Chapter 23
Ivy
Parker arrived home early. None of us were prepared. These past weeks, or more so days, have been nothing more than a cruel reminder of what’s coming.
That Asher and I aren’t destined to last.
I finally get the zipper up and turn to examine myself in the full-length mirror.
The black dress is simple, elegant—everything I'm not. It’s all a lie.
But it'll work for tonight's ceremony, and then I’ll have to find something for tomorrow. The dreaded birthday that I’m going to hate even more so than any others.
Asher's been planning like it's a fucking national holiday. I don’t know why. It’s only going to be the longest goodbye ever.
My phone buzzes.
You got my leash on?
I trace the diamonds with my thumb.
You already know it is because the fucking thing doesn't come off…
My reflection stares back, and I barely recognize her. This woman who trusted someone else enough to let herself get lost in him. A woman who races through an empty town before being fucked down an alley. Who watches a man throw himself through the air and feels something crack open in her chest.
Tomorrow's my birthday.
Thirty-years-old.
And then it’ll be back to Chicago. Where whatever this thing is between Asher and me will have to end.
Because it has to end. There's no other option.
I grab my clutch and head for the door, but pause with my hand on the knob. This isn’t the room Asher I spent days in. It feels like a hospital room in a five-star hotel.
A hard tap on the door. “Ivy! Stop taking so fucking long.” And mumbling.
I roll my eyes, smoothing my skintight gown against my body. The fabric plunges between my breasts, forcing them up and out of my bra before cascading to the floor. “Yes.”
But it hides my back. Always.
I clear my throat and reset my expression, squaring my shoulders. When the door swings open, Parker's disdain slams into me like a fist to the ribs.
God, I fucking hate you.
His gaze crawls over my body, lingering on my chest like he owns every inch he sees. “We'll be late.”
“Wh—” He grabs me around the waist, yanking me against him. His touch burns through silk, forcing himself in places he’s never had the privilege of touching. “Parker, no.”
Every grip burns like lava, erasing Asher's fingerprints one brutal second at a time.
“Stop.”
“What do you mean no?” He tilts his head, burying his nostrils into the crook of my neck. “I can smell him on you.”
He shoves me away like discarded trash, before making his way to the window.
“The fact that you're both flaunting your affair should come as a surprise, but it doesn't. I should punish you for embarrassing me this way, Ivy—” He takes a deep breath. “But I won’t. Because the truth is, I don’t love you.”
His shoulders relax, as if saying it out loud is cathartic.
Slowly, he turns over his shoulder until he’s facing me.
“I don’t love you. I never have. But you will continue this marriage, because if you don’t?
” He holds my stare, carefully lowering his now empty glass to the small table between us.
“Well, let's just say that I'd advise against it.”
“Why’d you marry me, Parker?” I ask, the muscles in my jaw taut.
He fixes his tie. “I think the better question, Ivanya, is why did you marry me?” A loud rasp on the door pulls us out of what I’m sure was about to be an argument, and Luce’s head pops through.
“You two ready? I would sure love to get these awards done.”
I nod, collecting my clutch and rolling the chain over my hand. I give one last glance over my shoulder before disappearing down the hall with my best friend’s arm in mine.
“Was that the conversation I think it was?” she murmurs as we make our way down the stairs.
I clear my throat. “Yes. He knows. He doesn't want a divorce, and he said I'm to stay married to him.”
“Well—” She picks up the train of her dress as we reach the door. “I guess that's an easy one for you then.”
I take one last look in the mirror, fixing my hair with fingers that won't stop trembling. Fucking trembling. As if I can't get my own shit together.
“Hey!” Luce's hand is on my shoulder. “Don't start.”
The cold bites through my dress the second I step outside, but it’s nothing compared to the way Daniel’s eyes lock onto mine. He’s standing by the car, arms crossed, his breath curling in the frigid air like a warning.
“You armed?” His voice is low, rough—no room for bullshit.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I hike up the hem of my dress just enough to flash the holster strapped to my thigh. The metal glints under the porch light, cold and unapologetic. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Just nods once, sharp, before stepping aside to let me pass.
Luce slides into the backseat first, her dress pooling around her like liquid gold. I follow, the door shutting with a finality that settles in my chest. The car smells like leather and something faintly metallic—gun oil. Or blood. Hard to tell.
