The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 125

***Violet***

The room is smaller than I expected.

No aisle. No flowers. No music.

Just a rectangular space with pale walls, a single desk, a couple of chairs, and a woman behind that desk flipping through paperwork like she’s done this a thousand times—because she probably has.

There’s a faint hum from the fluorescent lights above us, the kind that makes everything feel a little too sharp, a little too real.

This isn’t romantic.

This isn’t magical.

This is… official.

Final.

Rowan’s hand stays at the small of my back the entire time.

Firm.

Grounding.

Unmoving.

Like if I try to step away, he’ll feel it immediately.

Devin steps forward first, already handling the logistics. His voice is low, efficient, as he slides documents across the desk, answers questions before they’re fully asked. Theo stands off to the side, arms crossed, scanning the room like he expects something to go wrong. Camille lingers closer to me, her presence softer, quieter—but I can feel her watching me.

Checking.

Making sure I’m still here

“Names?” the clerk asks, barely glancing up.

“Rowan Ashcroft.”

That gets her attention.

Her pen pauses mid-stroke.

She looks up slowly, really looking at him now, recognition flickering across her face before she masks it.

“And the bride?”

My throat tightens.

“Violet Pierce.”

She writes it down, slower this time.

More deliberate.

There’s a pause as she flips the paperwork around, tapping the page lightly. “You’ll both sign here first. Witnesses will sign after.”

Devin steps in immediately, handing Rowan a pen.

Of course he does.

Rowan doesn’t hesitate. He signs like he signs everything—clean, controlled, final.

No second thoughts.

No pause.

Then the pen is in my hand.

It feels heavier than it should.

I stare at the line for a second longer than necessary.

Violet Pierce.

That name is about to change.

That thought hits harder than anything else so far.

Rowan’s thumb brushes lightly against my lower back.

A silent push.

A reminder.

I sign.

The clerk nods once. “Witnesses.”

Theo steps forward first, already reaching for the pen.

But the clerk lifts a hand.

“Actually—” she says, glancing between him and Rowan, “family members aren’t preferred for witnesses in situations like this. It’s better to have non-related parties sign.”

Theo freezes mid-step.

“…Seriously?” he mutters.

“It avoids complications,” she says simply, already sliding the pen toward Devin instead.

Theo exhales under his breath, stepping back with a slight shake of his head. “Figures.”

Camille nudges him lightly. “Relax, you still get to be emotionally present.”

“Yeah, that helps,” he mutters dryly.

Devin signs without hesitation, his signature precise and sharp.

Camille steps forward next, taking the pen with a small smile that doesn’t quite hide the emotion in her eyes. She signs slower, more deliberately, like she understands exactly what this moment means.

Then she looks at me.

Just for a second.

Soft.

Supportive.

The clerk gathers the paperwork, straightening it into a neat stack.

“Alright,” she says. “We’ll proceed with verbal confirmation.”

No speech.

No ceremony.

Just this.

She looks at Rowan first.

“Rowan Ashcroft, do you take Violet Pierce to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Yes.”

Immediate.

Certain.

Then her gaze shifts to me.

“Violet Pierce, do you take Rowan Ashcroft to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might give me away.

I look at him.

At the man who brought me here.

Who pulled me into this.

Who stands in front of me like there’s no other outcome.

And somehow—

That steadiness pulls me in.

“Yes.”

She nods once.

“Do you wish to exchange personal vows?” she asks.

Rowan speaks before I can even process the question.

“Yes.”

Of course he does.

The officiant nods. “Mr. Ashcroft, you may begin.”

My breath catches.

Rowan steps closer.

Not far.

Just enough.

Enough that I can feel him.

His voice, when he speaks, is low.

Controlled.

But there’s something underneath it now.

Something darker.

Something real.

“I don’t believe in promises I can’t control,” he says.

The officiant blinks slightly.

That was… not standard.

“I don’t believe in fate,” he continues. “Or luck. Or any of the things people use to explain why they choose someone.”

His eyes don’t leave mine.

Not once.

“I believe in decisions.”

My heart starts pounding.

“And this—” his voice drops slightly, “—is mine.”

A pause.

“I’m choosing you.”

Something tightens in my chest.

“Not because it’s easy. Not because it fixes things.” His jaw flexes slightly. “But because you can stand in the middle of everything that follows me… and not break.”

His hand lifts slowly.

Carefully.

Like even now, he’s aware of how much space he takes up.

His fingers brush against mine.

“You don’t run,” he says quieter now. “You don’t fold. You don’t pretend.”

His thumb presses lightly against my knuckle.

Grounding.

Claiming.

“And I want that,” he finishes. “I want you.”

Silence fills the room.

Heavy.

Thick.

The officiant clears her throat slightly. “Miss Pierce?”

My turn.

I swallow.

Because how do you respond to that?

To him?

“I don’t believe in this either,” I admit softly.

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

Of course I don’t.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

Not offended.

Just… listening.

“But…”

I take a breath.

“I’m still here.”

Something shifts in his expression.

“I could’ve walked away,” I say. “I could’ve left. I could’ve said no.”

My fingers tighten slightly in his.

“But I didn’t.”

My voice lowers.

“I’m choosing you too.”

That lands.

Hard.

“Not because this is perfect,” I add. “But because for some reason… you make sense in all of this chaos.”

My throat tightens slightly.

“And I don’t know what that says about me.”

A flicker of something dangerous passes through his eyes.

Approval.

Possession.

“But I’m not going anywhere,” I finish quietly.

The clerk nods once.

“That’s sufficient.”

She stamps the paperwork with a firm, final sound that echoes louder than it should in the quiet room.

“By the authority vested in me, you are now legally married.”

A pause.

Then, almost as an afterthought—

“You may kiss.”

Rowan doesn’t wait.

His hand comes up immediately, fingers wrapping around my jaw—not rough, but firm enough that I don’t mistake it for anything gentle.

He tilts my face toward his, forcing my attention fully onto him.

On nothing else.

And then his mouth is on mine.

It’s not soft.

Not careful.

Not for show.

It’s possession.

His lips press against mine with controlled force, deliberate, claiming—not rushed, but not hesitant either. Like he’s taking his time, but there’s nothing uncertain about it.

My breath catches instantly.

My hand lifts without thinking, pressing against his chest, feeling the solid heat of him beneath the suit.

He angles his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make my knees weaken, his grip on my jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before easing—like he’s reminding me exactly who he is, and then choosing not to overwhelm me with it.

It’s grounding.

Overpowering.

Consuming.

There’s no audience in his mind.

No room.

No witnesses.

Just me.