Chapter 120 What you Deserve
Violet
The SUV doesn't stop at a mall. Or even a strip of stores like usual. It pulls up to a buliding that looks like it doesn't belong in the same world I do. Tall glass windows. Black exterior. minimal signage. The kind of place where everything inside probably costs more than my rent every did. There was a sign on the door that reads 'closed to the public'.
As we come to a stop, I notice that the doors are already open. Waiting.
I frown, glancing at Rowan. "Why are they open?"
"They're expecting us."
Of course they are. Before I can argue, the car door opens and Rowan is already out, turning back towards me, his hand extended like it's not even a question wheather I'm taking it or not.
I hesitate for half a second and he notices.
His eyes darken just slightly, "Don't make me repeat myself, Violet."
My jaw tightens, but I take his hand anyways.
The second my fingers touch his, he pulls me out of the SUV, steady, controlled, like I belong right there beside him. Camille and Theo hang back, looking at each other nervously, while Devin stays near the front, already scanning the area, glancing at his phone, answering texts and I imagine, emails, from work.
I barely have time to process anty of it before Rowan leds me inside the buliding. And it's worse than I thought. The place is empty! Completely. No customers, no noise. Just soft lighting, polished floors, racks of clothing that look like they've never been touched by anyone who has to check their bank account before buying something. And then I noticed the staff.
A woman steps forward immediately, perfectly put together, with a clipboard in her hand, and perfect smile that I bet she practiced a million times in the mirror before hand.
"Mr. Ashcroft, everything has been prepared."
Prepared?
I glanced up at Rowan, confused. "You shut down an entire store?"
"Yes." He said it like it's completely normal to do so.
"Rowan-" I started but he interuppted me.
"You're not arguing with me in public," he cuts in quietly, his low and sharp. His hand on my back slides down lower, gently guiding me forward again. Poessessive. Firm. Unyielding.
All I could do was shut my mouth and go forward with him.
"This way," the woman says, already turning.
We follow her deeper into the store. I glance around as we move deeper. I notice rackes of expensive looking dresses, tailored pieces, shoes, accessories, pantsuits. Everything curated, everything very... expensive. Everything not me.
"I don't need this," I mutter under my breath. More to myself, but Rowan hears it.
"You do now," he says.
I stop walking as I glare up at him. He stops too and slowly turns to look at me.
"I said," I repeat, louder this time to ensure he hears me clearly, along with the woman and other staff members, "I don't need this."
His gaze locks onto mine. Cold, controlled. "You don't get to decide that anymore."
Something in my chest snaps. "Yes, I do!" I snap at him. "This is my life, Rowan, not some project you can throw money at until it looks the way you want -"
His hand on my back tightens slightly on my waist, not painful, but enough to make me stop talking.
"This," he says, stepping closer, "is me making sure you're never in a position to be small again."
I blink at him, confused, "I wasn't small."
"You were vulnerable."
The correction is instant. Sharp.
"That's not the same thing." I whisper, glancing away.
"It is when someone can put a gun to your head."
Silence. He's not wrong. I hate that he's not wrong. Why is he always right?
He studies my face for a second, then reaches up, brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear. The gesture is controlled, deliberate, like everything else he ever does.
"I don't want you dressing like your replaceable anymore," he finally says.
My stomach twists, "I was never replaceable."
"No," he agrees, smiling down at me, "But no one else knew that but me."
Before I can respond, he turns and gestures to the woman waiting on us. "Start," He says and just like that, it begins.
Clothes start appearing out of thin air it felt like. One after another. Dresses, blouses, pants, shoes, underwear, bras, and even hats. All of them are handed to me like I don't have a say in any of it, which really pissed me off.
"I can pick my own clothes," I snapped at them, grabbing one of the hangers.
Rowan takes it from me immediately. "No," he says simply.
My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." His tone doesn't rise. Still cold, still controlling in that same tone as before.
"You're not picking from what you're used to," He contiunes. "You're adjusting."
"To what?" I demand. "Your version of me?"
"To reality."
I let ouf a disbelieving laugh. "Your reality isn't mine."
"It is now. It became your reality the moment you said yes."
I shake my head, pacing once before turning back to him. "You can't just erase everything I was before this. That's not how this works."
"I'm not erasing anything." His eyes drag slowly over me. "I'm upgrading it. You can still be my little sexy librarian, but you need clothes that actually work. You need clothes that actually speak to this world without people walking over you. And this is that."
My breath catches. I don't like this. And yet...
"You're insane," I mutter.
"And you're still here."
There's that line again. That stupid, frustrating, infuriation line.
I glare at him, but I don't leave.
"Try this one on," he says, handing me a dress.
"I'm not-"
"Violet." Just my name, that's all it takes. It's the way he says it though. Not loud or angery, but final.
I grab the dress, "Fine," I snap at him, "But this doesn't mean I agree with any of this."
"I don't need you agree." He says, watching me as I turn toward the dressing room, "I need you to understand what kind of position you are in now."
I pause, just for a second. Then I contiune into the dressing room. The worst part, the part that is making my stomach twist and turn, the part that I don't want to acknowledge. He's not just changing my life. He's making it very hard to want the old one back.