21. Ivy
IVY
T he cab ride to Derek’s apartment is almost normal.
Almost. Sienna talks about a new client she hates, something to do with an influencer’s skincare line for dogs.
I laugh, genuinely, for a moment. It feels absurd enough to be real.
Outside the window, the city moves like an indifferent current, storefronts, cyclists, people glued to their phones, doing exactly what I used to think I’d be doing today: moving on with my life.
“I’m just saying,” Sienna continues, “if this dog serum launches before I get hazard pay, I’m calling the ASPCA.”
“You’re not right,” I murmur, shaking my head with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
The cab slows.
Derek’s building rises ahead, steel and glass, all symmetry, its mirrored windows catching the afternoon light. My reflection flashes in one of them, fleeting and unfamiliar. For a second, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. My laughter fades.
I force myself to keep moving, to stay in the moment and not unravel.
I slide my thumb across the smooth edge of the key tucked in my coat pocket.
The elevator ride is short, but it stretches like elastic pulled too far.
Sienna is no longer talking. She watches me instead, calculating what I need before I even realize it.
I think about how many times I used to ride this same elevator with Derek.
Sometimes in silence after a fight, both of us refusing to bend.
Sometimes tangled in his arms, pretending we were in love.
Always with that same artificial floral scent trailing in behind us from the lobby, too sweet and too fake.
My stomach twists. I shift the tote on my shoulder and curl my fingers into the strap like it’s a lifeline. Sienna touches my elbow, just a light press but it steadies me more than I want to admit.
The hallway feels narrower than I remember, like the walls have leaned in, curious to witness what’s about to happen.
The carpet muffles our footsteps, and the overhead lights cast long, twitchy shadows on the floor.
Every step toward his door feels heavier than the last. But I keep walking.
Because I have to. Because I’m not the girl who backed down anymore.
I slip the key into the lock and turn it without hesitation.
The door opens with a soft groan of resistance, like even the apartment doesn’t want to let me back in.
And for a moment, just a moment, it really looks like he isn’t home.
But dread has a way of warning you. Of crawling into your bones before your brain catches up.
Something is wrong. And it’s only just beginning.
Sienna exhales, just slightly. “Bedroom?”
I nod once. “I’ll take the shelves.”
She disappears down the hall.
I move to the living room, pulling framed photos off the shelves, ones I’d been too numb to grab the first time.
Old sketchbooks. A stack of art books I never replaced.
A ceramic dish I made in college, cracked but still intact.
I slide them into the tote carefully, almost reverently, like each item still holds a pulse of the girl I used to be.
I’m reaching for the sculpture from my gallery debut when the front door slams hard enough to rattle the frame.
My heart stops. Sienna bolts from the hallway like a shot. Derek stands just inside the doorway. He’s in an impeccable suit, his coat still on, and there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes that doesn’t match the smirk on his face.
“You came,” he says lightly, as if we’re having brunch.
“You said you wouldn’t be here.”
“I lied,” he replies with a shrug, stepping further inside. “Call it nostalgia.”
Sienna immediately positions herself between us, her stance firm. “We’re done here.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he lifts a manila envelope from beneath his coat, tapping it once against his palm like it’s an afterthought. “Not before she sees this.”
“We don’t need your trash,” I say, my voice hard and sharp like glass.
He slides out the top photo and holds it toward me, an offering laced with venom. “It’s not trash. It’s Jack.”
I glance down. The photo shows Jack outside a townhouse. A woman beside him, tall, brunette, laughing at something he said. His hand hovers behind her back. The gesture is too casual to explain, too intimate to ignore.
I don’t take the photo. “You’re desperate.”
“No,” Derek says, his eyes narrowing. “I’m done playing nice.”
He steps deliberately between us and the door. His movements are calm, even courteous, but the effect is chilling. He plants his feet like he’s decided this conversation ends on his terms. His height blocks the exit. His smile sharpens.
“You don’t want to do this,” Sienna says, her voice tight with warning.
“I’m not doing anything,” he says smoothly. “Just standing in my home. Having a final chat with the woman who ripped my future apart.”
“Move,” I say, my fists clenched around the tote’s strap.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he tilts his head like he’s studying me. “You used to love this place. Remember the night after your first show? Champagne on the balcony. You told me you finally felt invincible.”
