Chapter 14 Lethal
Later that evening, Ivy snapped a picture of the marriage certificate and sent it to Celia.
‘Got married today. To Christian.’ She texted.
Within seconds, Celia’s response came.
‘What the fuck? Are you serious?!’
‘Things just happened,’ Ivy texted back. ‘I’m marrying him for a year, then he agreed not to disturb me again.’
‘Meet me at seven. Blue Orchid Bar.’ Celia answered.
‘Sure.’
That evening, Ivy left the office early.
The bar was high-end, expensive, just as she had expected. Celia came from a wealthy family, so it wasn’t surprising that she chose fancy places for meetups. It was her first time there, but Celia had always raved about the place.
As Ivy stepped inside in a sleek black dress, her eyes scanned the room until she spotted Celia near the bar. She was dressed in a fitted purple skirt and matching top, her hair styled in a trendy half-bun. The bold, iridescent makeup on her face shimmered under the dim lights, a blend of pinks and blues that highlighted her features.
Ivy took a deep breath and walked toward her.
Celia grabbed Ivy’s hand and pulled her toward the couches on the side, a semi-private area right next to the bar. At once, she slammed a glass of liquor in front of Ivy and barked, “Spill everything!”
Ivy let out a small laugh, shaking her head at her friend’s impatience. But the moment she picked up the glass, the weight of the past few days settled over her. With a deep breath, she took a sip, letting the burn steady her nerves, before launching into everything that had happened.
By the time she was done, Celia was rubbing her forehead, staring at Ivy in disbelief. “I don’t get it. This relationship—both of you doomed it from the very beginning! And not just dating—you actually married him?! What the hell, Ivy?”
Ivy took a sip of her drink, shrugging nonchalantly. “I didn’t want him to have any excuses.” She paused, her throat tightening. “I don’t… I don’t want him to come back again. I want him to leave me alone completely. I want to move on. I had moved on, but then he came back. And I’m not trusting it. He’ll walk away eventually—be it in a month, two, or a year. It doesn’t matter.”
Celia sighed, pity flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it. “Whatever.” Then, slamming her hand on the table, she announced loudly, “What’s done is done. That doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, right?”
Just as she spoke, a man who had been eyeing them from across the bar finally made his move. He was neatly dressed, young, and undeniably handsome, his shirt slightly unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of his chest. He walked over confidently and took a seat beside Ivy, turning toward her with a smirk.
“Hi. I was looking at you for quite some time, but since you never looked back, I figured I’d come right here so you can get a proper look.”
Ivy blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his boldness. Celia, on the other hand, grinned in amusement, leaning back on the couch to watch the show.
Ivy offered a polite smile, shifting away slightly, but the man only moved closer. His fingers reached up, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear as he murmured, “I thought you looked pretty from a distance, but up close, you’re absolutely breathtaking.”
Before his hand could even brush against her skin, Ivy caught his wrist and pushed it away firmly. “No thanks. I’m not interested.”
Celia, however, seemed to be enjoying the interaction far too much. With a teasing smile, she leaned forward and asked the man, “Are you single? Or are you cheating right now?”
He chuckled, flashing a playful wink. “Proudly single. In fact, this might be the last time I ever try to win over a girl because the most beautiful one has already rejected me. After this, I won’t have any strength or courage left to propose to anyone else ever again.”
Celia giggled, sneaking a glance at Ivy, who shot her a glare, silently pleading for her to stop encouraging this. But Celia was too entertained. It wasn’t every day Ivy got hit on—especially since she rarely came to bars. And with this guy looking like a harmless flirt, it was rather amusing to watch.
But while the flirtation continued, Larry happened to be walking past the bar with some of his friends. He noticed the exchange and his brows furrowed instantly. ‘Didn’t Ivy and Christian get married just today?’
The displeasure on his face deepened as he pulled out his phone, snapping a picture of the moment the man tucked Ivy’s hair behind her ear. Without hesitation, he sent it to Christian with a text:
‘Is this how you’re spending your wedding night, brother? Ivy is at Blue Orchid Bar right now.’
***
Christian’s phone vibrated with the incoming message. He had gone to Ivy’s office earlier, but when he didn’t find her there, he returned home. Now, as he sat in silence on the couch, staring at the clock, waiting for Ivy, he glanced at the screen and read the message.
His entire body tensed.
He shot up from his seat, hands clenching into tight fists. A dark, agitated look clouded his eyes. Without a second thought, he stormed out of the house, his long strides full of rage as he marched to his car.
