The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 135

***Violet***

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Marcus grabs Rowan by the upper arm.

Not violently.

Not aggressively.

But firmly.

Professionally.

Like he knows exactly who Rowan is, exactly what kind of man he’s touching, and exactly how little room there is for ego right now.

The sight of it does something strange to me.

Because Rowan Ashcroft is the kind of man people move around.

Not the kind of man people move.

Yet Marcus does.

And Rowan lets him.

That might be the most shocking thing I’ve seen all day.

“We’ll do this downstairs,” Marcus says flatly.

Rowan doesn’t look at him.

His eyes stay on me.

Steady.

Unshaken.

Like he’s the one calming me down while being escorted away as a murder suspect.

“Stay here,” he says.

Simple.

Controlled.

Like this is any other meeting.

My throat tightens. “Rowan—”

“It’s fine.”

That tone again.

The one that makes it sound final before anyone can argue.

Marcus gives me one brief glance, not cold, not warm, just assessing, then starts guiding Rowan toward the elevator.

Rowan walks beside him like he’s heading into a boardroom instead of police questioning.

His shoulders straight.

Jaw set.

Unbothered.

I hate how attractive that is.

The elevator doors open.

Marcus steps in first.

Rowan follows.

But just before the doors close, he looks at me one last time.

And nods. A tiny movement. One that says more than words could.

Then he’s gone. The doors slide shut.

And panic slams into me.

“What the fuck!” Theo explodes immediately.

He starts pacing before the elevator even finishes descending, dragging both hands through his hair. “What the actual fuck is happening right now?”

“Enough,” Devin snaps.

I hadn’t even realized he’d moved.

He’s already collecting files, grabbing his tablet, shoving a charger into a leather bag while dialing someone on speaker.

“Yes,” he says into the phone. “I need two associates at the station in twenty minutes. Bring copies of every timeline we built tonight. Printed and digital.”

Pause.

“No, I do not care if they were asleep.”

He ends the call and points directly at Theo.

“You.”

Theo freezes mid-rant. “What?”

“Get your ass moving.”

Theo blinks. “Excuse me?”

Devin steps closer, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“You heard me. Get your ass, and these two women, down to the station.”

He points at me.

Then Camille.

“We are doing this the right way the first time.”

His eyes narrow.

“No fucking mistakes.”

Even Theo shuts up.

Camille mutters under her breath, “Kind of hot when he gets bossy.”

Devin doesn’t react.

I almost laugh. Almost.

Instead, my stomach twists harder.

He shoulders the bag.

“You’re credible witnesses. Courthouse timeline. Boutique timeline. Building entry footage. Transportation logs.”

His gaze sharpens again.

“You two are how we bury suspicion before it grows teeth.”

That sounds horrifying.

Camille rises from the couch. “Well. Love that for us.”

Theo points at the elevator. “This is insane. Rowan gets hauled off, Calder’s dead, Hargrove is still out there, and now we’re all going in for statements like some true crime special?”

“Yes,” Devin says.

Then after a beat:

“And if you keep talking, I’ll let them question you first without counsel.”

Theo’s mouth snaps shut.

I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.

Probably both.

I realize I’m still barefoot.

Still damp-haired.

Still wearing clothes I threw on in panic.

My whole life is absurd.

“I need shoes,” I say faintly.

Camille grabs my hand immediately. “I got you.”

She drags me toward the bedroom before anyone can respond.

Inside, she moves fast, rifling through bags and boxes from the shopping spree earlier.

“Here.”

White flats.

Still with the tags.

“Not ideal,” she says, kneeling to slide them toward me, “but honestly? Court-adjacent chic.”

I stare at her.

“You’re coping weird.”

She nods. “Yes.”

I sit on the bed and shove them on.

My hands are shaking now.

Not before.

Now.

Because Rowan being calm made it easier to pretend.

But he’s downstairs.

Being questioned.

Because someone murdered the man who murdered my brother.

And somehow—

That still circles back to us.

Camille crouches in front of me.

“Hey.”

I look up.

“He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” she admits. “But I know him.”

That helps more than it should.

We head back out.

Theo has found his keys and somehow lost them again.

Devin has three calls going at once.

The elevator is waiting.

Everything is moving too fast.

Again.

As we step inside, Theo finally mutters, “I swear to God, if they try to keep him overnight…”

“They won’t,” Devin says.

“How do you know?”

“Because if they intended to hold Rowan Ashcroft overnight, they would’ve needed three more floors of staff and a media barricade.”

Theo considers that.

“…Fair.”

The elevator descends.

My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored walls.

Messy hair.

Tired eyes.

New wife.

Potential witness.

Maybe target.

Definitely losing my mind.

Camille squeezes my hand.

Theo cracks his knuckles.

Devin types another email without looking up.

And somewhere below us... My husband is waiting in a police station.

I never thought that sentence would exist in my life.

Yet here we are.

The elevator doors slide open into the lobby.

Everything feels too bright.

Too polished.

Too normal for the kind of night we’re having.

Marble floors gleam beneath the soft gold lighting. The front desk sits pristine. The scent of cedar and citrus still lingers in the air like nothing in the world has changed.

But everything has changed.

I step out first this time, my pulse already too fast, my eyes immediately scanning for Rowan.

He should be here.

Waiting.

Leaning against a column like he owns the building.

Annoyed.

Untouchable.

Instead—

He’s nowhere.

My stomach drops.

Theo notices it too. “Where is he?”

Devin doesn’t answer.

He’s already striding toward the entrance.

The doorman, Jackson, straightens the second he sees us coming. But something in his posture is different now. Tighter. Less composed.

Not good.

“What happened?” Devin asks.

No greeting.

No pretense.

Jackson’s jaw tightens. “They took Mr. Ashcroft approximately four minutes ago.”

The air leaves my lungs.

Theo swears loudly. “Took him where?”

Jackson glances briefly at me, then back to Devin. “Unmarked police vehicle.”

That lands like a bomb.

“What?” I whisper.

“They stated,” Jackson continues carefully, “that I was to inform the rest of you to meet him at the station.”

Silence.

Then Devin changes.

It’s subtle at first.

His shoulders square harder. His jaw locks. The calm, hyper-efficient attorney from upstairs vanishes and something colder steps into his place.

Anger.

Real anger.

“Did they identify themselves?” Devin asks.

“Yes.”

“Names?”

Jackson rattles them off immediately.

Devin is already typing into his tablet before the man finishes.

Theo steps forward. “Can they even do that? Just take him?”

“No,” Devin says sharply. Then after a beat: “They *can*. They shouldn’t.”

There’s a difference in the way he says it that chills me.

I step closer. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Devin says, eyes never leaving the screen, “they intentionally removed him before counsel was present.”