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Chapter thirty-three

GRAY

Violet’s hand is small in mine, familiar despite the years that stretched between us. The distance never really erased her touch, never dulled the way it felt to have her close, to have her fingers curled around mine like they belong there. Puma told me to spoil her and I plan to take that very seriously. After this meeting, she’s mine for the day. No distractions. No interruptions. No walls between us. Just her.

She’s been talking about Temple during the drive over to our client—Nolan, about her best friend and the pack that took Camila in. There’s warmth in her voice when she speaks about it, a soft kind of affection, but there’s something else beneath it. Pain. She’s good at hiding it but I see it.

The slight falter in her voice when she mentions Camila’s pack. The way her fingers tighten around mine, just for a second, like she’s steadying herself. The careful way she picks her words, like she doesn’t want to say too much, like she doesn’t want me to hear what’s underneath them. It’s a reminder of everything she didn’t have. Everything she had to fight for.

The last few months, it’s been her and Sofie against the world. That much is obvious. The weight of it still lingers in the way she moves, in the way she holds herself just a little too tightly, in the way she watches people like she’s waiting for the moment they let her down.

I want to ask. I want to dig into it, break it apart, learn everything that happened when I wasn’t there. Every hardship. Every battle. Every fucking moment she thought she was alone. But just as I open my mouth, she beats me to it. “Enough about me.” She squeezes my hand, teasing, but there’s an edge of something real beneath it. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

An eyebrow lifts, a smirk playing on my lips. “You mean about me?”

She rolls her eyes, flashing a grin. “Obviously, dumbass.”

A chuckle rumbles in my chest and I drag my thumb along her knuckles, tracing the fine lines there, memorizing the feel of them. “Alright, let’s see…”

There’s so much I could tell her. That I thought about her more times than I should have. That her scent haunted me long after that weekend, long after she walked away. That I want her in my bed, in my pack, in my goddamn life.

But instead, my smirk lingers, and I say, “I learned how to make the perfect Old Fashioned.”

She snorts, shaking her head, eyes glinting with amusement. “That is the most Gray answer I’ve ever heard.”

"There’s nothing exciting about my life," I say after a beat, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the weight of the last few years. "Just me and my half-brother a few cities over. We talk sometimes, but he’s caught up in hockey and college, and I’m caught up in work."

Violet’s eyebrows lift, her surprise genuine. "You have a brother?"

I huff a quiet laugh. "Surprised?"

"Yeah, you don’t exactly scream ‘big brother energy.’"

"Thanks," I deadpan.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing just a little, still studying me. "So, what’s the business? Is that why you never came into Ash & Ivory?"

I never stepped foot in that goddamn gallery. Not once. Despite knowing it existed, despite being in the same fucking industry, I never went. I should have. I should have walked in, found her, figured out what the hell had happened between then and now. But I was so focused on everything else. My tongue swipes across my lips, the grip on the steering wheel tightening as I force my voice to stay even. "I help design spaces."

Violet’s unimpressed look makes it clear she wants more.

A sigh pulls from my chest. "I help customers envision or prepare setups for parties. You know—matching art they buy or rent with their event aesthetic. Sometimes from a gallery, sometimes from Puma’s private collection."

"So, you’re a glorified party planner?"

I groan, dragging a hand down my face, already regretting giving her anything. "It’s not—Jesus, you make it sound like I coordinate table settings and balloon arches."

That’s it. That’s what does it. She throws her head back and fucking laughs, the sound shaking through her whole body, spilling into the car like sunlight cracking through storm clouds. God, I missed that sound. "Fine, fine," she says, grinning as she looks at me. "You’re a high-end, luxury, artistic visionary."

I side-eye her, unimpressed. "That sounded sarcastic."

She shrugs. "A little."

The rest of the drive is comfortably quiet until the car rolls to a stop in front of a monstrosity of a house. The front door is massive, oversized to the point of absurdity, the kind of thing that probably weighs more than my entire car. The kind of door that exists solely to make a statement. I understand Puma’s estate. It has history. It makes sense.

Money lives here. Power too. But taste? Questionable.

“This is one of your best clients? The whole house is… so much.”

A chuckle slips from my lips, shaking my head because yeah, she already knows the type. “It’s not all bad,” I continue. “They pay well and they actually give a shit about the art. Just—” I pause, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Expect some passive-aggressive comments about how your shoes ‘aren’t Italian leather’ or some shit.”

“Figures.” Silence creeps into the car before she turns to face me. “Puma said something about how hard you work.” The words catch me off guard, punching through whatever lightness was left hanging between us.

A slow exhale leaves my lips, fingers running through my hair before resting back against the wheel. “Yeah, well… had to do something, right?” I try to shrug it off but there’s no question that I was lost for a little bit. “It felt like something was missing for a while. So, I just kept filling the time with more projects. Spending time at home wasn’t enough.”

