Work became impossible
Not difficult.
Not annoying.
Impossible.
I stared at the same paragraph on my screen for ten minutes without absorbing a single word. The cursor blinked at me patiently, as if mocking my inability to function like a normal adult.
Usually, work grounded me. It was mechanical. Predictable. Something I could do without thinking too much.
Today, thinking was all I could do.
My phone sat face-down beside my keyboard.
I hadn't touched it since Marian's last message.
We were acquainted.
That phrase had lodged itself in my brain like a splinter.
Acquainted.
It was vague. Deliberately so.
It was the kind of word people used when they were hiding something. When the truth was either too messy or too personal to explain.
And Marian Stark was not careless with words.
I leaned back in my chair and dragged a hand down my face.
"Okay," I muttered. "Let's be rational."
Rational Violet. Logical Violet. The Violet who survived corporate hell in her last life.
Marian's reply had been vague.
Therefore, confronting her again would likely result in… more vagueness.
Which meant—
"Pointless," I finished quietly.
As much as it irritated me, pushing Marian wasn't going to get me answers. If she wanted to explain, she would have already.
And if she didn't…
Then there was probably a reason.
That thought sat uncomfortably in my chest.
I glanced at the clock.
Still morning.
I had a meeting in an hour. Documents due by end of day. A collaboration project starting tomorrow that would force me into Marian's orbit whether I liked it or not.
I groaned softly and pushed my chair back, standing up.
Walking helped me think.
I paced my office slowly, careful not to look too frantic through the glass walls. The whispers outside hadn't fully stopped since my… outburst earlier.
Apparently, screaming about novels and missing plot points was not considered "professional behavior."
Who knew.
"Okay," I said under my breath. "New plan."
If Marian wouldn't tell me…
Then I'd figure it out myself.
Dinner that night was… tense.
Not in the dramatic, shouting-across-the-table way. Worse.
In the polite, carefully curated silence way.
The Hawthorne dining room was massive—too large for the number of people seated at the table. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting soft light over immaculate place settings.
Father sat at the head, posture perfect.
Mother sat beside him, serene and distant.
Mack sat across from me, stiff, clearly exhausted.
And me?
I sat there with a fork in my hand, staring at my plate like it might start talking.
No one spoke for the first several minutes.
The clink of cutlery was the only sound.
Finally, I broke.
"…Can I ask something?"
Three sets of eyes turned to me at once.
"Yes?" Mother said politely.
Father simply waited.
I swallowed.
This felt ridiculous. Like asking strangers about someone I'd never met—except that someone was supposed to be me.
"What was I like," I asked slowly, "when I was younger?"
Mack nearly choked on his water.
Mother blinked, surprised.
Father frowned slightly. "That's an unusual question."
"I know," I said quickly. "I just—after the accident, some things feel… fuzzy."
That wasn't a lie. Just not the full truth.
Mother smiled faintly. "You were very confident."
That was one word for it.
"Confident," Father echoed. "Self-assured. Ambitious."
I hesitated. "And… personality-wise?"
Mack snorted before he could stop himself.
I shot him a look. "Be honest."
He sighed. "You were… intense."
"Intense how?"
"Narcissistic," he said bluntly.
I winced.
"And rude," he added.
I winced harder.
Mother cleared her throat. "You had high standards."
"For others," Mack said. "Not yourself."
Okay. That tracked.
I pressed my lips together, heat creeping up my neck.
"Did I have… friends?" I asked carefully.
Another pause.
This one stretched.
Mother glanced at Father. Father glanced at his plate.
Mack frowned.
"I don't really remember you having close friends," he said slowly. "You didn't talk about them much."
I tried not to let that sting.
"What about school?" I asked. "Which one did I attend?"
"Nordenstern Academy," Mother replied smoothly. "Prestigious. Excellent reputation."
Nordenstern.
My grip on the fork tightened.
"…Did I have friends there?" I asked again.
Mother's smile thinned. "You socialized appropriately."
That was not an answer.
"I mean real friends," I pressed. "People I spent time with. Talked about."
Father set his fork down. "Why is this relevant, Violet?"
"Because I don't remember," I said quietly. "And I want to know."
Silence fell over the table.
Finally, Mother spoke.
"You were… private," she said. "We didn't concern ourselves with your social circle unless it caused issues."
"Did it?" I asked.
Another pause.
Mack shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes."
My stomach sank.
"Like… was it bad?" I asked.
Mack grimaced.
Mother looked away.
That was answer enough.
"I see," I said softly.
The rest of dinner passed in awkward quiet. No one brought the subject up again.
When I finally stood to leave, Father spoke without looking at me.
"Your focus should be on the future," he said. "Not the past."
I nodded. "Of course."
But as I walked upstairs, my thoughts
In my room, I locked the door and immediately pulled out my phone.
Notes app. New page.
I titled it:
ORIGINAL VIOLET — INVESTIGATION
Then stared at it for a moment before snorting softly.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
Still, I started typing.
Attended Nordenstern Academy
Likely rude / narcissistic
Possibly bullied people
Marian Stark attended same primary school
Marian says "acquainted" but reaction suggests more
Parents don't know about friends
Then finished with: Book does NOT mention Marian knowing Violet
I paused, fingers hovering.
"What are you hiding?" I whispered.
I scrolled back through my memories—what little there were of Original Violet.
Nothing concrete.
Just impressions.
Arrogance. Distance. A sense of entitlement.
Not someone I liked.
But that didn't explain Marian's reaction.
I added another line.
Marian brought this up first (gala), but Marian does not seem.. too hostile
Then added another line: Avoiding topic rather than pushing it
Which led to the most unsettling possibility of all.
Maybe whatever happened…
Marian was the one hurt by it.
I set the phone down and leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
"This is going nowhere," I said.
I needed information.
Real information.
Not half-answers from my parents or cryptic messages from Marian.
I needed someone who knew things.
Someone who had been around.
Someone who had watched the Hawthorne family for years.
The thought hit me all at once.
I sat up.
"…The staff."
Of course.
The servants had been here long before me. They saw everything. Heard everything.
They knew which guests came and went. Which names were spoken often. Which weren't.
Why hadn't I thought of this earlier?
As if summoned by the thought, there was a soft knock at my door.
"Miss Violet?"
I froze.
"…Yes?"
"It's Henry," came the familiar voice. "May I come in?"
Henry.
The Hawthorne butler.
Middle-aged, impeccably professional, and very, very observant.
I hesitated for only a second before answering.
"Yes. Come in."
The door opened quietly.
Henry stood just inside, hands folded neatly in front of him. "I noticed you didn't eat much dinner. I thought you might like some tea."
He gestured to the tray in his hands.
"That would be great," I said, genuinely grateful.
He set it down on the small table near the window.
I watched him for a moment, heart pounding slightly.
This was… weird.
I was about to interrogate my family's butler about my own past.
No pressure.
"Henry?" I said.
"Yes, Miss Violet?"
I swallowed.
"…Would you help me with something?"