Accident

The laptop screen flickers with the image for a fraction of a second before Marcus's hand darts forward, slamming the lid shut with a sharp clap. The sound echoes in the room, and Izzy flinches, still frozen on the edge of his bed, the white bikini clutched against her chest.

"Shit," Marcus mutters, running a hand through his hair. He doesn't look at her. "That one was not supposed to be in there. That was from a private shoot. Wrong folder."

Izzy's mouth opens, but no words come out at first. She can still see the image burned into her mind—the way he'd been buried inside that model, the way the white bikini had been pushed up and discarded, the raw intensity of it. Her throat feels dry.

"I didn't mean—" she starts, then stops. Her voice is thin, embarrassed. "I wasn't trying to look at that. I just kept scrolling and it was just... there. I'm sorry."

Marcus finally looks at her, his jaw tight, but his expression softens when he sees her flustered state. He exhales slowly, stepping away from the laptop. "It's fine. That was a one-time thing. A client wanted something explicit for a project, and I helped out. It's not something I'd show you on purpose."

Izzy nods, looking down at the bikini in her hands. Her fingers trace the fabric, her mind still racing. She swallows hard.

"So... those photos with the girl. The ones in the water. That wasn't just a normal shoot?" she asks, her voice tentative, curiosity bleeding through the embarrassment.