I don’t say what was missing but I think she knows.

Because before I can look away again, before I can retreat behind something safer, she reaches out, fingertips tracing along the edge of my jaw, the softest touch dragging my attention back to her. And then she kisses me.

It’s not hurried. Not desperate. Not the kind of thing meant to pull me under and leave me breathless. It’s the kind of kiss that sinks into your bones, that makes your chest ache because you forgot what it felt like to be kissed like that. My breath catches, the tension in my body melting for just a second, just long enough to let it happen, let it take hold.

Then I pull back, just enough to press my forehead against hers. “Fuck. You’re dangerous.”

Violet smiles, the tips of her fingers still pressing lightly against my jaw. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

A quiet laugh rumbles through my chest, shaking my head. Another quick kiss, a stolen moment, then I force myself to pull away, to focus. “Let’s go inside before Nolan decides to come out here and see us making out like teenagers.”

A soft giggle comes from Violet as she slips out of the car and follows me to the entrance. I don’t even knock, the door opening as I punch in the code. It’s one of the many perks of having the job I do. The second we step inside, Violet lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.”

A smirk tugs at my lips. “Told you.”

The place is fucking ridiculous. Polished marble floors stretch out beneath blindingly bright chandeliers, so pristine it almost doesn’t feel real, like a showroom instead of a home. Sculptures sit on pedestals in carefully curated displays, lining the walls like we just stepped into a museum. A staircase dominates the room, sweeping upward in a dramatic curve, the kind of thing you see in period dramas or those over-the-top romance movies where someone always runs down the steps in a ball gown.

Violet turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, lips parted slightly as her gaze drags over every gaudy, excessive detail. “You sure this isn’t a hotel?” she mutters.

A quiet chuckle slips from my lips, hands tucking into my pockets. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they charge guests at the door.” Nolan would be appalled at the idea of renting out what he calls his ‘goddess’ and I don’t blame him. I might be stingy with this place too if I owned it.

Everything in this house screams wealth. Not quiet, generational wealth—the kind that settles into old estates and private islands like Puma’s—but loud, new money wealth, the kind that needs to be seen, acknowledged, envied.

And right now, all that wealth is standing in front of us, exuding the kind of effortless arrogance that only comes with having too much. Nolan’s expression shifts slightly as he takes in Violet’s presence.

"This is Violet," I say smoothly, voice even, perfectly practiced. "My assistant."

Violet side-eyes me so hard it’s a miracle I don’t drop dead on the spot. The sharp inhale of breath tells me she’s about to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. Nolan barely seems to care, nodding in approval before gesturing lazily toward the hallway. If he knew I was bringing my mate, this would be a different conversation about professionalism and I don’t need to hear that from him.

"The dining hall is the one we need outfitted. Once you’ve had a look, we can talk details," Nolan says, already half-distracted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

I guide Violet toward the dining hall before she can say something that’ll piss Nolan off. She lets me, though I can feel the tension in her shoulders. The second we step inside, she stops short, eyes widening as she takes in the sheer absurdity of the space as well.

A chandelier the size of a damn car hangs overhead, its golden light reflecting off a table so massive it could easily seat twenty, maybe more. The chairs are ridiculous—ornate, gilded things that probably haven’t been sat in more than once or twice. Along the walls, pretentious art stares back at us, pieces so carefully curated they practically reek of look how much money I have.

Violet turns to me slowly, pointing at everything in one sweeping motion. "I thought you were joking but you really just make the room look pretty and then they pay you?"

I chuckle, hands shoved into my pockets. "Pretty much."

She snorts, shaking her head as she wanders deeper into the room, dragging her fingers along the back of one of the chairs, probably judging how completely unnecessary it is. I watch her. The way she moves, the way she fits here even though she doesn’t realize it. She might not have come from money, might not have grown up around shit like this, but it doesn’t intimidate her. She doesn’t shrink in spaces like these.

I shake myself out of it before I start thinking too hard. "I’ll be back in a few," I say, and she waves me off, already fixated on the monstrosity of a centerpiece, poking at it like it personally offends her.

I head toward the client’s private lounge, the rich, smoky scent of aged whiskey lingering in the air before I even step inside. Nolan’s already pouring themselves another drink, the casual ease of his movements suggesting he’s been at it for a while. "Gray," he sighs, swirling the liquor, watching the way it catches the light. "You’ve been busy."

Leaning against the doorway, I roll my shoulders. "You know how it is."

Nolan doesn’t even pretend to be impressed, giving me a long, assessing look. "The rumors are getting worse." He takes an obnoxious sip, his gaze unwavering from mine. "There’s been no public statement," he continues. "And in our world, silence is an admission of guilt."

