Violet POV
I was halfway through revising a contract clause when my office door opened without a knock.
I didn't look up at first. I already knew who it was.
My father had a very specific way of entering rooms—quiet, deliberate, and with the unmistakable confidence of someone who believed every space belonged to him by default.
"Violet."
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. "Yes?"
He stood just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, gaze sweeping my office like he was evaluating whether it met his standards of productivity.
"You will begin assisting with the Stark collaboration project tomorrow," he said. "Mack will expect you in the morning briefing."
I nodded without enthusiasm. "I remember."
"This is not optional," he added.
"I know."
A pause.
"You have been doing well," my father said, as if that acknowledgment cost him something. "Do not allow personal matters to interfere."
Personal matters.
I bit back a laugh.
"Yes, sir."
Satisfied, he turned and left without another word.
The door closed behind him.
I slumped forward in my chair and let my forehead rest against my desk.
"Of course," I muttered. "Of course it's tomorrow."
I stared at the document on my screen, but the words blurred together. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.
My thoughts drifted—uninvited—back to the gala.
To Marian.
To the way I'd told her I didn't want to talk about it.
I had lied.
Because the truth was… I did want to talk about it.
Something about Marian unsettled me. Not in a threatening way. In a way that made my skin prickle, like I'd missed a step going down stairs and my body was still catching up.
But because she was unknown to me
Because this wasn't in the original novel.
Marian Stark wasn't supposed to matter to Violet Hawthorne like this.
She wasn't supposed to know me.
And yet—
I stopped typing completely and stared at my phone.
It sat there on my desk, face-down, innocuous.
Dangerous.
I shouldn't text her.
That was obvious.
But I picked up the phone anyway.
"I just want clarity," I whispered. "That's not a crime."
It absolutely was, but curiosity had already won.
I unlocked the screen and opened the message thread.
My thumb hovered.
Then, before I could second-guess myself—
Violet:
Hey.
I stared at the screen.
Waited.
Barely a minute passed before my phone vibrated.
Marian:
Hey.
My stomach flipped.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Marian:
Why did you suddenly text me?
Is there something you want to talk about?
I froze.
This was my chance to back out.
I could say nothing, or sorry, wrong person, or my cat stepped on my phone—except I didn't have a cat and Marian would absolutely not believe me.
I exhaled sharply.
Just ask, I told myself. Get it over with.
My fingers moved before my courage could evaporate.
Violet:
"Since when did you know me?"
I quickly clarified
"No wait I said that wrong"
"How do we know each other?"
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then nothing.
Seconds stretched.
My chest tightened.
Had I crossed a line?
Just when I was about to throw my phone into a drawer and pretend this never happened, the screen lit up.
Marian:
We went to the same primary school.
We were acquainted.
I stared at the message.
That was it?
Acquainted?
That didn't match the weight in her voice at the gala.
Didn't match the way she'd looked at me.
Didn't match familiar.
My brain buzzed.
Violet:
?
I hit send almost angrily.
(Marian POV)
I stared down at my phone.
The single question mark sat there, small and unassuming, and somehow heavier than all the messages before it.
I should have expected it.
Violet always pushed when she sensed something missing.
A faint smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
So you really don't remember.
That much was clear now.
I leaned back in my chair, phone resting loosely in my hand, eyes drifting toward the city beyond my office window.
There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask her.
Why did you leave?
Why didn't you say goodbye?
Did you ever think about me?
But there was no point.
If Violet didn't remember, those questions would go unanswered—or worse, they would only confuse her further.
I wasn't interested in dragging her into the past for my own closure.
So I didn't reply.
I turned the phone face-down and returned my attention to the document on my desk.
Business first.
That had always been easier.
Still, as I resumed reading, a quiet ache settled in my chest.
Acquainted had been a lie.
Or at least… an understatement.
But some truths were better left alone.
(Violet POV)
She didn't respond.
I stared at my phone, then at the blank screen, then at my reflection faintly mirrored in the glass of my office window.
"Of course," I muttered. "Vague."
What did she mean, acquainted?
That wasn't how she'd said it at the gala.
That wasn't how someone talked about a person who had clearly mattered.
My thoughts spiraled faster, frustration piling on top of stress on top of exhaustion.
My chest felt tight.
I stood up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Why won't you just tell me?" I snapped aloud.
Heads turned outside my glass office walls.
I paced.
"No, seriously—why would you bring it up if you weren't going to explain it? Why look at me like that? Why act like I'm—like I'm—"
I gestured aggressively, words failing me.
My voice rose without me noticing.
"This wasn't in the book!" I shouted. "NONE of this was in the book!"
The hallway outside went dead silent.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
Through the glass walls, I could see my coworkers staring in open horror.
Whispering.
One intern mouthed, "Again?"
Another leaned toward a colleague. "That's the fourth time since the gala."
"Should we—call someone?"
"She's… unraveling."
I dragged a hand down my face.
"…I need a break," I muttered.