carefully, maintaining distance. "That curry base—it's too intense. But you wouldn't know that about me either, would you? Because in all our years together, you never bothered learning my actual preferences. You just assumed I'd accommodate whatever you wanted."

I raised my voice deliberately. "And showing up at your ex's apartment unannounced, trying to force your way into taking care of her when she's explicitly told you it's unnecessary? That's honestly concerning behavior, Daemon. We finished rejection. I need you to respect my space and my autonomy. This—" I gestured between us, "—this obsessive need to insert yourself into my life despite my clear boundaries is genuinely disturbing."

His face darkened, that muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth. For several seconds, we stood locked in silent confrontation, the air between us crackling with unspoken accusations and grievances that could fill volumes. Then he drew in a long, controlled breath through his nose, turned on his heel, and walked out without another word.

The door closing behind him felt like a physical release. I sagged against the nearest wall, one hand pressed against my racing heart, and waited until I heard the distinct sound of his apartment door opening and closing across the hall before I moved.

The takeout bags still sat on my counter, their contents cooling rapidly. I methodically removed the curry fish head and sealed it in two layers of plastic bags before burying it deep in the trash, then fell on the remaining dishes with desperate hunger.

After washing the dishes and collecting the trash, I grabbed the bags and headed for the building's disposal chute on the ground floor. When the doors slid open in the lobby, I stepped out and nearly collided with someone entering.

"Oh!" Celeste stumbled back slightly, her hand flying to her chest in exaggerated surprise. Beside her, Riley carried an expensive-looking pink gift box.

"Those cookies you made smell amazing, Celeste," Riley was saying, her voice pitched to carry. "Daemon's going to absolutely love them. Homemade gifts are so much more thoughtful than anything store-bought, don't you think?"

The elevator's interior suddenly felt suffocating. I watched Celeste's eyes widen as she recognized me, watched her gaze drop to the trash bags in my hands and then rise to meet mine with something that looked almost like pity mixed with triumph. Riley's smile curdled at the edges when she noticed me, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"Well," she muttered, just loud enough to ensure I'd hear, "this is awkward."

I stepped out without acknowledging either of them.

I disposed of the trash mechanically, then returned to my apartment and locked the door. My phone showed a message from Celeste sent approximately three minutes ago: "Would you mind if we talked for a bit?"

I blocked her number without hesitation.

Ten minutes later, my doorbell rang again. Through the peephole, I could see Celeste standing alone in the hallway, her hands clasped in front of her, lower lip caught between her teeth.

I took a long, steadying breath, then opened the door.

Celeste's eyes were slightly red-rimmed, as if she'd been fighting tears. "You blocked me," she said softly, without preamble. "Do you really hate me so much now that you can't even hear me out for five minutes?"

When I didn't immediately respond, she took it as permission to continue. "Can I come in? Please? I just—We used to be friends, Violet. Or at least, I thought we were."

I stepped aside wordlessly, watching her cross into my space with small, hesitant steps. We settled in my living room—her perched on the edge of my armchair, me on the couch with careful distance maintained between us—and the silence stretched taut as wire.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me." Her fingers twisted together in her lap, knuckles whitening. "Can you please... stay away from Daemon? I can feel that he still has feelings for you that he shouldn't have, and it's—it's confusing everything between us."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, sharp and bitter. "That's rich, coming from the woman who deliberately inserted herself between us in the first place. When you were actively destroying my marriage, I never once confronted you with demands like this."

"But I didn't—" Color flooded her cheeks. "I wasn't trying to destroy anything! I only got involved after you and Daemon were already refusing each other, after your relationship was already broken!"

"Daemon told me explicitly that you two aren't together," I said, letting each word land with precision. "So what exactly gives you the right to make territorial claims? And while we're being honest—" I leaned forward slightly, "—let's address the fact that you contacted him first, didn't you? That day when you and I were in the car together, planning to meet Zane. You were the one who reached out to Daemon and asked why he'd requested your information."

All the blood drained from Celeste's face in an instant, her skin going paper-white. "Did Zane tell you that?" The question came out strangled, accusatory. "That bastard promised me he'd never—"

I held up a hand, cutting her off. "Nobody told me anything. I figured it out myself."

"You went through Daemon's phone," she accused, but the conviction had drained from her voice, replaced by something closer to panic.

I didn't confirm or deny it, simply stood and moved toward the door in clear dismissal. "You should be grateful I was willing to dissolve my bond with Daemon in the first place, Celeste. And you should be very, very careful about pushing me any further, because I have information that—if it reached Daemon's attention—would make him drop you immediately and permanently."

The threat hung between us, deliberately vague but weighted with enough certainty to make her flinch. She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide and slightly wild, backing toward the door as if I might physically attack her.

"This isn't—I never meant—" she stammered, then seemed to collect herself with visible effort. "You're misunderstanding everything."

"Am I?" I opened the door, one hand on the knob. "Then answer me this: why did you deliberately seek out both Daemon and me? What was your endgame?"

For just a moment, something flickered across her face—something calculating and cold that didn't match her carefully cultivated image of wounded innocence. Then it was gone, replaced by trembling sincerity.

"I didn't seek you out," she said, meeting my eyes with an earnestness that would have convinced me in another lifetime. "When I discovered that Daemon had asked someone for my contact information, I was just curious about why. That's all. I swear."

She brushed past me into the hallway, then turned back one last time. "I never meant to hurt you, Violet. I hope someday you'll believe that."

The door closed between us with a soft click. I didn't believe her—not for a second.

Maybe Zane knew something.

I pulled out my phone and navigated to his contact, my finger hovering over his name. But then I saw it—his profile picture had changed. It was a photo of me, taken from behind during our waterfall trip, sunlight catching in my hair. My stomach twisted with guilt.

I'd blocked him without explanation, used him as a pawn in my schemes, and now I was considering unblocking him only because I needed information. The pattern was too familiar, too ugly. I couldn't keep treating people like tools to be picked up and discarded at my convenience.

I should find another way to get answers. My finger moved toward the block button again.

Before I could tap it, my phone lit up with an incoming message.

Zane: "Violet, you finally unblocked me?! Evan told me you're in Silver Ridge. Can we video chat? I really need to see you."