I force a smile. "We’re handling it."

"I’d hate to see your business get dragged through the mud over something like this," Nolan muses but the weight behind his words is anything but light. The line between business and warning is thin.

Crossing my arms, I hold his gaze. "That a warning?"

A shrug. "A friendly one." He then turns the conversation. "I heard you’ve added to your pack. Congratulations. Because we both know that you didn’t bring your assistant . Just be careful," he murmurs. "There’s going to be legal issues coming your way. Prepare for that."

If Nolan wasn’t one of the better clients, I’d think he was threatening me but I take his words to heart anyway. “If you think this could hurt your reputation, why did you still want me to come?”

Nolan tilts his head just slightly, like he’s reassessing me, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth giving a real answer to. “You have an eye for art. You’re not stupid and you would never tarnish your brand with such nonsense.”

“No,” I smirk. “I wouldn’t. I’ll have something drawn up for you by the end of the day.”

I dip out of the room before Nolan can continue the conversation so that I can return to Violet. She’s standing near the table, bottom lip caught between her teeth, fingers hovering just over the extravagant centerpiece, her entire body angled like she’s already breaking the room down piece by piece in her mind.

She doesn’t notice me at first, too caught up in whatever thought has taken hold of her. Her eyes flick from the chandelier to the paintings, then to the table itself, the wheels turning fast, the calculations already being made before she’s even conscious of them. I lean against the doorway, watching for a second longer than I probably should.

“What’s on your mind, princess?”

Her eyes snap to mine and then she just starts talking, spilling thoughts like she’s been waiting for someone to listen. She explains that the lighting clashes with the texture of the walls. The chandelier, while impressive, makes the room feel cold. The table is stunning but needs better contrast with the chairs. If they’d actually let her, she could make the entire space feel less like a museum and more like a place people actually want to eat in.

She keeps going, each detail sharp, precise, slipping from her lips with an ease that shouldn’t come from someone who isn’t in this business.

And I just watch. Listen. Because fuck, she’s brilliant. I’ve been doing this for years, but the way she sees things, the way she dissects a space without hesitation, without even realizing she’s doing it—it’s like watching someone who was made for this.

“You been holding out on me, princess? Because you talk like someone who should be getting paid for this.” Her lips part, but there’s hesitation now. The briefest flicker of doubt before she can even let herself consider the thought. I don’t let her shut it down. “You’re good at this. Really good. All I have to do is teach you some of the acronyms and other bullshit and you’d be amazing.”

Violet laughs, a soft barely there sound as I pull her toward me. Her warmth seeps into me, her scent curling in my lungs, a warm jasmine, something I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of. "God, I’ve missed that sound," the words come low, almost a growl, slipping past my lips as I press gentle kisses down the column of her throat.

She tilts her head, just slightly, just enough to let me have more, and I don’t waste the opportunity. My teeth graze the spot just beneath her ear, the place I know will send a shiver down her spine. She sucks in a breath, but she’s trying—really trying—to keep her thoughts straight, to stay focused on something other than my hands gripping the fabric of her dress, the way my fingers flex like I’m barely keeping myself in check.

"I worked in art galleries for a long time," she pushes out. "Even before that, I liked making things look pretty."

I hum against her skin, letting my lips drag a little lower before pausing, fingers tracing idle circles against her hip. "Yeah? You ever think about doing this for real?"

There’s a beat, a moment where I feel her hesitation before she turns in my arms, tilting her chin up, her hands pressing against my chest. “Maybe? Never thought about it.”

I clear my throat, forcing my brain to shift gears before I forget what the hell we came here for. "I’ve seen all I need to see," the words come out rough, like my voice hasn’t fully recovered.

She blinks, still dazed, still trying to catch up. "Huh?"

"The job," I smirk because I know damn well she forgot all about it.

"So, we’re heading back home now?" She asks as I lead her back out to the car. “You don’t have to talk to Nolan or whatever?

"Nope. I send him a small map of the room, where everything needs to move and it seems that my job has already been done for me because I cataloged all your suggestions. So… it’s time for a date.”

Her reaction is instant. Her whole body stiffens, her jaw practically unhinges, and she turns fully in her seat, blinking at me in surprise. "A what?"

I barely bite back a laugh, keeping my eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, but I feel her stare, the way her disbelief practically burns through me. "I’ve been dreaming of this goddamn moment for too fucking long. The others said it was okay if I steal you away for a little while.” I chance another look, meeting her gaze head-on, daring her to fight me on this. "Please let me have it."

She swallows, her lips pressing together, something flickering behind her eyes as she searches my face like she’s looking for a reason to say no. She doesn’t find one. “Yeah, okay.”

A slow grin spreads across my lips, and I reach over, giving her thigh a squeeze. "That’s my girl."