Page 24 of Twisted Violet

“I was trying to make him look tough.” I joke, ruffling Ollie’s ears. “But he’s ruining it.”

She smiles at me. Not a half-smile. A real one. And God help me, I feel it like a punch to the ribs.

That’s the moment I realize how screwed I really am.

Because watching her with him makes me want things I have no business wanting. Like more moments like this, like her staying, like her choosingme.

But I don’t say any of it.

Instead, I open the door and lead the three of us back to the truck in silence.

As soon as we’re all in, Ollie curls up in the backseat and plops his head on her shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

V reaches back to scratch behind his ears, and he melts like putty in her hands.

“How long have you had him?” She asks.

“About eight months. I found him while out on a job. He was half-starved and mean as hell, but I couldn’t leave him behind.”

She nods slowly, still petting him.

“That’s sweet.”

I shrug, like it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing.

Ollie’s the only thing in my life I’ve never second-guessed loving.

And now she’s here, in the passenger seat, petting him like they’ve known each other for years. Like maybe… she could belong here too.

We don’t talk much the rest of the ride, but I catch her glancing at me once, and when our eyes meet, she doesn’t look away.

She just gives me the tiniest smile.

And a stupid thought creeps into my mind that I can’t shake…

I’d do anything for that smile.

EIGHT

VIOLET

I’ve been here before.But last time, I wasn’t really in the right headspace to pay attention. Not to the floor, or the layout, or the sheer size of the place. I was half-frozen, covered in blood and rainwater, too numb to notice anything beyond the pounding in my chest.

Now, with Dallas and Ollie standing guard beside me as the elevator ascends, I take in all the details.

The design is stunning. Dark wood floors. Matte black finishes. Soft white lights glowing against the baseboards. It’s the kind of simplicity money buys. Not the cold, empty kind, but the curated kind. Intentional and comfortable.

We step out of the elevator, and my feet slow automatically in front of the first door on the right.

The door is instantly familiar. So is the biometric scanner on the wall beside it. I remember leaning againstit the other night, soaked and shaking, with Niko’s towel draped over my shoulders.

I hesitate, my fingers brushing the edge of the frame.

Dallas glances back and raises a brow. “What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t this… your place?” I ask quietly.

He tilts his head. “That’s Niko’s wing.”