Page 113 of Twisted Violet

The old landlord was cutting corners, security was sloppy, and buying it would give me access to backend feeds.

No one questioned it.

Because I’m methodical. Controlled.

The kind of man who plans ten steps ahead.

But the truth?

She’s there.

And I’m not done taking care of her, even if she never opens the door for me again.

As soon asI get the keys, things start to change in Unit 5C.

The heat comes back on.

The intercom clicks into perfect clarity.

The hallway light gets replaced with a warm-dim fixture that won’t hurt her eyes in the morning.

She emails the management office.

Says thank you and tries to confirm that her rent cleared.

They say they’ll look into it.

But they never do, because I told them not to.

Every check she writes? I intercept.

I pay it for her, quietly, so she never has to know.

Because love doesn’t always look like declarations.

Sometimes it looks like four sturdy walls and a lease she never has to worry about.

The donuts come next.

I send the same box to the lobby every morning, timed for when she headsout for work.

Twelve assorted. With her favorite kind always on top. Pink with sprinkles.

That one’s hers.

The rest? They go fast.

Building staff knows the drill. She gets first pick, and nobody touches the box until she walks past the lobby desk.

I told them once. Never had to say it again.

It’s stupid,sentimental, but she always said the pink ones tasted better.

So now? She gets one. Every day. No matter what.

Violet doesn’t knowI own the place now. I never stop her in the hallway. Never say hi in the elevator. Never remind her I’m still breathing her name in every silent moment between meetings and missions.

But I watch her.