His fingers clenched around the steering wheel, his breath ragged, his brows furrowed. The image of that bastard touching Ivy wouldn’t leave his mind. The jealousy burned through every inch of his body, consuming him like an unstoppable fire.
That man had been so close to her, leaning in—was he about to kiss her?
His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, increasing his speed.
When he reached the Blue Orchid Bar, he didn’t even pause. Tossing his car keys to the valet without a glance, he stormed inside, his sharp gaze sweeping across the bar, searching.
And then he saw them.
Across the bar, Ivy leaned back on the couch while the man inched closer, his voice dripping with suggestion. “You can use me, you know. I don’t mind being the guy you have a one-night stand with and then walk away. It’s okay. I’m ready to suffer through that pain, as long as it’s you who does it.”
The bastard had the audacity to grin .
Before Ivy could react, a fist came flying through the air, landing straight on the man’s face.
A sickening crack echoed through the bar.
Ivy gasped, jerking back in shock.
When she looked up, Christian stood there—seething, his entire body burning with rage. His dark eyes were murderous as he glared at the man he had just punched. The guy spat out blood, but Christian didn’t even look at him. Instead, he turned to Ivy, grabbed her hand, and yanked her up from the couch.
Without a word, he dragged her out of the bar.
Celia, eyes wide, looked at their retreating backs, before turning back to the injured man, and then quickly slamming a few bundles of cash onto the table. “Sorry, dude.” Then, she immediately rushed out, following after them.
Ivy half-ran to keep up with Christian’s long strides, her breath coming out in uneven gasps. “Christian? Christian!” she called out, but he didn’t respond.
He stormed outside and yanked the door open, pushing her into the seat before slamming the door shut.
Without a word, he stalked to the driver’s side, got in, and sped off, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw clenched.
The silence between them was deafening, heavier than any argument they could have had.
Christian wasn’t yelling at her. He wasn’t even looking at her. And somehow, that was worse than if he had just exploded in anger.
As the drive stretched on, the tension thickened. His hands remained clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles split from the impact of his punch. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven.
He didn’t stop the car until they reached his home. And the moment they arrived at the entrance, he stepped out first, impatience evident in his every movement.
Ivy was still unbuckling her seatbelt when, suddenly, Christian yanked the door open, reached in, and unbuckled it for her. Then, without warning, he lifted her into his arms.
“Christian—”
He ignored her, carrying her inside, past the entrance, and straight into his bedroom.
He dumped her onto the bed and leaned down at once, his face thunderous. His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up toward him.
“Ivy Evans,” he growled, his voice low and lethal. “How dare you?”
Her eyes snapped to his the moment he used ‘Evans’ as her surname, her heart stopping at the sound of it.
Not Ivy Watson. But Ivy Evans.
Hearing him call her his — his wife—sent a jolt through her, a reminder of what she had just entered into.
One of his hands rested against the headboard behind her head, caging her in, while the other tightened around her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. His breath was warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming.
“You married me not even twenty-four hours ago,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “And you’re already letting other men touch you?”
“It was nothing.” She pushed at his chest, trying to break free from his hold, but his frown only deepened, the rage in his eyes intensifying.
“Nothing?”
He pulled out his phone and shoved the screen in her face. The picture Larry had sent stared back at her—her and the man in an intimate position. “This is nothing?!”
Before she could respond, he sat next to her, grabbed her wrists, and yanked her forward, pulling her onto his lap with force.
She struggled, trying to break free, but his grip only tightened. One hand locked both of hers behind her back, the other tilting her chin up to force her to meet his eyes.
“You want a man, right?” His voice dropped to a dark whisper, sending a shiver through her. "Then fucking use me!"
Then, before she could react, his lips crashed against hers.
His grip tightened around Ivy's hand, pulling it forcefully and guiding it under his t-shirt, urging her to touch his abs. His muscles were taut against her fingers, his body burning with intensity.
"Is this not good enough for you?" His voice trembled with suppressed rage. His hands pulled her body flush against his, the heat between them almost unbearable. Before she could respond, he gripped her face again, his lips crashing onto hers in a furious kiss. His body moved against hers, urging her to respond, his mouth licking her lips with a desperation that left her breathless.
Ivy’s hands slipped out from under Christian’s t-shirt and slid to his shoulders. As his tongue licked her lips, her hand trailed upward, wrapping around his throat and tightening slightly. She pulled back from the kiss.
As much as he didn’t want to, Christian pulled back too. His lips detached from hers with a mix of force and reluctance. His forehead creased with a frown, breath ragged and heavy.
“Let me please you,” he rasped, his hoarse voice trembling. His hand slid to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, his lips lingering just an inch away, ready to capture hers again without restraint.