Off The Record

Chapter 4

Sunlight spilled unevenly across the floor of Violet’s bedroom, illuminating the chaos of a half-packed box. Clothes were draped haphazardly over the armchair, and shoes littered the base of the wardrobe as she stared down at the mess with a tired sigh. Packing for a mandatory, week-long promotional stint under the guise of an exclusive documentary was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

She tossed a neatly folded sweater into the box, trying to push away the memory of the night before—and the way the simple, casual abbreviation of V had unsettled her more than any corporate threat ever could.

Before she could zip the lid shut, her phone lit up on the mattress with a sharp chime, breaking the quiet. An incoming text from an unknown number.

Morning. Need your exact address so the driver can pick you up for the estate. — E.

Violet rolled her eyes, typing back her street address before finishing her packing and hauling her box down to the curb. But the morning air grew sharply warmer under her collar the second a sleek, unfamiliar sedan pulled up to the curb instead of a standard hired cab.

The driver's side door clicked open, and instead of a chauffeur in a sharp suit, Ezra stepped out. He looked entirely too good in a casual dark jacket, though the faint tension in his jaw suggested he was bracing himself for a fight.

Violet crossed her arms, leaning against her packed box. "Where is the driver?"

Ezra offered a half-apologetic, half-hopeful smile, leaning back against the car door. "I told him I’d handle it. Thought it would be better if we rode together from the start. Less middlemen."

Right, Violet thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. More forced proximity. But she didn't argue. She just sighed, loaded her box into the trunk herself, and slid into the passenger seat.

For the first twenty minutes, the silence in the car was thick enough to slice with a scalpel. Violet stared out the window, watching the city blur past, while Ezra kept his eyes glued to the road.

He's terrified I'm going to yell at him, Violet realized, a faint, amused twitch hitting the corner of her lips. The irony wasn't lost on her. Years ago, he was the one unfazed by everything while she stressed over every little detail. Now, he looked like a man walking a tightrope over an active volcano.

"You know," Violet broke the silence softly, turning her head toward him, "if you keep glaring at the pavement like that, it's going to crack."

Ezra flinched slightly, shooting a quick, apologetic glance her way before snapping back to the road. "Just making sure we stay on schedule. Estate management gave specific directions."

Clearly not specific enough, she thought ten minutes later when the surrounding buildings suddenly grew unfamiliar, replaced by towering overgrown trees and narrow, winding asphalt that definitely did not look like the route to an executive estate.

Ezra slowed the car to a crawl at a desolate intersection. He tapped the GPS screen mounted on the dashboard once. Then twice. Harder.

"That's... that's weird," he muttered under his breath, his voice pitching just a fraction higher. He whipped the car around into an empty gas station lot, throwing it into park with jerky precision.

"The map said to take the third exit off the dual carriage, but everything looks completely different."

Violet watched him out of the corner of her eye. The cool, collected pop-star exterior was officially crumbling. He was frantically swiping at his phone, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

Oh, he is actually panicking, she thought, a bubble of genuine surprise blooming in her chest.

"Ezra," she said, her voice eerily calm.

He froze, his head snapping toward her like he was bracing for a slap. "I know, I know. This is a disaster. I'm completely messing up day one, and you just wanted a quiet week off, and I swear I didn't mean to get us lost—"

"Ezra," she repeated, louder this time, a small, quiet laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it.

He blinked, staring at her in sheer bewilderment. "You're... you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Violet unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning back comfortably against the headrest as she looked at him. "You're the one sweating through your jacket while I get paid to sit here and watch you fail at basic navigation. Honestly? This is the most entertaining thing that's happened to me all week."

Ezra stared at her, the frantic panic in his eyes slowly melting into a stunned, disbelieving smile. The tension in his shoulders finally dropped an inch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he murmured, a soft, self-deprecating laugh slipping past his lips.

"Immensely," Violet replied smoothly, checking her nails. "Now, give me the phone before you accidentally drive us into a lake."

A startled, genuine laugh broke through Violet’s composure, echoing brightly inside the quiet confines of the car.

Ezra didn't grab the phone. Instead, he just looked at her, the playful relief in his eyes melting into something softer, far more vulnerable. The humor faded from his features, leaving behind an intensity that made the air in the car suddenly feel thin.

"I missed that," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave as he gazed at her.

Violet froze, her laughter dying instantly in her throat. She blinked, the teasing banter evaporating under the weight of his words. Missed what? she wanted to ask, but her vocal cords refused to cooperate. Before she could find her defensive shield, Ezra cleared his throat sharply, tearing his eyes away to look back at the dashboard.

"Hand over the GPS," he muttered, a faint flush creeping up the back of his neck. "Let's get this right."

With Violet navigating, they finally found their way out of the winding maze, the dense trees parting twenty minutes later to reveal a breathtaking, ultra-modern executive estate nestled against the hills. Glass walls, manicured lawns, and absolute seclusion—it looked like something straight out of a billionaire's architectural portfolio.

Ezra parked the car smoothly near the main entrance, killing the engine. Before Violet could even unbuckle, glass double doors swung open, and a cheerful young estate coordinator stepped out onto the paved walkway, holding a sleek tablet.

"Welcome! You must be Ezra and Violet," the coordinator beamed, stepping up to the passenger side as Violet stepped out. "We're so thrilled to host you both for the documentary week. Right this way—we’ve prepared the master executive suite for the couple."

Violet stopped dead in her tracks, her hand hovering over the strap of her bag. Couple?.

She whipped her head around to look at Ezra, her jaw tightening, only to find him standing beside her with a look of absolute, unadulterated panic mirrored in his eyes.