Filed to story: Violet and Rowan Ashcroft Book PDF Free
The car slows.
Before the driver can open the door, Rowan reaches into his jacket and pulls out a card.
Black. Matte. No logo. Just a name and a number embossed in silver.
He holds it out to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, already knowing it isn’t small.
“My attorney,” he says. “Use him if necessary. I’ll cover it.”
“I can’t do that,” I say immediately.
“You can,” he replies.
“And I won’t.”
He turns fully toward me then, eyes sharp. “You will.”
I shake my head. “Rowan-“
“I don’t need my top employee distracted by legal nonsense,” he cuts in. “Or sitting in a holding cell because a detective wants to posture.”
My mouth tightens,
“You make me thousands of dollars an hour,” he continues, voice low. “I’m not replacing you with someone incompetent because you’re trying to be principled.”
A beat.
“I’ve already tolerated Avery,” he adds. “I won’t do it again.”
I stare at the card.
Then I take it.
“…Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods once, like the matter is closed.
The car stops.
I step out onto the sidewalk, the night air cold against my exposed skin. I straighten the dress automatically, tugging it down even though it won’t move.
The door closes behind me.
I watch the car pull away, taillights disappearing into traffic, taking Rowan Ashcroft with it.
Then I turn toward the police station.I hate this place.
Not because I hate authority. Not because I hate procedure.
I hate it because of him.
Because Detective Calder knows exactly how to push. Exactly how to make my skin crawl: Exactly how to make me feel like I’m already guilty of something I didn’t do.
I square my shoulders and walk inside anyway.
The front desk is louder than I remember.
Phones ringing. Boots on tile. Laughter that feels out of place. Then it stops-just enough for me to notice the way Detective Calder freezes when he sees
He does a double take.
Actually stops mid-sentence.
His mouth parts before he can stop it. Around him, two other detectives glance up-and then stare. Not subtly. Not politely.
I don’t slow.
I meet Calder’s eyes and say evenly, “Are you going to question me, or should I go home?”
The moment snaps.
His jaw tightens. His surprise hardens into something colder. Controlled.
“This way,” he says quickly, already turning.
He doesn’t touch me, but he escorts me with a hand hovering at my back, guiding me down the hall like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks. The interrogation room door shuts behind us with a dull thud.
Fluorescent lights. Metal table. Two chairs.
I sit before he tells me to.
That irritates him.
He takes the chair across from me, flips open a file, then finally looks up-just once. His eyes drag over the dress, the heels, the way I’m holding myself like I belong somewhere better than this room.
“What’s with the dress?” he asks.
“I was working,” I reply.
His brow lifts. “Working.”
“Yes.”
“For who?” he presses.
I don’t hesitate. “Rowan Ashcroft.”
That lands.
He looks down at the file again, suddenly very interested in the papers. He doesn’t respond right away, just flips a page that doesn’t need flipping.
“Corporate dinner,” I continue, because I won’t let him frame the narrative. “Investors. Development projects. My job was to make sure everything went according to plan.”
“You attend a lot of dinners with your boss?” he asks, still not looking at me.
“When required.”
He exhales through his nose. “Convenient.”
“Accurate,” 1 correct.
“We tracked your brother’s phone,” he says.
My breath catches. “Tracked it where?”
“The docks,” he replies. “East side. Cargo terminal.”
I stare at him, waiting for the rest. Waiting for the part where this stops being vague and starts being unbearable.
“The phone pinged there late Thursday night,” he continues. “We followed the signal trail. CCTV. Shipping logs.”
My hands curl into fists on the table. “And?”
He finally looks up.
And I know.
“We found him,” Calder says.
The room tilts.
“No,” I whisper.
“He was deceased when we arrived.”
Something breaks in my chest-sharp and sudden, like glass under pressure. My vision blurs, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
“You found him?” I choke out. “You found him and you waited to tell me?”
Tears spill before I can stop them. I shove my chair back, standing abruptly. “Why-why would you not tell me this over the phone? Why would you drag me down here like this?”Calder stands too, blocking my path as I try to move past him. “Sit down.”
“Get out of my way,” I yell, voice cracking. “You had no right-“
“You’re not leaving,” he says sharply.
I freeze.
“What?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “You’re now a person of interest.”
I laugh-hysterical, broken. “Are you fucking serious?”
“You were the last number your brother called,” he says. “Minutes before his phone went dark.”
My knees feel weak. “That doesn’t mean-
“It means,” he interrupts, “that until we establish otherwise, you’re a suspect.”
The word hits harder than the news itself.
“You waited,” I sob. “You waited to tell me my brother was dead just so you could corner me?”
“That’s enough,” he snaps.
“No,” I shout back. “This is enough. I want a lawyer.”
Calder’s expression shifts-calculating. “Can you even afford one?”
That does it.
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, shaking but furious now. “I want my phone call. Now!”
Rowan
I don’t take Avery upstairs.
That alone should tell me something is wrong.
She’s draped across my living room couch when I get home, heels discarded, lipstick smeared, the sharp smell of alcohol clinging to her skin. The television hums softly to no one. She murmurs something incoherent when the door closes, but I don’t slow. I don’t look back.
1 go straight upstairs.
I shut the bedroom door behind me and stand there for a moment longer than necessary, hands braced against the wood, jaw tight.
Because Violet Pierce is still in my head.
Not the way she usually is-efficient, precise, quiet in the background of my day. Not the way I notice her competence and file it away as useful.
Tonight, it’s the dress.
Black. Sleek. Shining faintly under the restaurant lights. The way it fit her like it had always been meant for her body, not Avery’s. The way she moved in it -careful, contained, like she was wearing armor she hadn’t asked for but refused to let crack.
She didn’t preen. Didn’t enjoy it.
She endured it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I strip my jacket off and toss it over the chair, unbuttoning my cuffs with sharp, impatient movements. My reflection in the mirror looks unchanged- controlled, collected-but my thoughts refuse to follow.
She belonged there.
That’s the problem.
She looked like she fit in my world. Like she had always been meant to sit beside me at that table, fielding questions, absorbing attention, handling pressure without flinching.
Like she was already mine.
The thought settles heavy in my chest, unwelcome and undeniable.
I reach for my phone, intending to check the time, maybe message Theo-anything to redirect the spiral-
It rings instead.
I don’t look at the screen. “What?” I say, already irritated.
“Rowan.”
Devin.
That gets my attention.
1 straighten slightly. “What is it?”
His voice is clipped, professional-but there’s tension under it. “I’m at the station.”
My stomach tightens. “Why?”
“It’s Violet,” he says. “They’re holding her.”
The room goes very still.
“Explain,” I say.
“They tracked her brother’s phone,” Devin continues. “Pinged at the docks. They found him.”
I don’t ask what that means.
“And now?” I prompt.
“And now they’re treating her like a suspect,” he says. “She was the last call on his phone. They’re not letting her leave.”
