Marian walked away.
Just like that.
She simply… left.
I stood there, staring at the space she'd occupied, my brain desperately trying to catch up.
That was it?
That was what she wanted to talk about?
"We used to be familiar."
That sentence replayed in my head on a loop, growing louder each time.
I turned slowly and walked back toward Mack, my steps unsteady but controlled enough that no one would think anything was wrong. Years of customer service and corporate masking kicked in automatically. Smile neutral. Shoulders relaxed. Don't panic in public.
Mack glanced at me the moment I reached him.
"That didn't take long," he said quietly. "What did she want?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
"…Nothing," I said.
He frowned. "Nothing?"
"Just… talking."
Mack studied my face, clearly unconvinced. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I swallowed. "I might have."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Violet—"
"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Really. She just… asked if I remembered her."
Mack blinked. "Well…do you?"
"No."
He paused. "Then why does she?"
I laughed, a short, brittle sound. "Great question. I was hoping you knew."
His frown deepened, but before he could press further, Father reappeared, immediately pulling Mack into conversation with a man I didn't recognize. The moment passed, swallowed by the crowd.
I stood there, suddenly very aware of my hands, my posture, the weight of the dress against my skin.
"We used to be familiar."
That wasn't something you said casually.
The rest of the gala passed in a blur.
I smiled when required. Nodded at the right moments. Responded politely when spoken to. But inside, my thoughts spiraled.
The original Tears of a Tiger Lily never mentioned Marian Stark knowing Violet Hawthorne personally.
They were supposed to be strangers.
Background figures orbiting separate plots.
And yet—
She had recognized me immediately.
I excused myself early under the pretense of a headache. Father barely acknowledged my departure—approval, in Hawthorne language.
The car ride home was silent.
I stared out the window at the city lights, my reflection faintly visible in the glass. The woman staring back looked composed. Elegant. Unbothered.
She was lying.
Back in my room, I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
"That wasn't in the book," I muttered.
I replayed the scene again, slower this time.
Her tone hadn't been angry.
It hadn't been mocking.
It hadn't even been confrontational.
If anything, she'd sounded… restrained.
As if she was holding something back.
And that scared me more than open hostility ever could.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's think this through."
Option one:
The original Violet had known Marian as a child.
Plausible.
Option two:
There was some kind of background connection the book never covered.
Unlikely, but not impossible.
Option three:
The plot had changed.
That thought made my stomach drop.
Because if the plot had changed—
Then my knowledge meant nothing.
I sat up abruptly.
"No," I said firmly. "No, no, no. That's not allowed. I didn't sign up for a remixed edition."
Then I hesitated.
"What did I do to change the plot?"
I grabbed my phone and opened my notes app, scrolling through the mental outline I'd been building since being thrown into this novel.
Key events.
Character arcs.
Known relationships.
I added a new line:
Marian Stark — knows Violet (?)
I stared at it.
Then added, reluctantly:
Potential deviation from original plot.
I closed the phone and dropped it onto the bed.
"This is bad," I said to the empty room. "This is very bad."
Because the one thing I had been relying on—the safety net of knowing what would happen next—was starting to fray.
And Marian Stark was standing exactly at the tear.
The next morning, work felt… off.
Not because anything had changed on the surface. The office was the same. The cases were the same. My coworkers still scattered like startled deer when I entered a room.
But I was distracted.
Sandra noticed immediately.
"You're slower today," she said, peering at the memo I'd been drafting.
"Am I?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yes," she replied. "You usually finish this in half the time."
I blinked at the document.
She was right. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.
"Sorry," I said. "Just… tired."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Understandable. The gala was yesterday."
I winced. "Yes. That."
She hesitated. "Did everything go well?"
"Yes," I said automatically.
Which was technically true.
Nothing had exploded.
Sandra accepted that and moved on, but the unease stayed with me.
At lunch, I caught two coworkers whispering nearby.
"She left early last night."
"Who?"
"Miss Hawthorne."
"Do you think something happened with Stark?"
"God, imagine."
I stiffened.
So people were already speculating.
Great.
By the end of the day, my head hurt.
Not from work, but from thinking.
I packed up my things and left, determined to sleep it off and deal with this later.
Except later didn't wait.
As I reached the lobby, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
My heart sank.
I stared at the screen for a long moment before opening it.
Unknown:
You looked confused last night.
I didn't mean to upset you.
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Not accusation.
Not anger.
Concern.
Which made absolutely no sense.
I typed back before I could overthink it.
Violet:
I'm fine.
You just caught me off guard.
The reply came quickly.
Unknown:
I figured.
We can talk another time.
Another time.
I swallowed.
Violet:
I think it's better if we don't.
I hesitated before pressing send, unsure if that was even what I wanted.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then:
Unknown:
If that's what you want.
Something about that made my chest tighten.
I locked my phone and shoved it into my bag, suddenly exhausted in a way that sleep wouldn't fix.
That night, lying in bed, I finally admitted the truth to myself.
I wasn't just afraid of Marian because she might have something against me.
I was afraid because she knew something I didn't.
Something the book had never told me.
And I was scared of that.
I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket up to my chin.
"Tomorrow," I sighed. "I'll figure it out tomorrow."
But deep down, I knew this wasn't something I could avoid forever.
Because Marian Stark wasn't chasing me.
She was waiting.
And that meant whatever came next…
was already in motion.