Daniel doesn’t look at me in the rearview. Doesn’t speak. Just starts the engine and pulls away from the house, the tires crunching over the frozen driveway. The silence is thick, the kind that presses against your ribs until you can’t breathe.
Luce exhales, her fingers tapping against the window. “You think he’ll show up?”
I don’t have to ask who she means.
“No.” My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t. It’s hammering against my throat, a traitorous rhythm. “I doubt this will pull him out of the shadows.”
She turns to me, her dark eyes searching. “And if he does?”
I don’t answer.
“Ivy, listen,” Luce starts, but then her eyes shift over my shoulder, watching the streets pass. “Look, just be careful. Parker is clearly on edge, and I just think that…” she leaves her sentence out in the open, because we both know what she's saying.
My fingers twitch against the seat, itching for something to hold onto. A gun. A knife. Him.
Daniel’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. He squeezes the wheel before going back to the road. The tension crashes back into us ten fold. The days leading up to this point mean nothing.
Nothing.
I shouldn't have let myself get lost in him.
“I fucked up.” I don't move, don't breathe. “I don't deserve him, Luce. Why the fuck did I allow myself to think I did?”
Luce leans forward, her hand on my thigh. Usually Jord would be in here with us, but he made sure to be there extra early to case the place out.
“You do, Ivy. More than anyone you deserve a little bit of what he gave you.” She rests back against the chair as he phone buzzes in her clutch.
She looks up at me from her phone. “It's Jord. Camille's there.”
As she should be.
The car slows, and I watch the chateau materialize through the windshield—all stone and pretension.
It reminds me of Leon, in a way. I've never thought much about Leon this holiday until this moment.
Until I've felt my emotions threaten to derail.
Veilarath is a town that swallows secrets whole and never spits them back out. It's why I love it so fucking much.
Daniel kills the engine. The silence hits harder than the cold when I step out.
Inside, the chateau bleeds wealth from every surface—crystal dripping from ceilings, marble that's important from Europe. Bodies press together in designer gowns and tailored suits, their laughter like nails on a chalk board.
I grab champagne from a passing tray before anyone can notice I've arrived. The bubbles burn going down. Good. I need something to cut through the numbness spreading through my chest.
I chose a dress that keeps me blended, tight around my body, but the mesh lace offers almost nothing left to the imagination, yet enough to distort the parts of me that I don't want visible.
People don't bat an eye. It's what they see every day, even when husbands stare with hunger and their wives glare with envy.
They'd throw me at their husbands like meat to starving dogs if it meant they could purchase the latest Tesla.
I'd rather burn my eyeballs with a scalding pitchfork than be seen anywhere near a car that screams desperation louder than an under-fucked husband who plays with his own balls more than he touches his wife.
I dressed to torment. If tonight is going to be the last time I see Asher, I'll make sure my image is burned in his brain for years to come. At least while he’s fucking Camille.
Gag.
I turn, bored with the theatrics and forcing myself to stay grounded. Stick to the plan.
My body freezes, breath abandoning my lungs like a coward.
I'm so used to seeing him in snowboarding gear or casual clothes that the suit knocks the air from my lungs.
He still looks his age, but something about the way that Armani wraps around every muscle, leaving the two buttons undone at the collar, enough to reveal the ink that slithers the side of his throat.
His hair falls in short careless waves, once again proving he doesn't need to lift a finger to be devastatingly gorgeous.
The sight of him steals something from me I didn't know I had left to lose.
My thighs clench when I focus on his lips, because I know exactly how they feel. How they branded his name over every inch of my body.
“Jesus, it's fucking hot in here,” Jord murmurs from behind his glass, but notices me not paying attention and follows my starved gaze. “Ah, I see. I must admit, the boy can slay a suit.”
“He can.” It’s a whisper, and I hate how weak it makes me sound.
Jord clears his throat, and I force my attention to him, every muscle fighting against the magnetic pull of Asher's presence. “I hate these things.”
Reality crashes back through me and my heart skips a beat. “Me too. Look at everyone.” We both stand as we examine the area. “Any possibles?”
“Nope,” Jord answers casually. “Except for your toy.”
“Stop calling him that,” I growl. If only he knew the truth, that I’m the toy, not him. Always have been.
Fuck.
Heat prickles my spine, and I know it's him.