The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 141

***Violet***

I shift forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table, mirroring his earlier posture.

“You want answers?” I say quietly. “Let’s talk about what you’re actually doing.”

The room stills.

The one to my right frowns. “You don’t ask questions here—”

“I’m not asking,” I cut in.

My eyes flick back to the one in front of me.

The leader. The one who thinks he’s in control.

“You’re pushing repetition,” I continue. “Same timeline. Same phrasing. You’re not looking for clarity—you’re looking for inconsistency.”

No one speaks. I don’t stop.

“You’re hoping I’ll get tired. Slip up. Add something extra. Contradict myself.”

I let a small pause settle.

Then I tilt my head again.

“But I won’t.”

That lands.

Harder than anything I’ve said so far.

The detective across from me leans back slightly, recalibrating.

So I press.

“You’re also escalating pressure by adding bodies to the room,” I gesture subtly. “Three of you. Rotating questions. Interrupting each other. Classic intimidation tactic.”

The one by the wall shifts.

Caught.

“And you,” I say, turning my attention back to the main detective.

He meets my gaze.

I study him for a second.

Really study him.

Then—

“How’s your wife doing after the divorce?”

Everything stops.

Completely.

All three of them freeze.

There it is.

I lean back slightly, watching it hit.

Confusion.

Then irritation.

Then something sharper.

“What?” he says flatly.

I nod toward his left hand.

“You still have a faint ring line,” I say calmly. “Right there. But the callus is gone. That takes a few months to fade.”

His hand curls slightly.

Instinct.

“You’ve been without it long enough that your skin adjusted, but not long enough that the mark disappeared completely.”

Silence.

The other two detectives glance at his hand before they can stop themselves.

I continue, voice steady.

“And the polish remover residue around your nails?” I add. “Likely your daughter. Weekend activity. Dress-up, maybe.”

His face hardens.

Good.

“You’re tired,” I say. “Stressed. Probably splitting time between work and custody. So yeah… I’d imagine you’re pushing hard tonight.”

I let the implication sit.

“Something to prove.”

He leans forward again, slower this time. “You think this is a game?”

“No,” I say softly. “I think you’re projecting.”

That one hits deeper.

I don’t give him time to recover.

I turn to the one on my right.

“You,” I say.

He straightens slightly.

“You keep writing everything down like it’s new,” I continue. “But you’re not the lead. You’re support. Trying to look useful.”

His pen stills.

“You’re not confident,” I add. “You hesitate before you speak. You repeat his phrasing.” I nod toward the lead detective. “You’re not building your own case, you’re backing his.”

His face flushes.

Got him.

“And the nicotine stains?” I gesture lightly toward his fingers. “You quit recently. Or you’re trying to. That irritability? It’s not me. It’s withdrawal.”

His jaw clenches.

Hard.

The one at the wall shifts again.

I turn to him last.

The observer.

The quiet one.

“You’re the most interesting,” I say.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. Just watches me.

Good.

“You don’t talk much,” I continue. “You let them push, you step in when needed. You’re here to apply pressure, not gather facts.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“Military background?” I guess. “Or trained that way. Structured. Controlled. But you’re not buying this.”

That one lands differently. He doesn’t react outwardly.

But I see it. The flicker.

“You haven’t interrupted me once,” I say. “Not really. Not like they have.”

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

“So tell me,” I lean forward again, voice quieter now, sharper, “which one of you actually thinks Rowan Ashcroft pulled the trigger?”

No one answers. Of course they don’t.

Because now... They’re not questioning me anymore.

They’re thinking. And that’s exactly where I want them.

I sit back again, crossing my arms this time.

Relaxed. Unbothered.

“I told you,” I say softly. “I’m not defensive.” My gaze moves between all three of them. “I’m observant.”

The moment I stop talking, the room snaps tight again—but this time, it’s not controlled.

It’s defensive.

The lead detective’s chair scrapes as he leans forward hard, palms flat against the table. “You think profiling us changes anything?” he snaps. “You think this is some kind of psychological exercise?”

The support guy jumps in right after him, voice louder, sharper, trying to regain ground. “You’re avoiding the questions. That’s what this is. You’re deflecting—”

“I answered every question,” I say calmly.

“You’re manipulating the room,” the lead cuts in.

“You’re losing control of it,” I correct.

That does it.

Both of them start talking at once now.

“You don’t get to dictate—”

“This is an active investigation—”

“Your husband is a suspect—”

“You think being married to money makes you untouchable—”

Their voices overlap, stepping over each other, trying to reestablish authority that slipped the second I stopped playing along.

It would almost be funny... If it wasn’t so obvious. They’re backpedaling. Hard.

Trying to shove everything back into place. Trying to get me small again. Trying to make this room feel like theirs.

It doesn’t. Not anymore. I don’t interrupt. I don’t raise my voice. I just sit there. Watching.

Letting them spiral. Because the more they talk over each other, the less this looks like control—and the more it looks like exactly what it is.

Messy. Unfocused. Personal.

And then... Silence. Not from them. From the third one. The quiet one.

He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. Hasn’t taken his eyes off me once.

While the other two stumble over each other, he just stands there. Staring. Studying.

Like he’s trying to figure something out. Like he’s not sure what box to put me in anymore.

Good.

The lead detective slams his hand lightly on the table. “Enough. We’re getting back on track.”

“Finally,” I mutter.

He ignores it. “Timeline. Again. Start from the courthouse—”

A sharp knock hits the glass behind them.

Once. Twice.

All three of them stop. Immediately.

Someone is waiting just outside.

But whatever it is... It matters.

Because all three of them step out.

No more questions.

No more pressure.

No more control.

The door shuts behind them with a dull click.

And just like that... I’m alone. Again.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty space where they were standing.

My pulse is still high. My hands finally start to shake. But I don’t let it take over.

Because something just changed.

The silence doesn’t last long.

It never does tonight.

A few seconds pass. Maybe ten. Maybe less. Just enough time for my heartbeat to settle into something almost manageable.

Then... The door opens again.

Not a knock. Not a warning. Just… opens.

I expect a detective. Devin. Maybe even Marcus.

What I get... Makes my stomach drop.

Councilwoman Hargrove steps inside like she owns the building. Polished. Composed. Dressed in power and money and the kind of confidence that only comes from never being told no.

And behind her... Avery.