Chapter 12 Together
Taking a deep breath, Ivy tried to steady herself. She liked him— a lot —but Christian Evans wasn’t someone she could handle. He was wild, unpredictable. And the thought that she was nothing more than entertainment to him haunted her. She had spent years trying to forget him. She wasn’t going to let herself be his plaything again.
With that thought, she stepped into the room.
Christian lay in the hospital bed, propped up slightly by pillows, his face pale against the stark white sheets. Bruises bloomed along his cheekbone, and a deep cut on his forehead was covered by fresh bandages. Scrapes ran along his arms, while an IV line trailed from his hand, disappearing into the machine beside him. The television blared news about stock markets, but he wasn’t really watching—just staring blankly, lost in thought.
The moment she entered, his eyes found her. Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion—his expression lit up, a bright smile spreading across his face, as if just seeing her could chase away all the darkness in his world.
"Ivy? You came?"
She nodded, walking in. Christian immediately fumbled for the remote, switching off the television as she approached his bed—but she kept her distance.
"Sawyer told me about the accident," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. It’s my fault you got hurt."
Christian’s smile faltered slightly. "It’s not your fault," he murmured, searching her face.
"It is." Her throat tightened. "I shouldn’t have said those things…" She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I’m sorry."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Christian exhaled softly, his gaze softening in a way that made her insides twist. "Ivy," he murmured, his voice achingly gentle, "I love you."
Her chest tightened. A sharp, painful squeeze wrapped around her heart.
"Christian… you don’t love me," she said, her voice steady but heavy, almost as if she were convincing herself more than him. "I’m just a good memory in this city for you. That’s all."
Christian stiffened.
"Ivy," he repeated, shaking his head. "It’s not a memory. You aren’t a memory. I have always loved you. That hasn’t changed, and it never will."
"Stop!" she hissed, eyes squeezing shut, her breathing turning ragged. "Stop saying that, Christian. You don’t love me. I know that. And soon enough, you’ll realize it too."
The room turned unbearably tense. The warmth in Christian’s expression faded, his gaze darkening into something far more intense.
His voice, when he spoke next, was dangerously low. "These are my feelings, Ivy. I love you, and there’s nothing in this fucking world that will change that. You don’t get to decide that it’s my delusion."
Ivy’s fingers curled into fists, her nails pressing into her palms. A long silence stretched between them before she exhaled slowly, her gaze unreadable.
"Alright, then," she said. "Let’s be together."
Christian stilled.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs, his grip tightening on the bedsheet. The words rang in his head like an unanswered prayer.
It was as if those words had been spoken to him by God. His God.
"Let’s be together," she repeated, her voice chillingly calm. "I’ll be with you, and when you get bored of me, you can tell me. I’ll walk away."
Christian’s face changed in an instant. Fury ignited within him, burning through his veins like wildfire. The happiness that had lit up his face moments ago vanished, replaced by sheer rage.
"What the fuck?" he ground out, his jaw clenching. "Ivy Watson, I’m ready to give up my fucking life for you if you say the word. I’d do anything for you—anything! Just say it, and I’ll do it! And you still think I’m only doing this for fun?"
Ivy remained silent, staring into his furious gaze without flinching, without regret. But that silence was enough of an answer.
Christian’s jaw locked painfully. His eyes darkened with something unreadable.
"If you become mine," he said slowly, his voice deadly calm, "then I’m keeping you. Forever. If you walk into this, if you offer yourself to me, you will be with me—whether you like it or not. You are never walking away."
Ivy didn’t react, her face calm, but her fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her bag. After a moment, she gave a small nod. "Fine. If that’s what you want."
Christian’s fury exploded. His voice thundered through the room.
"You don’t think I love you! You don’t even think that I fucking like you!" His voice thundered through the room. "You see me as some nuisance, and to get rid of me, you’re willing to get together with me? Talking about it like you’re making some kind of fucking sacrifice?"
His rage cracked through the air like lightning.
"What the fuck do you think I am, Ivy? What am I in your eyes?!"
Ivy didn’t answer.
Christian’s breathing was ragged, his jaw tight.
"Get out," Christian snarled, his voice shaking with fury. "Get the fuck out of this room!"
Ivy’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as if the words had physically struck her. Her fingers curled into fists on her bag, but she didn’t say a word. At once, without a word, Ivy turned away and started walking toward the door.
The moment she did, Christian’s rage vanished in an instant, replaced by sheer panic.
"No, Ivy. Don’t—" His voice broke, raw and unsteady. Without thinking, he shoved the blanket aside, his body desperate to move. He tried to get out of bed to stop her. But his body, still injured, gave out beneath him. His legs buckled, and he crashed onto the floor with a painful thud.
The sound shattered the silence.
Ivy froze mid-step. Her pulse spiked as she whipped around, her eyes widening in alarm. The sight of him on the floor, trembling, struggling, ripped through her like a knife.
She rushed to him, her heart lodged in her throat.
Christian lifted his head, his breathing ragged. Pain flickered across his features—not just from the fall, but from something deeper, something raw and unbearable. His eyes locked onto hers, filled with desperation, vulnerability.
Fear.
His hand shot out, fingers grasping her wrist with surprising strength. His grip was firm, almost trembling, as though she was the only thing keeping him from shattering completely.
She helped him back onto the bed, her movements careful. His fingers refused to let her go, clinging to her like she was the last thread of sanity he had left.
