The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 154

***Violet***

The ride back to the penthouse is silent. Not calm silent. Not tired silent. Dangerous silent.

Rowan sits beside me in the backseat, one arm stretched across the seat behind me like instinct keeps forcing him to touch me somehow, even when his mind is clearly somewhere else entirely. His jaw has been tight the entire drive. His phone hasn’t stopped vibrating once.

Calls. Texts. Emails. Updates. Problems.

Every few seconds, the city lights passing through the windows cut across his face sharply enough that I can see exactly how bad his mood actually is.

And honestly? I think everyone else in the SUV sees it too.

Theo keeps glancing back at him from the passenger seat before immediately looking away again.

When we finally pull into the underground garage beneath the penthouse building, Rowan gets out immediately. No hesitation. No pause. The second the SUV door opens, he’s moving.

I barely have time to catch up before we’re inside the private elevator. The silence inside the elevator feels suffocating.

Rowan stands beside me with his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead while the numbers climb higher and higher toward the nineteenth floor.

I glance at him carefully. Nothing. No softness. No teasing. No warmth from earlier when he carried me over his shoulder talking about kids and houses and futures.

That version of him disappeared the second Devin said explosion.

The elevator doors open.

And the second we step inside the penthouse... Everything detonates.

“Absolutely fucking unacceptable.” Rowan’s voice echoes through the penthouse hard enough to make me jump slightly.

Theo slams the door shut behind us while Devin appears out of nowhere it seems and immediately starts talking over him. “The security team failed before the blast even happened—”

“Someone had access,” Rowan snaps.

“I know that.”

“Then how the fuck does my building explode?”

The tension in the room spikes instantly.

Camille looks at me with wide eyes. I just slowly exhale.

Because this? This is the real Rowan Ashcroft.

Not the man who held me in his lap looking at houses. Not the man who cleaned me up gently in a courthouse bathroom.

This is the billionaire who built an empire from nothing and protects it like a wolf protecting its throat.

And right now... Something hit his territory.

The three men disappear upstairs into the loft within seconds. The glass doors slam shut hard enough the sound echoes through the penthouse. Then the yelling starts.

Muted slightly through the walls. But loud enough.

“What do you mean the feeds cut out?”

“You’re telling me nobody noticed?”

“Get legal on the fucking phone—”

I exhale slowly.

Camille stares upward for a second before grimacing. “Well. They’re terrifying.”

“A little.”

“A little?” she repeats. “Violet, I think Rowan just verbally murdered someone through a speakerphone.”

Honestly? Fair.

I walk toward the living room slowly before reaching for Rowan’s tablet where he left it earlier.

The house listings are still open. The woodland estate still pulled up on the screen. The greenhouse. The wraparound porch. The future.

Something twists painfully in my chest. Because for one stupid second earlier... Things felt normal.

Now?

Now I feel like I’m sitting in the middle of a war zone pretending I know what I’m doing.

My phone buzzes.

**KEVIN:** *Final files uploaded.*

Camille immediately drops beside me on the couch. “Okay,” she says, pulling her knees up underneath herself. “Let’s ruin some lives.”

I snort softly despite myself. Then I open the files.

At first, it’s just paperwork. Hiring documents. Background checks. Employment history. Nothing immediately insane.

But the longer we go through it... The stranger it gets.

“This is flimsy,” I mutter.

Camille leans closer. “What is?”

“Her paperwork.”

I scroll slowly through Avery’s employment records again. “She has experience,” I say carefully. “Enough that it wouldn’t raise immediate alarms…”

“But?”

“There’s no depth.”

Everything about Avery’s records feels too clean. Too polished. No gaps. No mistakes. No weird jobs. No messy transitions.

Just perfectly curated experience leading directly into Rowan’s world.

“That’s creepy,” Camille mutters.

I open another file. Access logs. Rows and rows of timestamps. Badge scans. Elevator access. Parking entries.

My brows pull together harder the longer I stare. “These times make no sense.”

Camille scoots closer.

Avery’s badge accessed executive floors at two in the morning multiple times. Weekend entries. Holiday access. Late-night conference room usage. Rows of activity that shouldn’t exist for a normal assistant.

“She was definitely meeting someone,” Camille says quietly.

“Or helping someone.”

I scroll further. Deleted calendar entries. Private room reservations. Executive access overrides.

Then... Phone logs. Hundreds of them.

My eyes narrow. “Wait.”

“What?”

I point toward the timestamps. “She kept calling the same number repeatedly during her first few months here.”

Camille leans over me slightly. “Can we trace it?”

“Maybe.”

The number disappears completely after a certain point. Like it stopped existing. Which somehow makes it worse.

I set the tablet down briefly and grab my phone instead.

Google search.

Avery Quinneth.

Enter.

Nothing. Not literally nothing. But close enough to make my skin crawl. A LinkedIn page with almost no activity. No tagged photos. No social media. No old accounts. No digital footprint. No personal phone number attached publicly. Nothing.

“That’s… not normal.” Camille whispered.

“No.”

Not in this day and age. Not for someone our age. Not for someone who supposedly worked political internships and high-level administrative jobs.

It’s like she appeared out of nowhere two years ago. And now she’s attached to Hargrove at the hip.

My stomach twists harder. “Who the hell is this bitch?” I mutter.

Upstairs, something slams loudly in the loft.

Rowan’s voice cuts through the penthouse again, sharper this time. “Then find out who authorized it!”

Silence follows. Then more yelling.

Camille glances upward nervously before looking back at me. “You okay?”

“No,” I answer honestly.

Because I’m not. I’m angry. I’m exhausted.

And every single thing we uncover somehow makes this worse. Not better. Worse.

My phone buzzes again.

**KEVIN**: *Email reset completed.*

A second message follows immediately.

**KEVIN:** *Temporary password only. She can reset it anytime. Download whatever you need fast.*

My pulse spikes instantly.

Camille sees it immediately. “Oh my God.”

I open the message. Username. Temporary password. Administrative recovery access.

Everything we need.

My fingers move before my conscience can catch up. I type in the login information.

The loading screen spins once. Twice.

Then...The inbox opens.

And both of us freeze.