Page 9 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

EIGH T

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 against it 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.”

It takes a second to process what he just said. “Wing?”

“Yeah.” He nods down the hall. “Come on. Keep walking.”

I follow, and as we round the corner, everything opens up.

The hallway branches into three more corridors, each marked subtly with a different colored door beneath the archways.

The main living space stretches out in the middle, and my gaze flicks past the open-concept kitchen to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The city sprawls beyond them, rain still glistening on the glass.

This isn’t just one apartment.

This is the entire top floor.

Rome must have a wing. Dallas too. And now… I guess I do too.

Dallas watches my reaction without saying a word.

But I know he sees it - the surprise, the awe. The way I’m trying to make sense of how I ended up in a place like this, surrounded by people like them. People who get bloody doing the jobs no one else will do and still come home to something this… solid.

Dallas doesn’t say anything else. He just leads me down the hall, past a sleek kitchen with dark stone counters and a sunken living room outfitted in soft leather and warm wood accents. It smells faintly of coffee and cedar. Cozy in a way I wouldn’t expect from a place this ostentatious .

We turn a corner, and he stops in front of a door with a brass handle.

“This one’s yours.”

He pushes it open and steps back so I can walk through first.

I pause in the doorway and zero in on the line of windows stretching across the far wall.

They're beautiful, floor-to-ceiling, polished clean, with an incredible view, but they're also exposed, too open, too vulnerable. Anyone could see in and -

Stop it.

You’re on the tenth floor, and the building is crazy secure.

You’re fine.

I force a breath past my lips and drag my gaze away.

The room is beautiful. Muted earth tones.

An enormous bed with soft-looking sheets.

A small reading nook with a window bench.

Bookshelves already half-filled with titles I love.

A compact little bathroom off to the side with fluffy white towels stacked neatly on the shelf. A closet I could probably live inside.

Everything about it feels intentional, lived in, but not by someone else. It feels made for me.

My throat tightens.

“Stevie gave us a list,” Dallas says from behind me. “Books. Bath products. Candle scents you like. I don’t know how she remembered all of it, but she did.”

“She always remembers,” I murmur, the words tasting like a mix of comfort and guilt as I step inside.

Ollie’s nails click softly on the floor as he trots in after me. He circles the room once, sniffs a corner, then hops straight onto the bed like he’s claiming it for himself .

Dallas groans. “Seriously, man? Your fluff is going to get everywhere.”

Ollie flops down, tongue out, looking entirely unbothered.

I laugh, really laugh, for the first time in what feels like forever.

Dallas looks at me, and something in his expression shifts, like the sound of my laughter eased something in him too.

“You can kick him out if you want,” he says. “He’ll listen. Sometimes .”

I shake my head. “No. He’s welcome.”

He quirks a brow. “He snores.”

“I don’t mind.”

Dallas leans a shoulder against the doorway, watching as I toe off my shoes and sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. Ollie immediately rests his head on my thigh.

“This is… a lot,” I say quietly.

Dallas tilts his head. “Too much?”

I look around again. At the care in every detail and the effort they didn’t have to make.

“Kind of,” I whisper. “It’s just… no one’s ever done something like this for me before.”

Before he can respond, the elevator dings and voices sound from somewhere down the hall.

“I told you she likes strawberry Pocky, not chocolate.”

“That was one time. She ate the entire box of the chocolate one.”

“That was because there were no other snacks in the safe house, Rome.”

I blink.

Dallas gives a small grin. “Sounds like the grocery run was successful.”

A second later, Niko and Rome appear in the doorway, each carrying arm fulls of bags. Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, even a few from a specialty bakery I love downtown.

They didn’t just grab essentials.

They got my essentials. The snacks I like. The drinks I always stock up on. The stuff you only remember if you’ve actually been paying attention.

They’re still arguing as they walk in, bickering about my dietary preferences, when they catch sight of me sitting on the bed and freeze.

Rome blinks. Niko actually pauses mid-step like he forgot how walking works.

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” Rome says, clearing his throat. He fishes a box out of one of the bags and tosses it on the bed. “It’s that Mochi ice cream stuff you love so much. Keep it in the back of the freezer so Dallas doesn’t steal it.”

Dallas raises a brow. “I don’t even like mochi.”

“Doesn’t stop you from stealing shit.”

Niko says nothing. Just sets his bags on the dresser and meets my gaze like he’s checking for any fractures he might’ve missed earlier.

“I’m good,” I say before he can ask.

He nods once, then turns and walks away.

Rome ruffles Ollie’s head before heading after him, muttering something under his breath about Niko buying off-brand toothpaste.

When it’s just the two of us again, Dallas lingers in the doorway.

“You want anything else in here?” he asks. “TV? Mini fridge? Sound machine?”

“I think I’m good.”

He nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”

I wait until he’s almost gone before I say, “Hey, Dallas?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” I say. “For all of this.”

His smile is quiet, easy, but his eyes flicker like he’s feeling more than he’s saying.

“Anytime, V.”

He walks away, and I sit there with Ollie curled up beside me, his head heavy on my leg, the smell of lemon tea and old book pages in the air.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m crashing on someone’s couch.

I feel like I might belong.

And that freaking terrifies me.