Page 43 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)
FORTY-TWO
ROME
The first time I see her name again, it’s on a maintenance report.
Intercom’s shorting out. Heater’s dead. The light in front of her door is flickering.
The building’s in decent shape overall. Same architecture firm that designed ours. Same clean lines, same minimalist finishes. I remember thinking she probably picked it for that reason, because it felt familiar without feeling like us.
I don’t know why I even looked at the report.
But I did, over and over.
Until I memorized every fault in her damn floor plan.
Then I called my broker and bought the building.
I said it was for logistical reasons.
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 as I 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 heads out 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 know I 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.
From the live security feed in my office, I see her come out of the elevator and cross the lobby.
Her apron is tied in the back, her hair is up, and her shoulders are relaxed in a way they never used to be.
She looks happy. Genuinely happy. And while it does sting to know she’s moved forward without me, I’m glad she’s doing so well.
She deserves good things, even if I’m not one of them anymore.
Over the next few weeks, more changes come.
Better security for the building, a late-night patrol circling the block, her favorite snacks stocked at the corner store.
Then one morning, I’m monitoring the street cameras when I see her pause outside of a vacant storefront at the end of the block.
She peeks through the front window and presses a hand to the glass like she’s measuring the space with her eyes.
Then, she shakes her head and keeps walking.
She’s only there for a couple of minutes, but it sticks with me.
So I buy it and put it under a trust.
It’s hers. Even if she never takes it. Even if she never speaks to me again.
I don’t love her for what I get back. I love her because of who she is.
She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like I wasn’t just sharp edges and silence. She saw something in me, and she stayed. So now it’s my turn. To see her, to stay, even if it is in the background.
If all I ever get is the chance to make her life easier, that’ll be enough.
But if she ever wants more…
I’ll be ready.