Page 15 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)
FOURTEEN
VIOLET
The rain hasn’t stopped all morning.
It drips in slow, steady lines down the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the skyline until the buildings look like ghosts. I’ve been staring at the same drop for ten minutes, watching it race the others before it finally disappears into the sill.
My phone sits beside me on the windowsill, lighting up every few minutes.
Another incoming text. Another message I won’t be reading.
He’s been messaging me nonstop lately.
I delete them as soon as they come in, but they still leave a lingering effect on me.
It’s not fear exactly. Not anymore. Now it’s morphed into this strange pressure. Like I’m standing on a frozen lake, and every vibration of my phone deepens the cracks in the ice.
I try to ignore it, but deep down I know it’s only a matter of time before it inevitably rips the floor right out from underneath me.
It’s been a couple of weeks since the night in the kitchen with Niko, and I’ve spent most of that time pretending it didn’t happen. I tell myself it was nothing, just a late-night snack, but maybe that’s because the truth feels too raw.
Niko pulled me out of my head that night.
Not with some grand gesture, not by forcing me to talk, but with the smallest distraction.
Like he knew exactly how to reach me without making it worse.
It wasn’t the first time, either. After the attack, when I could barely move or speak, he broke through the fog with ease.
He didn’t push. He didn’t hover. He just…
knew. The right words. The right silences.
The exact thread to pull to bring me back to myself.
That’s why I’ve been avoiding him. Niko understands the dark places in my head in a way no one else does. When he looks at me, it’s like he can see all of it - the cracks, the shadows, the ugly parts I don’t let anyone touch.
And I hate how exposed that makes me feel.
My phone buzzes again.
I flinch and glance down at the screen.
It’s a video call.
From Stevie.
I hesitate just long enough for guilt to set in, then I swipe to answer.
Her face fills the screen, looking better than it has in weeks. Her hair’s clean and tied back. She’s sitting up in bed with a mug of tea in one hand and a blanket draped over her shoulders.
“You look like shit,” she says gently.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “You’re glowing.”
She smirks. “The fluorescents are very forgiving. ”
I smile, then glance down at my fingernails before continuing. “Any news on the attacker?”
Stevie’s expression shifts. “Yeah. A little. We know he was hired through an agency. One of those black-market fixers who deals in contracted muscle. They didn’t give him a name or a photo of a target. Just instructed him to grab the girl and gave him cash and coordinates.”
My stomach tightens. “And?”
“That’s where the paper trail ends. Tristan said the payment logs were scrubbed. No client listed. Whoever hired him covered their tracks well. We’re still digging, but it’s slow.”
I nod, trying not to let the frustration show on my face.
“Don’t worry though,” she adds quickly. “Nothing else weird has happened in weeks. And now that we know someone’s after us, everyone has got their guard up.”
She says it like that should be enough, like the problem’s been cornered and locked away.
But it hasn’t.
Not when my phone won’t stop buzzing with new messages. Not when I’m still deleting his words before I have the nerve to read them all the way through.
“You sure you’re doing okay?” She asks, her voice quiet but direct. “You look like there’s something on your mind.”
My pulse kicks up.
“I’m good,” I say quickly. “Just going a little stir-crazy.”
“Same.” She breathes.
A long silence stretches between us. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… full.
“I should be cleared to leave the hospital at the end of next week,” she says eventually. “Ez is already planning to carry me out bridal- style.”
I manage a half-smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Her eyes soften. “You know you could come home with me too, if you want? The guys amped up the security so it’ll be super secure.”
I smile and shake my head. “I’m good here, but thank you.”
Stevie nods, then pauses for a beat.
“How are things with the guys?” She asks casually, too casually.
“They’re fine.”
“Fine?” She presses.
I keep my tone neutral. “They’re nice. They’re respectful. Things are good.”
“That’s good.”
She says it like she really means it, then adds, “Still. It must be hard living with three attractive guys. I imagine it feels…” She pauses. “…complicated?”
And there it is.
I straighten slightly. “It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Yeah, but you’re implying it.”
“I’m just making sure you’re not getting too attached to them, Al.”
I bristle.
“I’m not.”
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Because the last time I heard you this defensive, you were twelve and trying to convince me you didn’t like your math tutor.”
“I didn’t like him.”
“You cried when he quit the after-school program.”
I scowl. “I was a kid back then. This isn’t the same thing.”
“Then what is it? ”
“I don’t know,” I snap, voice cracking. “Okay? I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what they feel, or if I’m just some broken thing they’re trying to fix. But for once, I feel wanted. I feel safe. Isn’t that enough?”
Stevie goes quiet.
Then softly, she says: “I get it. I really do. After how we grew up… sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between kindness and something more.”
That stings.
“You think I’m reading it wrong?”
“No,” she says, too gently. “I think you’re vulnerable. They’re all attractive, and they’re taking care of you. That’s a dangerous mix.”
My throat tightens.
“You really think I’m that pathetic?”
“Alex.”
“You think I’m so unlovable that the idea of them wanting me is a fantasy?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yeah, but it’s what you meant.”
I can feel the heat building behind my eyes.
“I’m not confused,” I whisper. “And I don’t need you reminding me I’m hard to love. I already figured that out on my own.”
Stevie’s expression cracks.
“Al… I didn’t mean it like that. I just want you to be careful.”
I end the call before she can say anything else.
The screen goes black. My reflection stares back, eyes red-rimmed and raw.
What if she’s right?
What if this thing I’m feeling isn’t real ?
What if I let myself believe they care, only to find out later I was wrong?
I blink hard, forcing the tears to stand down, like they have no choice but to obey me.
I will not cry, not over this, but I can still feel the sting of her words.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between kindness and something more.”
Yeah.
Tell me about it.