Chapter 17 Access Revoked
Violet
Walking into Ashcroft Industries feels like moving through water.
Everything is slower. Thicker. Heavier.
I’m exhausted. Hollowed out. Still numb in a way sleep didn’t fix and coffee won’t touch. My body is here, upright and functioning, but my mind is lagging half a step behind, processing things it doesn’t have language for yet.
And yet—
I look… different.
I didn’t plan it. I didn’t choose it. I just put on what fit and left the house because the world doesn’t stop for grief or investigations or sleepless nights.
Emerald dress. Heels. Hair pulled back. Jacket over my shoulders.
Pulled together in a way that doesn’t match how I feel.
People notice.
It starts at the security desk—an extra beat before the guard waves me through. Then the lobby. Conversations dip. A laugh cuts off mid-syllable. I catch my reflection in the glass and barely recognize myself.
Whispers follow.
They stop when I pass.
Camille walks beside me, chin high, daring anyone to say something. She doesn’t need to. The building already feels… off.
Like I’ve violated an unspoken rule.
I reach the desk and set my bag down, pulling up Rowan’s schedule automatically. Muscle memory. Survival instinct. Everything familiar I can cling to.
He arrives three minutes later.
As always.
Rowan stops at the desk without looking at me. I slide his schedule forward. Perfectly aligned. His coffee follows—black, no sugar, no foam, no mistakes.
Routine.
He reaches for both automatically.
Theo steps into his path just before he can move on. “Hey—before you disappear. Marketing needs a tweak on the west-side numbers. Five minutes.”
Rowan exhales, annoyed, but pauses.
That’s when Avery sweeps in.
She doesn’t look at me.
Not even a glance.
“Rowan,” she says brightly, slipping into his space. “I was thinking lunch across the street today. That new place? I can make reservations.”
“I’m busy,” Rowan replies flatly.
She laughs like he’s teasing. “You’re always busy.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll just have Violet handle it for us.”
She turns.
And freezes.
Her eyes flick over me slowly. The dress. The heels. The posture. The fact that I exist differently today.
Her mouth curls.
“Well,” she says, loud enough for half the lobby to hear, “someone looks confused about what building they’re in.”
Theo’s brows knit. Camille stiffens.
Avery tilts her head, eyes sharp. “I mean, no judgment, but this isn’t exactly a 1-800-escort kind of workplace.”
Silence detonates.
I don’t react right away.
I let it breathe.
Then I lift my eyes to her and smile.
Not sweet.
Measured.
“Is that what you think professionalism looks like?” I ask calmly. “Because if so, I’d ask for a refund.”
Theo snorts so hard he nearly chokes on his coffee.
Camille’s mouth actually falls open.
Avery flushes. “Excuse me?”
I lean back slightly in my chair. “You’re the one confusing proximity with qualification, Avery. Easy mistake. Common, even.”
Her jaw drops. “I was just saying—”
“That you don’t recognize competence unless it’s wearing lip gloss?” I offer. “Understandable. Different skill sets.”
Theo coughs into his fist, shoulders shaking.
Avery’s eyes shine with fury. “You think you’re better than me?”
“No,” I say evenly. “I think I’m better at my job.”
Rowan doesn’t intervene.
He watches.
Calculating.
Avery looks to him, desperate. “Rowan—”
“Cancel lunch,” Rowan says calmly, picking up his coffee. “I’m busy.”
She stares at him like she’s been slapped.
“But—”
“Pierce will handle my schedule,” he adds, already turning away.
The elevator doors close behind him.
Avery’s face crumples.
She spins on her heel, blinking hard, and storms toward the elevators without another word.
The doors shut.
The lobby exhales.
Camille turns to me slowly. “Jesus Christ.”
Theo shakes his head, impressed. “That was… brutal.”
I look back to my screen, fingers already moving. “She shouldn’t start fights she can’t finish.”
And for the first time—
I don’t feel guilty at all.
Because Avery Quinneth didn’t just insult me.
She underestimated me.
And that’s always a mistake.
The lobby doesn’t stay quiet for long.
It never does.
Ten minutes later, my screen flickers.
My stomach drops.
Rowan’s afternoon calendar—meetings I confirmed not an hour ago—has been altered. Blocks shifted. One erased entirely. Another doubled. A legal call overwritten with a blank space that shouldn’t exist.
I don’t breathe.
I don’t react.
I pull the access logs.
And there it is.
Avery Quinneth.
Camille leans in beside me, eyes scanning the screen. “She didn’t even try to be subtle.”
Theo mutters, “She never does.”
I don’t look up when Rowan reappears in the lobby.
I don’t need to.
I feel him.
“Pierce,” he says.
I turn the monitor toward him without a word.
His eyes skim the screen once.
Twice.
Then they harden.
“Where is she?”
No one answers.
Avery answers for herself.
She storms out of the elevator like she’s rehearsed this moment, chin lifted, fury barely contained. “I want to talk to you—”
“You already did,” Rowan cuts in. “With my calendar.”
She freezes.
Then laughs. Sharp. Defensive. “Oh my God. That’s what this is about?”
“Yes,” Rowan says calmly. Too calmly.
She throws her hands up. “Fine. I moved some things. Big deal. It’s not like she hasn’t fucked up before.”
The lobby stills.
She points at me. “She forwarded a call to you. You lost your mind over that. But suddenly she’s untouchable?”
Theo stiffens. Camille swears under her breath.
Avery’s voice rises. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you having favorites.”
That’s when Rowan explodes.
“Favorite?”
The word cracks through the lobby like a gunshot.
Every head turns.
“My favorite,” Rowan snarls, stepping forward, “was you.”
Avery falters. “Rowan—”
“I don’t buy dresses for just anyone,” he continues coldly. “I don’t cancel plans for just anyone. I don’t do lunch dates for just anyone.”
Her face drains of color.
“You should be fucking thankful for what I handed you,” he says, voice cutting. “Considering you can’t even make a cup of coffee without flooding the break room.”
A ripple of shock runs through the crowd.
“And yet,” Rowan goes on, eyes burning, “you stand here attacking the one person in this building who holds this company together with her bare hands.”
I don’t move.
I don’t blink.
I don’t need to.
Rowan looks at her like she’s already gone. “You’re done.”
Avery stares at him. “You can’t—”
“Pack your things,” he says. “Security will escort you.”
She collapses.
Actually collapses.
Knees buckling. Hands scrambling for the floor. A sob rips out of her chest, ugly and loud.
Rowan doesn’t react.
“Security,” he says calmly.
They arrive within seconds.
Avery screams as they lift her, clawing at the marble, mascara streaking down her face as she’s dragged away. “This isn’t fair! She shouldn’t even be here!”
The doors close behind her.
Silence slams down.
Rowan turns back to me.
Not soft.
Not kind.
But steady.
“Fix the calendar,” he says. “Then come to my office.”