Not Nice But Neat

The snap of the cold sheet against my bare skin woke me. I was alone.

I sat up instantly, the movement sharp, violent. My eyes focused on the space beside me. Empty. The pillow still held the faint, metallic scent of her cheap shampoo, a ghost of her presence that felt like a slap in the face. My chest seized, a thick, knotting pain in my ribs. An animal snarl was trapped in my throat, a sound I couldn't release.

I got out of the bed. The hotel suite was too quiet, too clean, suddenly enormous and sterile without her chaos. No note. No warning. Just the scent and the ringing silence.

I walked to the balcony, the marble cold beneath my feet. I, Icen Knight, one of the most powerful men in the world, had let a woman walk out on me—a strange, chaotic woman I had known for forty-eight hours. She took the ring, a gesture of finality that was a brilliant, sharp insult.

Idiot. The word was a self-inflicted wound.

Panic hit me, cold and fast, cutting through the shock. It wasn't about the pride or the jewelry. It was about her. Her raw honesty. Her fire. The way her mouth went slack when she screamed my name. I felt like I was missing a piece of my own skin, a vital layer ripped away.

I dressed in three minutes flat. I didn't wait for the staff. I grabbed the first available line of inquiry: the airlines. I tracked every possible passenger list leaving the city. She had used a ticket bought with a winning raffle. Willa Moore. That was the only solid thing I had left.

I flew out immediately, leaving my brother’s stupid, corporate-mandated wedding in flames. Edward could handle his own mess. I had a bigger disaster to deal with: the sudden, gaping void in my life.

For four long years, I searched. My security teams checked every lead. The problem wasn't money; money could buy anything except a woman who refused to stay still. She would get a job, plant a temporary stake, then move. Get an apartment, then vanish. She was a ghost who refused to plant roots. Every time my people got close, the report would come back: the apartment was empty, the lease broken. She had already packed her messy clothes and moved to a new city, a new state. She kept moving, and I kept failing to secure her.

The lack of control drove me crazy. I had never wanted anything this badly. Not a massive deal, not a hostile takeover, not even revenge on Edward. I wanted her back in my room, pinned under my hands, her mouth screaming my name into the damp pillow.

The obsession became quiet, cold, and calculated. I took the Knight Group, forcing my father to finally step down. I grew the company into something impossible, a towering fortress of power. But every move, every decision, was fueled by the memory of her chaos. The world had gone gray when she left. When she disappeared, the colors left me too.

I never stopped looking. I set traps deep in the infrastructure of data. I used data mining and every dirty trick I knew, digging into online job postings, social security numbers, and public records. I knew she couldn't stay hidden forever.

My team finally got lucky six months ago. A solid application. A clean resume. A woman finally applying for a serious, high-paying job. The name jumped out at me from the HR file, shattering the quiet focus I had built: Willa Violet Moore.

Violet. The color slammed into my memory. It suits her in all levels and aspects, because she brings life and color to everything she touched, including me. She was chaos and light, a flash of pure color in my ordered, dark world.

I didn't let anyone know. I had my HR department move her application along. I watched the files like a hawk, making sure she got the final interview. I needed her close. I needed her trapped inside my fortress.

The last few weeks were pure torture. I barely slept, waiting for her to walk through those doors. I kept my office cold, the climate control cranked down, reminding myself of the ice I needed to be. I rehearsed my face in the dark reflection of my phone screen, making sure the shock was absent, replaced only by cold, contained control. I couldn't let her see the years of corrosive need, the sheer, frantic relief of having found her again.

This morning, I drove myself in—an unnecessary action that grounded me. I watched the antique clock on the wall. The job was good. The pay was high. She would take it. She had to. Her survival instinct was too strong.

I leaned back in my chair, the massive mahogany desk a barrier, a defense. I heard the muffled chatter outside—Leona, Sam, the usual nonsense. Then the sound I had played in my head for years: the soft click of the outer office door.

I looked up.

She walks in. And the air leaves my lungs again. Just like on the plane, just like in the hotel suite. Gone.

She was different. Gone was the anime shirt and the beautiful chaos. She wore a tight black skirt, a silk blouse, heels that looked new and stiff. She looked clean, professional, controlled. Exactly what I looked like. It felt wrong, like putting a wild animal in a cage. But God, she looked good. Sharper.

Then the name hit my ears again, announced by Leona, perfectly rehearsed. "Willa Violet Moore."

I let the slow, arrogant smirk curve my mouth. It took immense effort to hold the line. Inside, I was a wrecking ball of relieved tension. Four years of craving was hitting me all at once.

“Hello, Willa.” My voice was low, exactly the tone I practiced—commanding, unconcerned.

Her face was a masterpiece of pure horror. Her beautiful eyes went wide, reflecting the bright lights of the office. She looked like she was seeing a ghost, or maybe the devil himself. Good. Fear meant she remembered the price of walking away.

I watched her body language. The way her hands instinctively crossed over her abdomen, the tiny tremor in her lips. She was cornered. She couldn't run now.

I had been chasing a woman. Now I had my prey secured.

I looked at Willa, looking so prim and professional, and I knew the rules had just changed entirely. She wasn't just a challenge anymore. She was mine. I had spent four years earning the right to claim her.

She thought she was here for a job. She was here for me to claim the woman who stole my peace and my color.

I kept my eyes locked on hers, letting the silence stretch, letting the dread wash over her. I was home. And I wasn't letting her go this time.

She wanted chaos? She was about to get it, wrapped up in a nice, neat CEO suit.