Chapter 5
Ivy
I've reserved a study room. Glass walls, public visibility, escape routes clearly mapped.
I have a list of ten potential companies for our project, each with preliminary research already completed.
I have a timeline, a division of labor, and a strict agenda that should get us through this meeting in exactly fifty-seven minutes.
I will not be alone with Ethan Zhang for longer than necessary.
"Punctual as always," he observes, setting his bag down across from me.
"Let's get started. I have another commitment at four."
A lie, but he doesn't need to know that.
I slide my laptop toward him, showing the list of companies. "I've narrowed it down to these ten based on market position, available data, and strategic interest. We need to choose one by the end of today."
He scans the list without commenting. His face is unreadable, that same mask he wore at the party. The one he doesn't seem to take off when he’s around me.
"Thoughts?" I prompt when the silence stretches too long.
"These are all safe choices. Established companies with predictable strategies."
"That's the point. We need reliable data for analysis."
"We need interesting data. Something that demonstrates actual strategic thinking." He pulls out his own laptop. "What about emerging companies? Startups disrupting traditional markets?"
"Too risky. Limited historical data, uncertain futures—"
"Which makes them perfect for strategic analysis. We're not writing a history report, Ivy. We're supposed to analyze competitive strategy in emerging markets. That requires actual emergence."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"Fine. Do you have suggestions?"
He turns his laptop toward me. He's pulled up three companies I haven't heard of, tech startups in sustainable energy, AI-driven healthcare, and direct-to-consumer retail.
The research is thorough. More thorough than mine, actually. He's identified market gaps, competitive advantages and strategic vulnerabilities.
"When did you do this?"
"Last night. Couldn't sleep." He leans back in his chair. "The direct-to-consumer retail company is most interesting. They're using AI to predict consumer behavior and optimize inventory. Completely disrupting traditional retail strategy."
"It's also the riskiest. They're only three years old. What if they fail mid-semester?"
"Then we analyze why. Failure is just as strategic as success."
I study his research, looking for flaws. Finding none.
"This is good work." I admit and hate that I have to admit it.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. You were always smart. That was never the problem." The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
"What was the problem then?" he asks quietly.
"Are we really doing this? Here?" I look around making sure no one is around to hear this conversation.
"Doing what?"
"Talking about it. About what happened."
"You brought it up."
"I made an observation. That's different."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark eyes that see too much. "You're right. Let's focus on the project. We'll go with the retail company, what was it called? NovaShop?"
"NovaShop," I confirm, relieved to be back on safe ground. "I'll start the preliminary market analysis. You take the competitive landscape?"
"Works for me." He starts typing on his laptop. "We should set up regular meetings. Hendricks wants documentation of collaboration."
"Wednesdays. Same time. This study room."
"What if Wednesday doesn't work?"
"Then you make it work. I'm not flexible on this."
"Control freak." I hear the words even though he whispered them to himself.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You need to control every variable. Every detail. Schedule everything down to the minute." He closes his laptop. "Some things can't be controlled, Ivy."
"I'm not a control freak. I'm organized."
"You're terrified of anything uncertain. Anything that might surprise you or require trust." He leans forward. "That's not organization. That's a trauma response."
The observation is too accurate. Too close to therapy sessions I've had. Too much proof that he still knows how to see through me.
"Don't psychoanalyze me."
"I'm not. I'm just observing that the girl who used to be spontaneous and adventurous now schedules fun in fifty-seven-minute increments."
"People change," I snap at him.
"People grow. But this?" He gestures at my color-coded timeline. "This is hiding."
"From what?" I question him.
"From anything that might hurt you. From risk. From—"
"From you." I say it before I can stop myself. "I'm hiding from you. Happy? You broke me and I rebuilt myself carefully. Controlled. Because if I don't control everything, I might end up destroyed again." Now I’m shouting as the anger hits me. I was trying to hold it in.
The room goes silent. Even through the glass walls, I can feel students in the library looking away, pretending they didn't just witness that.
Ethan's face does something complicated. Pain? Regret? I can't tell anymore.
"Ivy—"
"We're done for today. I'll email you my section by Friday. You do the same." I pack up my laptop with shaking hands. "Same time next week."
"Wait. Please."
