The glass hit the floor with a sharp crack.
I reacted on instinct.
"Oh—sorry—!" I blurted, crouching down immediately to pick it up, fingers fumbling as water pooled around my shoes. My heart was already racing, embarrassment blooming hot under my skin.
The person I'd collided with had stumbled back a step.
At first, they looked surprised.
Then—cold.
I froze just long enough to notice the shift.
"Why would you do that?" they asked.
The tone was clipped. Controlled. Not loud, but sharp enough to sting.
I straightened slowly, gripping the edge of the counter with one hand and the ruined paper cup with the other. My brain blanked for a second—just a white, frustrated haze.
Seriously?
I had just walked out of my office. I had been minding my own business. I had been getting water like a functional adult. And this random person—
They had bumped into me.
My spine straightened.
"It wasn't my fault," I said flatly, irritation bleeding into my voice before I could stop it. "You're the one who walked into me."
The words landed heavier than I intended.
Silence followed.
Too heavy.
Too still.
Something in my chest tightened.
I looked up.
And my blood ran cold.
Marian Stark stood in front of me, water soaking into the front of her suit, droplets clinging to the dark fabric of her blazer.
Her eyes were wide—just for a moment—before they shuttered.
My face drained of color so fast I thought I might faint.
"Oh my god," I breathed. "I—no—I'm sorry, I didn't—"
I straightened abruptly, panic flooding in. "I didn't mean that. I mean, I did, but not like that, I mean—I wasn't trying to be rude, I just—"
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
"I'm so sorry," I said again, voice tumbling over itself. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean to snap at you."
Marian stared at me.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Just… confused.
And something else.
Hurt.
The sight of it twisted something unpleasant in my chest.
"It's fine," she said after a moment, her voice a little stiff. "It was an accident."
She glanced down at herself, lips pressing together briefly. "My blazer just got wet."
Guilt hit me full force.
"I'll help you clean it," I said immediately. "There's—there's a laundry room. For emergencies. Staff use it, but executives can too."
She looked back at me. Hesitated.
"And you probably need to dry yours as well," she added, gesturing vaguely at my sleeve.
I looked down.
Right.
My shirt was soaked.
"Yes," I said quickly. "Yes. Right. That. Let's—uh—this way."
I turned far too fast and nearly tripped over my own feet.
Smooth, Violet. Very smooth.
We walked in silence down the corridor, the tension between us thick enough to trip over. My mind replayed my earlier words on loop.
It wasn't my fault.
God, I was such an idiot.
The laundry room was empty when we arrived—thankfully. The low hum of machines filled the space, fluorescent lights casting everything in a dull glow.
Marian stepped inside and set her damp blazer on a counter.
"I'll just dry this quickly," she said.
She slipped the blazer off her shoulders.
And I—
I stared.
I didn't mean to.
I swear I didn't.
But without the blazer, the lines of her posture were suddenly obvious. Strong shoulders. Clean lines. Someone who carried herself with quiet confidence, even standing in a laundry room with damp clothes.
I realized I was staring about half a second too late.
Marian turned her head slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
I felt my face ignite.
"I—what? No, I wasn't—I mean—I was just—"
Words failed me.
I swallowed.
"I haven't seen you like that before," I admitted, mortified. "You look… um."
I hesitated.
Why was this so hard?
"…Good," I finished quietly.
The word hung between us.
Marian blinked.
Then she laughed—soft, surprised.
"Thank you," she said, turning away as she folded her blazer. "I appreciate the compliment."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
She paused, then glanced back at me. "Your shirt is soaked. You should probably dry it too."
I looked down again.
She wasn't wrong.
"Right," I said. "Yeah. Good idea."
I tugged the hem of my shirt up without thinking.
The fabric clung unpleasantly, cold against my skin, and before my brain could catch up, I had pulled it over my head.
The air felt… different.
"Violet!"
Marian turned sharply away, heat blooming in her cheeks as she covered her eyes with one hand.
"You should at least warn me before doing that!"
I blinked, confused. "Warn you? Why?"
She froze.
"…What?"
I frowned slightly. "What's the problem? I'm a beta and you're an alpha. It's not like—this is fine."
The words came out easily.
Too easily.
Marian went very still.
Slowly, she lowered her hand.
Confusion crossed her face first.
Then hesitation.
Then—something that looked an awful lot like shame.
"…Yes," she said quietly. "Of course."
She didn't look back.
I tilted my head, genuinely puzzled.
Then, absurdly, my eyes drifted somewhere else.
I examined her figure as a blush began to creep up my face.
She's pretty attractive.
The realization startled me.
I internally scoffed.
No. Absolutely not.
This was not the time.
I cleared my throat and focused on folding my shirt.
I slid the shirt into the dryer, pressed the buttons, and turned back toward Marian, who was still very pointedly facing the wall.
"I'm sorry," I said, softer now. "I didn't mean to make things awkward."
She exhaled slowly. "You didn't."
A pause.
"…Just next time," she added, "a warning would be appreciated."
I nodded. "Deal."
Silence settled again, but this time it felt… different.
Less sharp.
Less strained.
The dryer hummed between us, filling the space where words weren't ready yet.
And despite myself—despite the confusion, the history I didn't remember, the tension I didn't understand—I had the strange, unsettling thought that this moment felt… oddly normal.