Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
IVY
It’s official. I hate Asher. Come ride my dick.
I seal myself inside this glass cage I’ll call mine until Asher decides I’m more useful dead than stroking his need for revenge.
My fingertips drag over the floor-to-ceiling glass, keeping me from a thousand-foot drop. A California King bed floats above nothing, pressed against the far wall. The ocean stretches below it, meeting the sky at some impossible point.
“Jesus,” I gasp, shaking my head. It’s beautiful. I have no clue how they built it.
I turn away and stop dead. Another wall made of glass, only this one is in front of a large mountain with snowy slopes that spill into the valley below it. The general aesthetic of this room is all clean lines and dark furniture.
Black concrete and steel fixtures decorate the kitchen near the corner, and what I’m guessing is the bathroom is tucked behind a floating wall.
Flicking the light on in the closet, I freeze. A spiral staircase curls through the center.
“What the fuck kind of closet needs stairs?” I wrap my fingers around the metal railing and test its weight.
“Admiring your cage?” His voice scrapes from the doorway, and my shoulders lock. Clearly, he isn’t done fighting.
I turn just enough to watch him. “You mean bedroom.”
His proximity has the hairs on the back of my neck lifting, so I put the bed between us like it’s some kind of armor.
“It can be whatever I want it to be.” He pushes off the frame. “Until you prove you can behave.”
My fingers curl into the Egyptian cotton. “While we’re on this subject, where exactly do you sleep?”
His mouth curves and sadness weighs me down. The smirk of a boy I once knew…
“Worried about me, Venom?” He takes another slow step forward, tilting his head. “Worried you’ll wake up with my hands around your throat?”
I keep my feet planted and loosen my grip. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Our history blurs between us until he finally breaks the tension by clicking his tongue.
He tugs the hood of his jersey over his head. “Good to know your smart mouth wasn’t fake.”
My mouth snaps closed.
Just as he reaches the door, he pauses. “Oh, and don’t worry. Your little friends know where you are and they’re on their way.”
Wait. Is he going to lock us all in here?
“Asher, you can’t keep us all here.” My feet start moving me closer to him and I stop, because what the fuck?
He seems to think over his next words.
“Who said anything about keeping them here?” His eyes down my body. “They’re free to come and go as they please.”
Another pause.
“You, on the other hand...”
“Where even are we?” I refuse to look away from him. To back down.
His fingers drum against the concrete like every answer he gives me is a riddle. “Veilarath. We’re on the other side of Veilarath.”
He slams the door shut, trapping me with more questions. I should chase him. Demand answers. Veilarath has another side?
I face the window instead, watching water smash against the cliff until my heart rate levels.
The door opens again, and my spine goes rigid, but tension uncoils when Atlas’s reflection peers back at me.
“If you’re here to tell me your brother means well,” I say, crossing my arms. “Save it.”
His footsteps cross the concrete, cutting off a few feet behind me. “Now have I ever lied to you?”
I huff out a breath. “I’m beginning to think I prefer being lied to.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Truth is beginning to feel a lot like hell.”
He has the same bone structure as Asher, same arrogant symmetry, but Atlas wears his face like he doesn’t set it on fire for fun.
He scans the books on the shelves. “Do you read?”
I shrug, my shoulder tapping the window. “Not as much as I’d like to.”
“Ah, busy life and all?” He rocks back on his heels, his mouth curving into a grin like I don’t get the joke.
That’s nothing new. I hardly ever get his jokes.
“Well you’ve got time now.”
I finally turn. My annoyance has nowhere else to go so I direct it at the next best thing.
“So what is this?” I ask, leaning against the glass. “Your part-time job. Keep me entertained?”
His grin widens. “I keep everyone alive.” Atlas shifts his weight, humor leaking out of his voice. “That’s the role.”
“You’re doing such a great job.” I curl my lip. “No blood has been spilled yet.”
He glances at the slip of skin between the waistband and my shirt, then checks my hair that looks like someone yanked it into place.
“Ivanya.” He says my name like he’s afraid it’ll bite him. Good instinct. I might. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I step close enough for my toes to skim his shoes, tilting my chin. “Define stupid. Flirting with my husband’s twin while he’s busy fucking his ex?”
I hold his gaze. I could do this. This could take the edge off the shit Asher just dumped on me. A better woman would take the verbal punch he landed. Considering I shot him, that’s the least I deserve. Good thing I’m the worst fucking thing in this world.
Atlas narrows his eyes.
“Wait.” He smirks, but his body goes rigid. “Are you flirting with me?”
