11. Ivy
IVY
N ext afternoon, after attending court, I drive back to the rental in my mother’s aging sedan, the same one I borrowed yesterday just to have some independence while I’m stuck in this city.
The courthouse did nothing to improve my mood.
Hours spent in a room thick with legal venom and old grudges have left me drained, brittle around the edges.
My mother cried through most of the deposition.
My father barely looked at her. Their lawyers fired off questions like bullets, each one more pointed than the last, and I sat through it like a shadow no one remembered to dismiss.
My hands are tight on the steering wheel as I pull into the driveway.
It’s just past sunset, the sky streaked in bruised reds and deep violet.
I kill the engine but don’t move. There’s a car across the street.
Black, glossy, and very similar to the car from last night, from what I made of it through the window.
It's low to the ground like it doesn’t belong in this part of town.
I try not to stare, but something in my gut twists.
I gather my things quickly—tote bag, court files, my phone—and step out. My boots crunch over gravel. As I reach the front door, I feel a shiver run down my spine, as if I'm being warned by the universe itself. I fumble with the keys, trying to slide them into the lock as fast as I can.
Behind me, the car’s engine stirs as it emits a soft purr. It doesn’t drive away fast, just rolls forward, like it’s never been in a rush. I turn slightly, watching the tail lights disappear around the bend. Whoever it was, they wanted me to know they were here.
I shove the door closed behind me and snap the first lock into place. Then the second. My hand hovers a beat too long before throwing the third, even though I know it’s overkill. My fingers won’t stop trembling.
I leave my bag by the couch and head straight for the kitchen, drawn to the soft, amber glow above the stove.
The overhead bulb buzzes faintly, casting long, uneven shadows across the counter.
Gripping the edge of the counter, I press my fingers into cool laminate and breathe deeply, trying to settle the tremor still running beneath my skin.
I pull out my phone as it beeps.
Still playing house with your unborn baby, all alone? You really think this ends well for you?
My spine stiffens, shoulders knotting as the thought takes shape.
I should show this to someone. Drew, maybe.
Or even Ethan. But Drew would come barreling in, guns blazing, dragging the whole family into this mess.
And Ethan… no. I can’t drag him deeper. Not when Daniel’s threats have turned personal.
He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy Ethan’s career just to prove a point.
I try to distract myself by reviewing the paperwork from today’s divorce hearing. It’s a mess. My parents are fighting over their estate like it’s a battleground. My dad wants to liquidate the vineyard property. My mom refuses, says it’s the only thing she still loves.
And through all of it, this baby keeps growing.
I touch my stomach. Still too early to show, but the connection is there. It terrifies me how much I already love this child. How I’d do anything—burn my life to the ground—just to keep them safe.
But right now, the fear sits heavier than usual.
That car wasn’t a coincidence. Daniel’s making his presence known again, and I have no doubt he’s watching. Waiting for me to slip up. Maybe he’s already been here. Maybe he’s spoken to the landlord. Maybe he knows more than I want to believe.
I close all the blinds, double-check the windows. Everything’s locked.
But still, my heart won’t settle.
I pace the living room for hours, my mind spinning too fast to focus.
At some point, when I cannot go on, I set a kettle to boil.
I need a plan. I can’t stay here much longer.
Drew’s place is out of the question—too visible.
Ethan’s penthouse would be the safest option, but that comes with its own dangers. Emotional ones.
And the baby…
A tremor moves through me at the thought. I place a hand over my stomach again and breathe, trying to center myself. “You’re okay,” I whisper, more for me than for them. “I’ve got you.”
But even as I say it, I hear the faint echo of tires again. I move to the window and peek through the slats. Nothing.
There’s a knock—loud, urgent, cutting straight through my already fraying nerves. I flinch, spine snapping straight as my pulse barrels into panic. It’s too soon after the car, too soon after the text. I’m halfway to the door before I realize my hands are shaking again.
I inch toward the peephole, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
And standing there is my knight in shining armor, if only I'd let him in.
I blink twice, but I'm not hallucinating. He’s actually there, standing on the other side of the door in a black jacket, shoulders tense, eyes sharp even through the distorted glass.
Then his voice breaks the silence, sounding distinctly annoyed.
“Ivy. Open up.”
I stare for a second longer, something inside me warping under the pull of his presence. And then, I unlock the door slowly. He’s already halfway through the threshold by the time I step back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wishing I could sound more defiant than I do. The truth is that I’m relieved to see him.
His eyes rake over me in a single scan—hair damp from my earlier panic-sweat, hoodie zipped up to my chin, a flush I can’t hide. He closes the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. “You should’ve called me.”
“I didn’t?—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, and for a moment I think he’s going to yell. But Ethan doesn’t yell. He never has to. His fury lives in the way he looks at you. The way he stands, perfectly still, like he’s holding something back with both hands.
He moves past me, stopping just shy of the kitchen. His attention snags on the stove still glowing from the kettle, the corner of the rug kicked up from when I’d sprinted inside. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I fold my arms and hate the way it feels like armor. “I’m fine.”
“Ivy.”
His voice is low, flat, but I feel it everywhere.
“There was a car,” I admit, avoiding his eyes. “Parked out front when I got home. I think I saw it last night too. I thought maybe I was just… imagining things. But it was there. And then it wasn’t. I don’t know what I saw.”
“You know what you saw,” he corrects me, frowning. “Was it someone from your past?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in danger, Ivy?” he asks again, slower this time.
I meet his eyes then, and all the fight drains out of me. “I think so.”
The silence after that stretches long and hard. Ethan turns away, like he can’t bear to look at me for a second. His jaw is tight, the muscle jumping along the side of his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, but it hums with heat.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I swallow. “Because last night, I thought it was nothing.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. “Someone was outside your apartment.”
I back toward the counter, needing something to hold on to. “I thought maybe I was overreacting.”
“You’re not.”
His voice is carefully calm, but the edge beneath it cuts deep. He steps closer. “You can keep lying to yourself, Ivy, but I’m done letting you lie to me.”
I open my mouth. I mean to tell him to leave, to say I can handle it. But the words shrivel on my tongue.
Ethan straightens, one hand curling around the back of a nearby chair, the other resting at his side. His eyes are locked on mine, waiting for something I don’t know how to give.
“You can’t fix this, Ethan,” I whisper, desperate to find some foothold. “You can’t.”
His throat works with a slow swallow. Then, his breath uncoils between us like heat. “Watch me.”
Before I can form a single thought, he pulls me into his arms, and my body gives in without hesitation. There’s no space between us, no room for resistance. My breath catches as he carries me across the room, his hold unshakable, like he’s made up his mind and nothing will break it now.
The table hits the backs of my thighs. He sets me down, but his hands never leave me.
They drag slowly up my sides, gathering the fabric of my dress and bunching it around my waist. His gaze drops, scorching as it settles on the silk between my thighs.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, just stares like he’s memorizing the sight of me like this—open, waiting, his.
Then one finger hooks the edge of my underwear and slides it down with maddening laziness.
“I’m not playing games tonight,” he says, voice honey-slick and soaked in intent.
“Ethan…” My voice trembles on his name, but I don’t finish. His head lowers between my thighs, and the first swipe of his tongue knocks the breath clean out of my lungs.