The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 124

The cool air outside hits my skin as we step out, and everything feels sharper somehow—louder, faster, heavier.

Devin is already in the driver’s seat.

Theo’s up front, glancing back at us briefly.

Camille slides in beside me, her eyes immediately scanning my face. “You okay?” she murmurs under her breath.

I nod.

Even if it’s not entirely true.

Rowan follows in after me, his thigh brushing mine as he settles into the seat, his arm stretching behind me along the backrest like a silent claim.

The door shuts.

The world outside fades.

And as the SUV pulls away from the curb, my fingers brush lightly against the bag in my lap.

Against the receipt tucked safely inside.

Against the number I didn’t throw away.

The car is quiet.

Not the peaceful kind.

The heavy kind.

The kind that sits between us, thick and suffocating, filled with everything neither of us is saying out loud.

Devin drives like nothing is wrong, eyes forward, steady. Theo hasn’t turned around once. Camille is beside me, quiet for once, like even she knows this moment doesn’t need commentary.

And Rowan—

He’s right next to me.

Close enough that I can feel him without touching him.

Close enough that it feels inevitable.

We turn onto the street leading toward the courthouse.

That’s when it hits.

This is real.

This is actually happening.

I turn my head slightly, looking at him. “Rowan.”

He glances at me immediately, like he’s been waiting for it.

“What?”

I hesitate for half a second.

Then I ask it anyway.

“Is this something you actually want?”

The question hangs there.

Heavy.

Loaded.

He frowns slightly, like the answer should be obvious. Like the question itself doesn’t make sense to him.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

That easy.

That certain.

I swallow. “Or is this just… damage control?”

His jaw tightens just slightly.

Then he shifts, turning toward me more fully, his expression sharpening before it settles into something colder. More controlled.

“This fixes everything,” he says.

Not romantic.

Not soft.

Strategic.

Calculated.

Of course it is.

My chest tightens a little.

But then—

His voice lowers.

And something changes.

“I don’t do things I don’t want, Violet.”

My breath catches.

His eyes lock onto mine, steady, unflinching.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he continues. “And I know exactly who I’m choosing.”

That lands harder than it should.

“I need someone who can handle this,” he says, quieter now. “The chaos. The attention. The bullshit that follows me wherever I go.”

His gaze flicks over my face, slower this time.

Measured.

Intentional.

“And you can.”

I blink.

Because that—

That almost sounds like trust.

Almost.

His thumb brushes lightly against my hand where it rests between us.

“I’m not questioning this,” he adds. “Not for a second.”

A pause.

Then, softer... Rare. Real.

“I’m just wondering why it took so long.”

My breath stutters. “What?”

“For you,” he says simply. “For this.”

There’s something in his voice now.

Something quieter.

Less controlled.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Should’ve… figured it out before everything got this complicated.”

My chest tightens in a completely different way this time.

Because for Rowan... That’s vulnerability.

That’s everything.

“I’m glad I found you,” he says finally.

And there it is.

Simple.

Quiet.

But it hits harder than anything else he’s said.

The car slows.

Stops.

The courthouse.

Devin shifts into park. Theo opens his door. Camille exhales softly beside me.

And just like that, the moment breaks.

Rowan steps out first, then turns, offering me his hand.

Of course he does.

I take it.

Because at this point, there’s no version of this where I don’t.

We step out together, the air cooler here, sharper somehow. The building stands in front of us, plain, official, final.

We start walking.

But then... I stop.

Just for a second.

It’s enough.

Rowan notices immediately.

Of course he does.

He stops too, turning back toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

His voice isn’t harsh.

But it’s not soft either.

Concern wrapped in control.

“Are you okay?”

I hesitate.

Because this is stupid.

So stupid.

But it’s stuck in my head.

That woman.

Her voice.

Her smile.

Her number.

Before I can talk myself out of it—

“I don’t want you going back there.”

He blinks once.

“Back where?”

“The store,” I say, a little sharper than I meant to. “That boutique. I don’t care what they sell. I don’t care if they have the most exclusive, one-of-a-kind pieces in the world.”

I take a step closer.

“You don’t go back there.”

A pause.

Then... His mouth twitches. Just slightly.

“You jealous?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

That surprises him.

I can tell.

But I don’t back down.

“I am,” I say again. “And I’m not pretending I’m not.”

His eyes darken slightly.

Interested now.

Focused.

“If I’m doing this,” I continue, gesturing between us, the courthouse, everything, “if I’m becoming your wife—then I’m not dealing with other women throwing themselves at you like that.”

My voice steadies. Sharpens.

“I don’t believe in divorce, Rowan.”

That lands.

“This is it,” I say. “You’re stuck with me until one of us is dead.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then... He laughs.

Actually laughs.

Low.

Dark.

Genuine.

And it does something to me that I don’t want to unpack right now.

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he says immediately.

His hand comes up, brushing lightly along my jaw, his thumb resting just beneath my chin.

“And I like it,” he adds quietly.

My stomach flips.

“Knowing you’ll actually do something about it.”

Oh.

God.

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“Is that why you kept the receipt?”

I freeze.

Of course he noticed.

Of course he did.

I exhale slowly.

“Yes.”

His brow lifts slightly. “What are you planning?”

I hold his gaze.

“I’m filing a complaint.”

A pause.

“Against her?”

“Yes.”

“For what?” he asks, not mocking—curious.

“For being unprofessional,” I say simply. “For flirting with a client while checking him out. For writing her number on a receipt like she doesn’t have any sense of boundaries.”

My grip tightens slightly on my bag.

“I’m hoping she gets fired.”

Silence.

Then something dark flickers in his expression.

Approval.

“Good,” he says.

And there’s no hesitation in it.

No correction.

No restraint.

Just agreement.

His hand drops, but his presence doesn’t.

“Let’s go,” he says.

And this time, when he reaches for me, I don’t hesitate at all.

Because whatever this is... Forced.

Messy.

Insane.

It’s already too late to turn back.