“You made sure I wasn’t,” I snap.
His smile flickers. “Well. We all grow up.”
The pause stretches, thick and electric.
Then, softer, darker: “You think Jack can protect you? You think he’s clean? That you can run into his arms and everything else will vanish?”
I say nothing. The words sink like stones into my chest.
He leans closer, lowering his voice until it slices like a blade. “You want to be his shield, Ivy? You want to take the hit? Fine. But shields crack. And when he goes down, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then his smile drops entirely.
“If I can’t have you,” he says, voice flat, “then nobody will.”
Time slows.
I hear the blood rushing in my ears before I hear Sienna move. She’s already stepped in front of me, one hand in her coat, the other curled into a fist.
Derek takes a step closer. Just one. Close enough that I can smell the faint trace of the cologne he always wore and it makes my stomach twist.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says softly. “I just wanted to make you see clearly.”
His hand drifts toward his coat pocket.
Sienna raises the pepper spray in a flash. “Don’t.”
He freezes. For a second, something flickers across his face, amusement? Disbelief? Then it hardens into something else.
“You think that little canister’s going to stop what’s coming?” he murmurs. “You think you’re safe just because you made it out the door?”
His eyes flick to me. “You chose the wrong brother, Ivy. The clean one. The golden one. The one with more secrets than I ever had.”
My breath stops.
“You don’t even know what you’re protecting.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “But I do.”
He steps back and lets us go. And that’s what scares me most, that he wanted us to leave. Like the real damage hasn’t even started.
***
By the time we reach Graham’s apartment, I can’t feel my fingers. The keys jangle in my hand. My mouth is dry. I move through the space like a ghost, my pulse louder than the ambient city noise seeping in from the windows.
I sit down at the kitchen counter. Write the note in one shot: Jack, I don’t know how else to do this. Things aren’t safe right now—not for me, and not for you if you keep trying to fix it. Don’t look for me. Not yet. I know you will anyway. I love you. —Ivy
I fold it once. I walk across the hall in socked feet.
I stop in front of Jack’s door. My hand hovers for a moment, but I don’t knock.
I can’t. Instead, I crouch, the note trembling in my hand.
The folded paper feels heavier than it should, ink and truth and goodbye crammed into a few short lines.
I press my fingertips to the smooth wood, just for a second.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For leaving this way. For not giving you a chance to talk me out of it.”
I slide the note beneath the door, slow and careful, until it vanishes into the space between us.
There’s a lump in my throat that refuses to dissolve.
I stay there for one more second, then two.
Waiting for something impossible, his voice, his footsteps, his arms around me saying don’t go, but there’s only silence.
Only the soft click of the elevator arriving down the hall. I turn. Sienna’s waiting in the open doorway to Graham’s apartment, her coat already on, jaw set like stone.
“You good?” she asks, even though we both know I’m not.
“No,” I say. “But I will be.”
She nods and hands me the keys. “Drive fast. But smart.”
I manage a small smile. “Always.”
We don’t say anything else as we head down the corridor. The city hums faintly below us, muffled and relentless. I shoulder my bag. Sienna is already scanning the hallway, checking corners. She’s switched to crisis mode, and honestly? I need that. I need her.
Before we reach the elevator, I stop.
“I need to disappear,” I say quietly. “But not just for me.”
“I know,” she says without hesitation.
“If Derek makes a move on Jack…”
“He won’t,” she replies. “Because we’re going to stop him.”
“I don’t want to ask you…”
“You’re not,” she says firmly. “I’m coming.”
I blink. “You are?”
She pulls her scarf tighter. “I’ve got a friend upstate. House is empty. She’s glacier-hiking or possibly having a midlife crisis in a yurt. Either way, she’s off the grid. No neighbors. No cell towers. We go this afternoon.”
“You’re sure?”
“You’re shaking, Ivy. Of course I’m sure.”
I nod, throat tight. “He’s going to read the note soon.”
“Good,” she says. “Let him.”
I take one last look down the hallway. One last breath for Jack. For everything I’m trying to protect. And when the elevator doors slide open, I don’t look back, because if I do, I might not leave.