Chapter 4

Violette's POV

The ringtone droned in my ear as the man ahead of me came to a halt.

Under my gaze, he drew a phone from his suit pocket, answered it, and turned around.

Across the dozen meters between us, his eyes found mine with surgical precision.

Deep brown irises, a sharp brow ridge, an impeccable jawline. Leon.

No—I had to call him Roderick Harris now.

My fingers locked, and I killed the call.

The screen went dark, but my heart had already leapt into my throat, my palms slick with cold sweat.

The most powerful man in Oakland, the man who controlled the Harris empire, had spent three years as my kept lover in a downtown apartment. And just hours ago, I'd dismissed him like a beggar, tossing him a million dollars and a used Aston Martin as severance.

I was out of my mind.

After the shock came a visceral wariness. Why had he hidden his identity? What was he after? Now that I'd humiliated him so thoroughly, given Roderick's ruthless reputation in the business world, would he retaliate through the partnership? If he strangled Grant Corporation's projects, the company's cash flow would collapse entirely.

I drew a deep breath and forced down the rising panic.

For the sake of the deal, I had to pretend I knew nothing.

I climbed the steps in my heels and conjured a flawless professional smile.

"Mr. Harris," I said, stopping before him with polite detachment. "I'm Violette Morrison from Grant Corporation. Regarding the partnership between our companies, I was hoping we might discuss it now, if you have a moment?"

He stood above me on the landing, looking down.

Those eyes that had once smoldered with desire in bed now held only ice.

He said nothing, his brown gaze utterly flat, as though I were a stranger beneath his notice.

My smile was beginning to crack when I prepared to speak again, but he simply turned away and strode toward the revolving door, dismissing me entirely.

"Mr. Harris!" Desperation sharpened my voice, and I moved to follow.

A man in a charcoal suit stepped smoothly into my path, blocking me completely.

"Miss Morrison." The assistant, Thorne, raised one hand with bureaucratic precision, his tone edged with warning. "Mr. Harris has a full schedule. He does not see unscheduled visitors. Please leave."

I was forced to stop, watching Roderick's broad shoulders disappear through the glass doors.

Something lodged in my chest, heavy and unwelcome.

Three years of skin against skin, countless nights tangled in sheets, and now we were strangers.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and turned to go.

Just then, a red Ferrari screamed to a halt in front of the building, brakes shrieking. The door swung open, and a young woman in a haute couture suit leapt out.

Blonde, blue-eyed, tall, her smile blazing with confidence.

"Roderick!" She ran up the steps in her stilettos, bypassing security entirely, and slipped into the lobby to loop her arm through his.

Roderick stopped and glanced down at her.

I stood outside, watching as the hard lines of his face softened instantly.

He tilted his head to listen to whatever she was saying, then actually smiled—a small, indulgent curve of his mouth.

That smile drove a spike through my chest.

A sour ache bloomed there, followed by a flare of irrational anger.

Three years, and I had never seen him smile like that. Never with that kind of tenderness.

Was I jealous? Of course I was.

Even though I'd been the one to end it, seeing my man turn that face toward another woman so easily—anyone would feel the sting.

But clarity returned quickly.

Violette, what right do you have to be jealous? You broke it off. You pushed him away.

And who was he? The CEO of Harris Corporation. He could have any woman he wanted.

I dug my nails into my palm, the pain dragging me back to reality.

I was surrounded on all sides—William and Isabel circling like vultures at home, Grant Corporation teetering on the edge of collapse.

What I needed was to secure the Harris contract, not stand here mourning some man's new companion.

I turned and walked to my car, yanked the door open, and floored the accelerator away from Harris headquarters.

The car cut through Oakland's streets, and it wasn't until I'd been driving for some time that I realized I'd gone back to the apartment without thinking.

I pushed open the door. The place was quiet.

I kicked off my shoes and walked in. The living room looked untouched, as though no one had ever lived there.

I opened the bedroom door. Half the closet was empty.

In the bathroom, the electric razor and black toothbrush cup were gone from the counter.

On the nightstand, the bank card loaded with a million dollars and the Aston Martin key fob lay side by side, undisturbed.

He'd left cleanly, taking nothing, leaving nothing behind.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers trailing over the smooth sheets.

Hours ago, we'd been tangled here together.

His warm breath, the hard planes of his body, that maddening sense of fit—I remembered it all too clearly.

To say I didn't miss it would be a lie.

It had been three years, after all.

During the worst, most suffocating days, only in this room, only with this man, had I been able to forget the wreckage of the Grant family empire and be myself, even briefly.

But now it was over.

Leon was dead. Only Roderick Harris remained.

I sighed and was about to get up and wash my face when my phone buzzed violently in my bag.

It was my assistant, Emily.

I answered, and before I could speak, her frantic voice cut through.

"Miss Morrison, we have a problem!"

My eyes sharpened. "What happened?"

"William just showed up at the office with Isabel." Emily's words tumbled out in a rush, the sound of shouting audible in the background. "I don't know how they got into the VIP lounge, but they walked in on Mr. Fraser waiting for you. Isabel insisted on drinking the specialty tea that had been served to Mr. Fraser, they got into an argument, and William started shouting at him—pointed right in his face and called him names."

I shot to my feet, my expression going cold. "Where's Fraser now?"

"He left. He was furious. He said Grant Corporation has no sense of decorum, that he'll never do business with a company like ours. He's not only canceling all orders for the second half of the year—he's sending his legal team after us for breach of contract!"

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles went white.

Fraser was Grant Corporation's largest raw materials supplier.

Alienating him meant our production lines wouldn't last two weeks.

The entire company would grind to a halt without his supply chain.

William, you absolute idiot.

He wasn't content with destroying my marriage—now he was going to destroy three years of my work.

"Keep William there. Do not let him leave the building. I'm on my way."