Margot’s POV

The last bundle of laundry landed with a soft thud inside the machine, damp towels brushing against the steel this time. I reached back to grab a stray sock to toss in with it, my fingers brushing over Coban’s as he reached for it too.

We both stilled, just for a second. I looked up, unsure if he’d jerk his hand away or smirk at the contact.

But instead, he stood, rising to his full, imposing height — and did something I didn’t expect.

He offered me his hand. Not gruffly. Not with impatience. Just… open. Quiet.

I stared at it for a second too long, my legs still folded beneath me on the floor. Was this a trap? Some new twist in his sick game? How could the man from earlier, so intimidating and aggressive, now be offering me his hand?!

But his eyes didn’t narrow like they usually did when he wanted me to be afraid of him. They just waited for me to accept the gesture.

So I reached out, slipped my hand into his. It was warm. Strong. Surprising?

He pulled me up with ease, not yanking—not rough, just firm enough to steady me.

“Thank you,” I muttered quickly, like if I said it too loud the moment might break.

He let go of my hand almost as soon as I’d found my balance, brushing it down the side of his pants before giving a slight nod toward the machines.

“Should take an hour,” he said plainly. “So we’ll come back for it.”

Then—again, without being told—he stepped to the side, motioning me toward the hallway. Like a silent invitation. Or maybe an unspoken test.

I nodded once and walked out, my feet quick across the tile. But I didn’t get far.

A sudden impact hit me square in the chest as I rounded the doorway—a collision of limbs and soft fabric.

“Oh! Crap, I’m so sorry!” I gasped, catching sight of a flurry of laundry tumbling everywhere: socks, towels, some colorful shirts I didn’t recognize.

The girl—small, slight, barely older than me—bent down quickly, her arms flailing in an attempt to scoop everything up.

“I didn’t see you! I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, her voice thin and breathless. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, her eyes flicking back down the hallway anxiously.

“It’s not your fault, I didn’t see you either – here, let me help.” I dropped to my knees again, gathering the fallen pieces of clothing as fast as I could, shoving them into her outstretched arms.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sounding like the idea of being helped at all was foreign. Like kindness was a luxury she hadn’t learned to accept around here yet.

That’s when his voice snapped through the hall from behind me.

“Bella, get the fuck up! This isn’t your mess to fix!” He huffed, shocking me completely.

The gentleness was gone. I froze.

The girl flinched hard from his tone, almost dropping the pile all over again.

I turned my head slowly to find Coban standing behind me, his face twisted with a familiar irritation I was slowly growing used to seeing. But this time, it wasn’t directed at me, for once. It was aimed at her – or maybe the whole situation, probably patience wearing thin due to the standing around?

The girl didn’t move, laying low, averting her gaze.

“Newman!” Coban suddenly barked out sharply, his voice echoing down the corridor like a gunshot as I suddenly realized what he was about to do.

Not even a moment later, a head poked out from one of the far rooms—a man with a shaved head and a heavy build, his shirt wrinkled, his expression already annoyed. “Santo? What’s wrong? What’s she done now?”

The second he saw the girl on her knees, clutching her bundle of clothes like a shield, his expression shifted: confusion, then agitation for her.

I stood quickly. Too quickly.

My body moved before my brain could stop it, instincts flaring like a fire had been lit in my chest.

I turned to Coban—palms reaching out—pressing my hands flat against his sturdy chest. It was bold. Maybe stupid of me? Definitely dangerous.

But I had to do something before he got that poor girl into unnecessary trouble.

His attention snapped down to me instantly, eyes narrowing, lips parting like he wasn’t sure what to make of the contact I was giving him. I felt his muscles tense beneath my hands, rigid with surprise.

“Coban, please don’t, this was my fault,” I whispered urgently. “I bumped into her. She couldn’t even see where she was going – she had so much stuff in her arms. Don’t make her pay for that – she’s only trying her best.” I ran the words together quickly, ensuring that the man awaiting Coban’s response couldn’t hear me.

My voice was desperate but measured, pleading without groveling.

The girl was wobbling to stand up now, her eyes darting between us with something close to panic.

Coban stared down at me, and for a moment I didn’t know if I’d made a massive mistake. His gaze flicked down to my hands on him, then back to my face, then past me toward the other man.

He exhaled once—sharp, controlled—and then spoke…

“Don’t send your girl to the laundry carrying that much shit on her own,” he growled, glaring down the hallway at the guy known as Newman. “Look at the size of her compared to you?! What is it that you’re doing that’s so important you can’t fucking help walk ten steps with it? Is the pile too heavy for you to lift?”

My heart skipped. What? Did he just-?

Newman blinked as I turned to face him, clearly taken aback. “Uh–yeah–shit, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking more guilty than annoyed, and stepped fully out into the hallway. “C’mere, Sarah, you should’ve just told me it was a struggle.”

The girl – Sarah – stood straighter as he reached her, relieving her of the entire pile, it suddenly looking small in his much larger arms. He even kicked open the laundry room door for her to go in…

She shot me a glance – something thankful, almost stunned – before she walked past.

A connection sparked in the air between us. A fleeting, quiet bond formed in the middle of this godforsaken place.

“Margot,” I whispered to her, tilting my head in a nod to introduce myself quickly.

She smiled faintly. “Sarah,” she returned, like it was a secret worth keeping.

And then she disappeared inside, her protector finally trailing in after her.

I turned back toward Coban slowly, unsure of what to say. But he didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t even speak.

He just looked at me.

And for once, I didn’t feel like prey under his gaze.

I felt… something else.

Still unsure. Still cautious.

But something had shifted.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered lowly, as my lips tugged into a small smile as I nodded once – sharing a mutual understanding not to address what he had just done for me.

I could be totally wrong, and maybe I’m just a total fool here, but if I was right… I’d say that Coban was seriously trying to make things up to me in his own, weird way, ultimately showing me a side to him that I hadn’t yet seen before…

A man beneath the monster.