The lobby's marble floors blur through my tears.
I fumble for my phone, fingers clumsy and desperate, and dial Adison's number. It rings once. Twice. Then the screen flashes with rejection—call declined.
Panic claws at my throat. She's not answering. She's probably still processing everything my mother said, and here I am, falling apart in a building lobby like the dramatic mess Victoria always accused me of being.
No. I refuse to prove her right.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and scroll through my contacts until I find the Ward Enterprises main line. My thumb hovers over the call button for half a second before I press it.
"Ward Enterprises, how may I direct your call?" The receptionist's voice is polished. Professional. Everything I'm not right now.
"Zachary." I force the name out steady. "I need to speak with Zachary Cooper. Adison's assistant."
"One moment, please."
Hold music fills my ear—something classical and expensive-sounding. I press my back against the cold marble wall and try to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
"This is Zachary Cooper." His voice comes through measured and calm. Professional to his core.
"It's Violet." My throat tightens around the words. "Violet Snyder. Is Adison—"
"She's en route to the office." He pauses, and something in the silence shifts. "Is everything alright?"
The genuine concern in his voice undoes something I was barely holding together.
"Everything is wonderful, thanks so much." The sarcasm snaps out before I can stop it, sharp and defensive and completely unconvincing. "Just peachy. Living the dream."
I disconnect before my voice can betray me. And I run into the street chaos to hail a taxi. Adison needs me. I want to believe that. And I need her.
The taxi ride to Ward Enterprises passes in a blur of yellow lights and strangers' faces. I watch Manhattan slide past the window and try to assemble something resembling composure.
The glass tower rises before me like a monument to everything my family isn't. I pay the driver with hands that won't stop shaking and push through the revolving doors.
The reception area gleams with expensive minimalism. I approach the desk, backpack cutting into my shoulder, mascara probably streaked across my cheeks like war paint.
"I'm here to see Adison Ward." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "My name is Violet Snyder."
The assistant's eyebrows rise at the surname. Recognition flickers across her face—the calculating kind that makes me want to disappear.
"One moment." She reaches for her phone, and I stand there feeling exposed. Examined. Like a specimen under glass.
The elevator chimes behind me.
I turn, and Zachary emerges into the lobby. His gaze moves over me with quiet precision—the tear-streaked makeup, the hastily packed bag hanging from my shoulder, the barely-contained trembling I can't seem to control.
He doesn't say anything at first. Just observes.
"Something is clearly wrong." His voice carries no judgment. Just acknowledgment. "Though I suppose having Walter as a brother would do that to anyone."
I bristle automatically. "You don't know anything about my brother."
"I know enough." He tilts his head slightly. "More than enough, actually."
The deflection rises in my throat—some cutting remark about assumptions and strangers—but exhaustion swallows it before I can speak.
"Can I see Adison?" The question scrapes out smaller than I intend. "Please?"
"Come with me."
He turns toward the elevators without waiting for a response. I follow, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floors in a way that feels embarrassingly loud.
We walk together through corridors that smell like money and ambition. Glass walls reveal conference rooms full of important people having important conversations. Everything here screams power. Purpose. The opposite of the aimless chaos currently consuming my life.
"She had a difficult day." Zachary's voice breaks the silence. "The meeting with Walter. Then Victoria."
"I know." I clutch the strap of my backpack tighter. "I know exactly what happened."
He glances at me sideways but doesn't ask how. Some secrets aren't his to uncover.
The corridor opens into an executive suite. Adison stands in her office doorway, power suit immaculate, her posture carrying the weight of everything Walter dropped on her today.
She sees me, and her expression shifts. Confusion melting into concern melting into something I don't have words for.
My composure shatters.
I cross the distance between us in three uneven steps and fall into her arms. The backpack slides off my shoulder and hits the floor. My face presses against expensive silk. My body shakes with sobs I can't control anymore.
"I left." The words crack open, jagged and raw. "I left my home. My mother—I confronted her about everything, and she—"
I can't finish. The tears come too fast, too violent, drowning everything I'm trying to say.
Adison's arms tighten around me. She doesn't ask questions. Doesn't demand explanations. Just holds me while I fall apart in her doorway.
"I heard what she said to you." I choke the confession out between sobs. "In the sitting room. I heard everything she admitted, and then I asked her why—why I was never enough—"
"Violet." Adison's voice is soft. Steady. "Breathe."
"I have nowhere to go." The admission lands hollow and terrifying. "I just walked out with a backpack and no plan."
"You have somewhere to go." Adison's voice carries no hesitation. "You're here."
She holds me tighter, and I let myself be held.
For the first time in my life, someone is choosing to catch me.