Chapter 32
IVY
Now that I’m officially living in Ravelle, I sign up for a Pilates class.
That still feels weird to say—living in Ravelle.
My recent life has been a series of unstable stops.
A man who dismantled me piece by piece.
Temporary places that never felt like mine. AirBnBs with enough word art to make my skin crawl. Promises of safety that turned into something else entirely.
Being here feels different. Even though this is Soren’s home through and through, I have hope that things will be better. More stable. A place where I can breathe.
Everywhere else was transitional—temporary. I was hesitant to sign up for anything, to form connections or habits that I’d just have to undo. Finding connection and having to tear those bonds over and over again has left me hollow.
So an exercise class feels like a way to grab onto a tiny piece of stability. It feels like something I chose. A routine I can claim as my own.
Something normal.
The studio is just down the road, tucked between a café and a boutique that sells overpriced linen dresses. I’ve walked past it enough times to remember it.
Today, I finally decided to go. I booked the class online—it’s an introductory special where I get to make sure it’s a good match for me.
My body needs it. There’s a tightness that’s been building for months, something that stretching alone hasn’t been able to touch.
Movement helps my nervous system, too. It gives my mind something physical to lock onto instead of the constant low hum that never quite switches off. When I move, everything else quiets.
I pack my bag carefully. Towel. Water bottle. Grippy socks. I change into a workout set of sports bra and leggings that makes me feel put together, pull my hair up in a high pony which I braid and flick to the side, and smooth it down in the mirror. A little lip gloss. A final adjustment.
I feel a jitter of excitement.
This is healthy. Active.
Normal.
“Going somewhere?” Soren’s voice comes from behind me as he passes, heading toward the front door ahead of me.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing back. “I signed up for a Pilates class.”
His gaze flicks over me, assessing.
Before he can respond, there’s a knock at the door.
He doesn’t hesitate. He opens it. “Come in.”
A woman steps inside.
Beautiful in a way that doesn’t try. Everything about her is precise—posture, movement, the way she carries herself like her body is something she fully understands.
“Hi—who’s this?” I ask.
“You must be Ivy!” she says brightly, already moving toward me.
I look at Soren.
He’s smiling.
Not casually.
Like something just worked.
“This is your Pilates instructor.”
My brain stalls. “I—I don’t understand. I already booked a class.”
“Not anymore,” he says. “Change of plans.”
The words land clean.
No room left around them.
“I arranged a private coach. She’s the best in town. You can check her reviews later.”
I glance at her again, this time clocking the insane definition of her muscles. Toned and leaned, obliques that could cut glass, the center line of her abs one of those things some say are genetic. Hers maybe are too, but it’s definitely also the result of hard work.
Her arms are ropy, strong. She might not be jacked up like a gym bro, but I wouldn’t mess with her in a dark alley. She looks like she could plank for hours with one of those guys sitting on top of her without breaking a sweat.
“There’s a cancellation fee.” It’s the first thing that springs to mind.
I booked a class.
But now my class is here.
But I didn’t book this class.
I’ve never heard of this person before.
What is even happening?
“I already handled it.” Of course he did. “This is a better option.”
It isn’t framed as a suggestion.
My mind glitches, almost as if a zap of electricity misfires, sending what feels like a shock through my synapses. “I’ll—be right back.” The need to run, to get away and process, outweighs my need to ask more questions. For now, at least.
“Take your time,” he says. “Beth will get set up.”
Beth.
Like it’s already done.
Like I’ve already agreed.
I move across the room, step into the bathroom and close the door.
My phone is in my hand before I sit down on the edge of the bathtub, the porcelain cool even through my leggings.
Beth Perkins. Master Pilates Instructor.
Five stars.
The reviews are ridiculous. Transformation photos. Impressive credentials. Testimonials that read like people owe her their lives.
I scroll slower.
This isn’t random.
This isn’t impulsive.
This was planned.
And he didn’t just replace my class—he upgraded it with precision.
My stomach tightens slightly.
Not resistance. Just… adjustment. Because this isn’t something to argue with.
It’s thoughtful.
It’s expensive.
It’s better.
Maybe he’s just nice.
Or maybe—I stop the thought before it forms.
Maybe he knew you wouldn’t love a group class.
Maybe he made it easier.
Safer.
I push off the edge of the tub and stand.
That’s enough.
I smooth my outfit and walk back out.
What have I got to lose?
Beth is almost done setting up.
Soren is nowhere to be seen. Just like him to turn my life upside down and then disappear. Jerk.
She looks up and smiles. “Ready to go?”
I shrug and smile back. “Why not? Let’s do it.”
The session starts immediately.
Within minutes, I understand why he chose her.
She reads me.
Not generally, as if I was a cookie cutter client. My physiology. Maybe even my mental capacity. Where I hesitate. Where I overcompensate. Where I’m stronger than I think.
Her hands adjust me with confidence, correcting angles I didn’t know were wrong, shifting small things that change everything.
My breathing changes.
My posture locks in.
Muscles I forgot about switch on.
She pushes me right to the edge of what I can hold, then pulls me back just enough to keep me there.
It’s exact.
It’s addictive.
I stop thinking about anything else.
At some point, Soren appears.
I don’t hear him. I feel him, the atmosphere shifting in the room.
When I turn, I see him. He’s in the doorway. Watching.
His gaze moves over me slowly, tracking each movement, each correction, each adjustment Beth makes. There’s no interruption. No commentary. Just attention. Focused. Deliberate.
He nods once. Like he expected this.
Then he leaves. Like that was all he came for.
By the time the session ends, my body feels different.
Aligned.
Stronger.
“Same time next week for our next session?” Beth asks.
“Absolutely,” I smile.
No hesitation.
We hug, she leaves, and I stand there for a moment, letting it settle.
My body buzzes with endorphins. I’m going to be sore tomorrow in the best way.
He was right.
This was better.
Way better.
And the thought lands without resistance.
His decision improved mine.
That’s not a loss.
That’s just true.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t check the clock during a fitness class. Didn’t think about leaving early or start planning what I was going to do right after.
But something lingers.
Small.
Quiet.
A thread I can’t fully catch.
This was better.
But it wasn’t mine.
There’s a kind of freedom in going somewhere. Being around people. Existing in a space that isn’t shaped just for you. The camaraderie of a group class where everybody feels the excruciating pain at the same time and looks to each other for moral support.
This was different, though.
Better.
But shaped.
And I feel that difference sit somewhere in my chest, tight enough to notice, but not enough to disrupt anything.
At dinner, I bring it up.
Carefully.
“Hey—thank you for arranging the Pilates lesson. Beth was amazing. But… why did you decide to do that? I could’ve just gone to the class down the street. I had it booked and everything. It wouldn’t have been a problem.”
Soren shrugs, his expression serious. “I prefer knowing exactly who has access to you.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“It’s just a Pilates class. Not naked tantric yoga. Who do you think would ‘access me’ somewhere like that?”
Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Sharp. “Men who are not me,” he says. “That’s who.”
My stomach dips.
“I prefer to remove any uncertainty from that,” he continues, his tone even. “For their sake. As much as mine.”
I hold his gaze. “What does that mean?”
His eyes don’t soften. “If anyone so much as looked at you like the way I know they would if you were stretching the way you were today in front of them,” he says calmly, “I’d snap their necks and remove their eyes.”
The silence after is immediate.
Clean.
There’s no smile. No signal that it’s exaggerated.
And I have no doubt that he means it completely.