He has a nice throat. Is it weird to have a nice throat? “And if I was?”
His eyes widen, flying over my shoulder.
“Nope.” I shake my head, snapping the thread before the tension mutates. “I can’t do it.”
“Agreed,” Atlas chuckles, relaxing.
We laugh at the same time, though I’m sure it’s not for the same reason.
“This is weird, but I thought I’d try it out.” He doesn’t need to know that I was testing his role in this whole thing. Good to know I don’t have to fuck Atlas.
He tugs on his hair, still a little stressed. “You do this to get under his skin.”
He keeps looking behind me like he’s expecting Asher to storm back through.
“So?” I play, teasing because Atlas is easy. “And because you’re standing here looking like the version of him that doesn’t hate me.”
Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out.
Atlas’s mouth tugs to one side. “Because I don’t hate you,” he confirms, as if I didn’t already know.
“But you’ve changed your mind with the flirting?” I bite back my laugh.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back up like he’s been caught. “I’m not stupid enough to risk getting chopped up by my brother.”
I roll my eyes. “Your brother won’t chop you up. He’s too busy planning his revenge on me.”
Atlas reaches out and hooks a finger under the strap of my top.
“Don’t get me wrong, I find you extremely attractive.” His voice drops. “I always have and you know that.”
He releases the strap and lets his hand fall. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Atlas drop the joke.
“Self-control.” I tap his shoulder, keeping it light. “Love that for you. But relax. I’m not about to rub up on you in your sleep.”
He groans and bites down on his fist. “Fuck, Ivy, you did not need to give me a visual of your fine ass all over me!”
I retreat toward the closet, desperate for space. Atlas follows, shadowing me by a single step. I wish he wouldn’t.
“But for the record, Asher doesn’t care about me in that way,” I say, flattening out my tone. “Not anymore, anyway.”
I grab a hanger and shove it aside. “He’s too busy fucking Camille.”
Atlas freezes behind me.
I glance over my shoulder, catching the tight pull of his brows.
“You talk like you know what he feels,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.
“I talk like I know what he does.” I lift my hand, the ring catching the light. “This is punishment. It’s always been about Camille.”
I drop my hand. Isn’t that obvious to everyone?
Atlas cuts his eyes to the closet. “Everything you’ll need is in there.”
“What’s everything?” I glance up the spiral staircase. “Maybe a time machine?”
When he ignores the question, I turn around.
He’s gone.
I didn’t buy any of these clothes. I flip tag after tag, checking every single one until I’m sure.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I fish it out. The screen floods with notifications. Instagram first. The little heart icon sits pegged at 99+. I tap the app, and the comments stack up.
So happy for you both!!!
ASHVY FOREVER
SHE DESERVES THIS!
I double-tap a few without reading. Words blur as my thumbs move on autopilot.
Why do people trust fake smiles more than real frowns? The whole “don’t believe happiness on social media” thing has always bothered me. How do people need to be told that, yet still assume someone sharing their struggles online is only doing it for attention?
I swipe to TikTok.
Videos load before I can brace for impact. A girl with pink hair stares into her front camera, eyes wide, her voice pitched high with that kind of gassed up adrenaline one can only get from being a professional hater.
She hooks her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the stitched-in clip.
“So! Hold up! Last week, we saw Camille and Asher hooking up in a club!” She stabs a finger at the video playing above her head. “And now he’s married to Ivy? I don’t know. At this point, it’s giving weird vibes.”
I replay it even if it feels like being stabbed in the gut over and over again. Sure enough, there, in the middle of a fucking nightclub, is Asher with his mouth on Camille.
Two can play this game.
An hour later, my bedroom door swings open.
I snap my laptop closed. “I think I’m starting to imagine shit.”
Luce lifts a paper bag with an arched brow. “Did you happen to imagine greasy food that mends hearts?”
I gesture for the bag. Because yes. Food.
“I have to admit, I don’t think I’d be complaining if I was locked in here.” She dumps everything on the table and tilts her chin at the windows. “Also, who fucking knew Veilarath had another side?”
“I know.” I peel back the wrapper and sink my teeth into the burger, chewing with zero intention of civility. “What I don’t know is why he hasn’t just killed me yet.”
I don’t bother swallowing. So unladylike. As if the Desert Eagle under my pillow didn’t already make that obvious.
“Speaking of...” Her eyes slide back to me. “How do you feel?”
I slump against the bedpost, chewing around my words. “I’m confused.”
Why couldn’t this soda be wine?