The please stops me. Ethan doesn't say please. He doesn't ask. Demands or expects or manipulates, but never asks.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. For what I just said. For—" He stops. "For a lot of things."
"Sorry doesn't fix it."
"I know. But I am. Sorry."
I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he arrived at Thornhill. Past the expensive clothes and the sharp haircut and the mask of indifference.
He looks tired. Sad. Like he hasn't slept properly in a long time.
Good. He should be tired, he should be sad. Should feel even a fraction of what he put me through.
But seeing it doesn't bring the satisfaction I expected.
"I have to go."
I leave before he can respond. Before I can do something stupid like ask why he's sorry. What specifically he regrets. Whether he thinks about that night as much as I do.
Because those are questions that lead nowhere good.
Thursday, I'm walking to class when someone calls my name.
Not Ethan. A girl I vaguely recognize from orientation.
"Ivy! Hey, wait up."
I slow down, and she catches up to me. She's pretty in that effortless way some.
"Sorry, I know we haven't officially met. I'm Chelsea. I'm in your Business Strategy class."
"Right. Hi." I know who she is, she’s good in class.
"I wanted to ask you something. About your project partner?" She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Ethan Zhang. What's his deal? Is he single?"
My stomach does something unpleasant. "I don't know. We're not friends."
"Oh." She looks surprised. "I just thought, since you're partners and you seem to know each other..."
"We're from the same hometown. That's it."
"So you wouldn't mind if I asked him out?"
I should say no. Should tell her to go ahead. Should not care at all who Ethan dates.
"Do whatever you want. It's none of my business."
"Great! Thanks." She bounces off, clearly excited.
I continue to class feeling sick.
It's not jealousy. It can't be jealousy. I don't care who Ethan dates. Don't care if he moves on and finds someone appropriate. Someone his parents would approve of.
Someone who isn't the girl from the restaurant.
Isla finds me after class. "You look like you're plotting murder."
"Someone asked if Ethan is single." Not sure what else to say about it.
"And you said?"
"That I don't know or care."
"Liar." She loops her arm through mine. "Come on. Let's get coffee and you can tell me why you're spiraling."
We end up at the campus café, tucked into a corner booth with overpriced lattes.
"Talk," Isla commands.
"There's nothing to talk about. Some girl wants to date Ethan. That's fine. Great, even. He'll be distracted and leave me alone."
"Do you actually believe that?"
"I want to believe that."
"Not the same thing." She stirs her latte. "What happened at your project meeting yesterday? You've been weird since then."
I tell her, about the research, the conversation, and his observation that I'm hiding. His apology.
"He apologized?"
"Sort of. Said he was sorry. Didn't specify for what."
"That's progress?"
"That's manipulation. He knows exactly what to say to make me question my anger."
"Or," Isla suggests gently, "he's actually sorry and doesn't know how to express it."
"Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always. But Ivy..." She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "You've been carrying this hurt for three years. Maybe it's time to at least hear him out. Understand what happened."
"I know what happened. He chose his parents over me. Choose money and his perfect future over our friendship."
"Did he? Or is there more to the story?"
I take a moment to think about what she’s just said, but I can’t fall for him again. "There's nothing more. He made his choice clear."
But even as I say it, I'm thinking about his face yesterday. The tiredness. The regret. The way he said "for a lot of things" like he was confessing to crimes I don't even know about.
"I need to stop thinking about this," I say firmly. "He's just a project partner. After this semester, I'll never have to deal with him again."
"You're both Business majors. You'll have classes together for two more years."
"Then I'll transfer."
"You're not transferring. You love it here." Ivy tells me, and she's right. I do love it here. Love my friends, my classes, and the life I've built.
I won't let Ethan take that from me too.
My phone buzzes. Email from Ethan with the subject line: "Competitive Analysis - Draft 1"
I open it reluctantly. He's already done his section of the research. Twelve pages of thorough, well-reasoned analysis.
There's a note at the end:
I meant what I said yesterday. I am sorry. For more than you know. -E
I stare at the note for a long time.
Then I close my laptop without responding.
Because I don't know what to say. Don't know if I want to accept his apology or throw it back in his face. Don't know if understanding what happened would make it better or worse.
All I know is that Ethan Zhang is under my skin again and I have no idea how to get him out.