Page 30 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

TWENTY-NINE

VIOLET

I wake up already knowing what I have to do.

Not what I want. Not what I feel like.

Just… what’s necessary.

Pretend nothing’s changed.

Pretend I didn’t hear my sister spell it out in plain English.

That they’re being paid.

That everything I thought might’ve been real was just obligation dressed up in affection.

I can’t break again. I won’t. It’s embarrassing. It’s exhausting. And it’s useless.

So I do what I’ve always done when the truth eats through my chest like acid.

I shut it out, push it down, and lock it behind a careful smile.

That’s the thing people don’t tell you about trauma. Sometimes surviving it isn’t about fighting. Sometimes it’s about acting normal enough so that no one tries to look too closely. It’s easier to hide the wreckage when no one suspects it’s there.

I’m good at that. Too good, probably.

So I get up, tie my hair back, throw on a hoodie, and walk into the kitchen like it’s just another morning. Because if they’re going to treat me like a job, I can treat this like a routine.

I start cooking. Not because I’m hungry. I don’t think I could stomach a bite if I tried. But cooking is easy. Mechanical. It gives me something to focus on besides the spiral in my chest.

If I’m doing something, anything, they won’t look too hard. They won’t see the girl who was stupid enough to believe any of this was real.

I’m flipping the second batch of pancakes when I hear hesitant footsteps approaching.

It’s Rome.

He pauses in the doorway like he doesn’t know if he should interrupt.

I don’t turn to look.

“Morning,” I say, light and sweet. “Want breakfast?”

There’s a pause. I can feel him staring, and I already know what’s coming.

“Violet.”

I glance over my shoulder, meet his eyes, and smile like it’s a perfectly normal day. “Hmm?”

“We should talk.”

I shrug and flip the eggs. “About?”

“Last night. ”

“What about it?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.

“You left,” he says.

“Oh, I figured you had plans.” I lie, turning off the stove. “Thought I’d give you space.”

I slide a plate of eggs and bacon across the counter toward him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says.

“I’m not.” I rinse the spatula and dry my hands, voice perfectly even. “You should eat.”

Then I walk past him.

I know he’s still standing there, watching me, but I don’t care. Or at least, I’m trying really hard not to.

Dallas walks in next, yawning as he grabs the mug I already filled for him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder in that lazy way he always does, like he didn’t betray me too.

“Damn, Darlin’,” he says. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Didn’t have anything better to do,” I answer with a tight smile.

He doesn’t notice.

Niko shows up a minute later, looking like he hasn’t slept. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and he doesn’t say a word. He just heads to the coffeemaker and pours himself a cup.

Dallas sips his coffee.

Rome pokes at the plate in front of him, barely eating.

Niko stares at the floor.

I wipe the counter clean and listen to the silence that builds around us. Full of things no one wants to say. It almost feels normal.

But it’s not, because I know now… I’m no t someone they chose; I’m someone they were paid to choose.

So I smile, I clean up, and I do what I should’ve done when I first got here… become the version of myself that’s easiest to deal with.

Because that’s who they really wanted living in their home all along.

The second the bedroom door shuts behind me, the smile drops and my shoulders fall.

I stand there for a moment, pressing my forehead against the door.

God, I feel stupid.

For every touch I mistook for something real. For every night I sat in this room wondering if maybe, just maybe, one of them was thinking about me too. For every second I thought I could build something out of borrowed time and forced proximity.

They were never mine. Not even close. I was just someone they were paid to protect. And God, I tried so hard to be worth keeping.

I shut my eyes for a second, but it doesn’t help. Because the ache isn’t in my head, it’s in my chest. Twisting sharp and slow, like it wants to carve out the part of me that still misses them.

I’m so tired of hurting. I’ve been carrying guilt for weeks, letting it rot inside me and fester, because I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to give them a reason to pull away and lose what I thought I had. But it turns out, I never had anything to begin with.

So what am I even protecting anymore?

I grab my phone from the nightstand and scroll through my contacts until I land on her name.

Stevie.

I hit the call button, and she answers on the second ring.

“Alex?” She says, her voice sounding a little groggy. “Is everything okay?”

I don’t ease into it or soften the edges.

“I’ve been getting threatening texts,” I say flatly.

There’s a pause. “From who?”

“Unknown number,” I say. “Nothing direct. But it’s him. The man who bought me.”

“How do you know?”

I stare ahead, voice steady. “Because he said he’d come back for me. And now he has. I think he hired my attacker, too.”

I hear the air rush out of her lungs. “Jesus, Alex. When did this start?”

“A few weeks after I moved into the apartment.”

“What the hell, Alex? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to make things worse.” I swallow. “I didn’t want to be your problem again.”

“Alex-”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’re not a problem.”

It’s a lie. A sweet one at that.

“Did you tell the guys?” She asks.

“No.”

There’s a heavy pause. “Okay. I’ll get Tristan on this. We’ll track it, and we’ll loop the guys in- ”

“You don’t have to do all that.”

“I do. You’re not safe.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like this doesn’t matter?”

“Because it doesn’t change anything. Nothing is going to stop him.”

“Alex, please just let me-”

“I’ll forward the messages.” I pause, the silence stretching like a held breath. “I just thought you’d want to know. Since you’re still paying them for the illusion of my safety.”

Then I hang up.

And the quiet that follows feels like the truest thing I’ve heard all day.