Just then, the door opened. Sawyer walked in with a doctor.
Ivy hesitated. Christian’s fingers twitched around hers. But slowly, carefully, she pried herself free.
She stepped away. Without another glance, she turned and walked out of that room.
The next day at work was stressful. Ivy hadn’t eaten properly—food didn’t taste good, and her mind kept drifting back to Christian no matter how hard she tried to push him away.
By the time she reached home, it was late at night, the air was cool against her skin.
She entered the apartment building of her new flat, took the elevator to her floor, and walked toward her door.
Just as she turned the corner, she stopped abruptly.
Christian was standing outside her apartment.
He leaned against the wall, his back pressed against it, absently running his fingers over the small bandaid on the back of his hand. A bandage was still wrapped around his forehead as he stared down, lost in thought.
Hearing the sound of her footsteps, his head turned and noticed her.
The moment he saw her, he straightened up, his entire face softening.
Ivy didn’t say a word as she walked to her door and started to unlock it.
He silently watched her. "I was missing you," he said quietly. "So I came to see you."
Ivy stilled.
Her heart gave a painful, treacherous twist.
She said nothing, stepping past him, walking inside, and shutting the door behind her.
Even though she hadn’t locked it, Christian didn’t follow her in.
Inside, Ivy changed into her nightclothes and freshened up. The cool water on her skin did little to wash away the heaviness pressing on her chest.
When she stepped out after a while, the quiet of the apartment wrapped around her. Just as she walked toward the small table in the hall, her phone dinged, breaking the silence.
She picked it up and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Sawyer.
"Hey, did Christian come to you? The hospital said he discharged himself, but I can’t find him anywhere."
Ivy stared at the screen for a moment before answering the text.
"Yes."
Sawyer’s response came immediately.
"Can you please take care of him tonight? I know you don’t like that, but today is the day Christian was left on the street by his mom. He’s always very disturbed on this date every year. I’m sorry to trouble you, Ivy."
Ivy stared at the message, her grip tightening on the phone.
She should ignore it. She should turn off her phone, go to bed, and pretend none of this concerned her.
But her fingers trembled slightly as she set the phone down on the table.
She exhaled slowly, then turned around and walked back to the door. Her heart pounded as she placed her hand on the handle. She hesitated—just for a second—before pulling it open.
Christian was still there.
He leaned against the wall, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his head tilted downward. The dim glow of the light outside bathed him in soft shadows, making his already sharp features look even more carved, almost fragile beneath his usual confidence.
At the sound of the door opening, his body tensed. Then, he lifted his head.
As soon as she stepped out, he straightened, his eyes locking onto her. But there was something hollow in his gaze, something quietly breaking beneath the surface.
Ivy swallowed.
“Come inside,” she said simply, leaving the door open.
For a second, Christian didn’t move. His lips parted slightly, as if surprised, as if he hadn't expected her to say it. Then, his face lit up.
He didn’t say a word. He just stepped forward.
Crossing the threshold, he entered her space, his presence filling the small apartment instantly.
Christian’s gaze swept over her home, drinking in every little detail. His eyes lingered on the tiny couch, the soft, worn blanket draped over its arm. The papers scattered over the table, some crumpled, some neatly stacked. The small rain-themed photographs pinned beside the nightstand—moments frozen in time, quiet and melancholic.
The place was small, intimate—just enough for one, maybe two people. It was warm, but it wasn’t homey in the way a family house was. It was… lonely.
Just like her.
Trailing behind her, Christian walked toward the single bedroom, glancing at the compact kitchen before following her inside. His footsteps were unhurried.
Inside the room, when she stopped, he walked ahead and sat on her bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, the queen-sized bed feeling softer than he expected.
His fingers curled slightly against the fabric.
"Ivy," he called her name, drawing her attention back to him.
She turned toward him, meeting his gaze.
He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “Will you marry me?”
Ivy’s eyes widened, her breath catching for a split second. She stared at him, lips parted, but no words came out. Shock flashed across her face.
Christian didn’t look away.
For a long second, the room was suffocatingly silent.
Then, Ivy’s gaze dropped. She turned her head away, exhaling quietly.
But she didn’t answer. She simply turned her gaze away.
Christian let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. A forced smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning, right after you wake up. I promise."
Ivy gave him a brief nod and left the room. A few minutes later, she returned with a folded mattress and a blanket. Without a word, she laid the mattress beside the bed, and placed a pillow on top.
"You can sleep here," she told him, holding out the blanket.
Christian took it immediately, a small smile breaking across his face.
She turned off the light and got into bed, pulling the covers over herself.
Christian lay down on the mattress, facing her bed. As he brought the blanket up to his face, her scent filled his senses. His grip on the fabric tightened slightly, his expression softening. Surrounded by her presence, his tense body gradually relaxed, and eventually, he drifted off to sleep.
When Ivy woke the next morning, her mind instantly recalled Christian’s presence. Still drowsy, she turned her head, expecting to see him still asleep.
Instead, the mattress was empty. The blanket had been neatly folded and placed over the pillow.
No Christian.
She pushed the covers off and slipped out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cool floor. Without rushing, she walked out, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen.
And then her eyes landed on him.
Christian stood by the stove, his sleeves rolled up, effortlessly flipping something in the pan. The soft morning light filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow over him. The dishes were already washed and neatly arranged, the table set with a full breakfast.
He lifted his head, as if sensing her presence before even seeing her. His gaze met hers.