Chapter 93 Can't Breathe
Violet
They didn’t just expose us.
They exposed a weakness.
And someone is going to try to use it.
The room feels smaller.
The air feels thinner.
The reporter’s voice keeps cycling behind Rowan’s back, words blurring into static.
“…ethics concerns…”
“…undue proximity…”
“…potential interference…”
My hands start to shake.
I don’t notice at first. Not until the coffee cup I’m still holding rattles against the saucer.
Camille grabs it from me gently. “Hey. Hey. Breathe.”
I try.
It doesn’t work.
My chest tightens like someone wrapped wire around my ribs and started pulling.
“I finally felt safe,” I hear myself say, but my voice sounds far away. “That day. I finally felt safe.”
Rowan’s eyes sharpen immediately.
“I wasn’t thinking about optics,” I continue, my breathing turning shallow, uneven. “I wasn’t thinking about politics. I was just tired. I was grieving. I couldn’t stand up and you carried me and I finally felt safe.”
My throat closes.
“And now—” My breath catches. “Now it looks calculated. Now it looks strategic. Now it looks like some power move.”
“Violet,” Camille says softly.
“I ruined everything,” I whisper.
Rowan goes still.
“I ruined everything for you,” I say, panic rising fast now, hot and suffocating. “Your company. Your reputation. Your life was clean before me. Structured. Controlled. And now it’s this.”
My vision blurs.
“They’re going to come after you harder because of me,” I continue, words tumbling over each other. “They’re going to dig into your permits. Your finances. Your security team. They’re going to say you orchestrated this. That you needed Calder gone for business reasons.”
My breath won’t slow.
It won’t slow.
“And they’re going to be right that I ran to you,” I choke. “I did. I ran to you. I went into your bed. I—”
The room tilts slightly.
“I’ve destroyed your life,” I whisper.
That’s when my breathing fully fractures.
Short.
Sharp.
Too fast.
My hands start tingling.
My chest tightens harder.
“I can’t—” I press my palm against my sternum like that might fix it. “I can’t breathe.”
Rowan moves.
Not calmly this time.
Immediately.
He steps forward and grips my jaw gently but firmly, forcing my eyes up to his.
“Look at me,” he says.
My lungs burn.
“I ruined it,” I say again, panic spiraling. “I ruined your life.”
His expression changes.
It’s not anger.
It’s fury.
Not at me.
At the idea.
“You think this is because of you?” he asks, voice low.
“I—” My breath stutters. “It is.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, steadying me.
“This,” he says, “is because someone thought they could touch what’s mine.”
The words cut through the noise in my head.
Camille inhales sharply.
Theo mutters something under his breath, but I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears.
“I finally felt safe,” I say again, my voice breaking. “And now everything’s gone to shit.”
My chest spasms with another shallow breath.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I can’t go back into those rooms. I can’t have them look at me like I’m some pawn. Like I don’t know my own mind.”
Rowan’s hand tightens slightly at my neck.
“You are not a pawn,” he says.
“But I look like one,” I choke out. “I look like I belong to you.”
His eyes darken.
“You do,” he says quietly.
That shouldn’t calm me.
It does.
But my body is still spiraling.
“I destroyed your stability,” I whisper. “Your world was intact before me.”
He stares at me like I’ve just said something unforgivable.
“My world,” he says slowly, “was not intact.”
My breath hitches again.
He steps even closer.
“You think this is new?” he asks. “You think I haven’t been at war with people like her for years?”
My chest is still heaving.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says, voice steady and cutting. “You exposed something that was already rotten.”
“I—” My words dissolve into another broken inhale.
He doesn’t wait.
His mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not soft.
It’s deliberate.
It steals the next breath I was about to lose.
The kiss is firm, grounding, overwhelming enough to disrupt the spiral in my head. His hand stays at the back of my neck, holding me in place, not hurting—anchoring.
My brain stutters.
My lungs finally pull in air.
Slow.
Real.
His other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
The world narrows.
The reporter’s voice disappears.
The room disappears.
It’s just him.
Warm.
Solid.
Certain.
He kisses me like he’s sealing something. Like he’s shutting out every outside voice trying to rewrite what this is.
When he finally pulls back, my breathing has slowed.
Not perfect. But steady.
He presses his forehead to mine.
“You did not ruin my life,” he says quietly. “You gave me a reason to burn down the parts of it that needed burning.”
Behind him, Theo clears his throat.
“Camille,” he mutters gently.
I don’t look, but I hear Camille step back.
“Yeah,” she says softly.
Theo’s voice is calm, practical. “Let’s give them a minute.”
Footsteps.
Silence settles around us.
Rowan’s hand remains at my waist.
“You don’t get to take responsibility for their corruption,” he says quietly.
My breathing steadies further.
“But they’re going to hurt you to get to me,” I whisper.
His eyes sharpen again.
“Let them try.”
My breathing has steadied, though my chest still feels tender from the panic.
“You don’t have to come in today,” he says finally.
His voice is low. Not commanding. Not cold.
Measured.
“You can stay here. Regroup. No one would question it.”
I pull back just enough to look at him.
His shirt is still half unbuttoned. His jaw is tight.
“Is that an order?” I ask softly.
“No,” he says. “It’s an option.”
I inhale slowly.
The television is still playing in the background, though the volume has dropped to a murmur. The chyron continues scrolling. The footage will be replayed all morning. I know it will.
I wipe under my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“I’m coming in,” I say.
He studies me carefully.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he says.
“I’m not,” I reply, steadier now. “I’m doing my job.”
His thumb brushes absently against my side.
“Violet.”
“That’s how the world works,” I continue, pulling my shoulders back. “You show up. You do your job. You don’t let people scare you out of it.”
His eyes narrow slightly, not in disagreement. In assessment.
“I'll be damned,” I add quietly, “if I let someone like Hargrove win because she thought she could embarrass me.”
The words surprise even me.
But they’re true.
I’m still shaking underneath it all. Still raw. Still hurt.
But I’m also angry.
And anger is steadier than fear.
Rowan’s mouth shifts almost imperceptibly at the corner.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
“Don’t,” I say, but there’s no bite to it.
“You think this changes your position in this company?” he asks quietly.
“It changes how people look at me.”
“They already underestimated you,” he replies. “That was their mistake.”