Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
IVY
It doesn’t matter how many times I clean. I still see the blood, still remember the weight of my gun and the absolute fucking regret. I wish he’d died.
One month. That’s how long I’ve spent convincing myself I’m fine while his ghost follows me from room to room.
I thought I was clever, auctioning the place off at some charity gala, but the joke landed squarely on me when the buyer never contacted my lawyers.
So what do I do? Move in. Because where better to rot than the one place that still feels like home?
I bite into a carrot, humming along with the bass pounding through the speakers while Alexa reads the day’s news.
Mount Crow fills the window, stopping my hand above the pot. Goosebumps rise along the back of my neck.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find the little red dot tucked into the corner of the room and flip it off.
My smirk barely dies before the front door swings open and Devon walks in carrying a bouquet of sunflowers. The bright yellow petals are almost offensive against the muted tones of the entryway.
Devon is tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist, and has blonde hair that looks dirty even though I know he showers twice a day. He’s handsome, with blue eyes and—Blah, blah, blah.
“Honey, I’m home.” He waits, grin spread wide.
I set down the knife and cross the kitchen to meet him, rising on my toes to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “How was the flight?”
Devon sets the flowers on the counter and shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Meeting was fine, the trip itself wasn’t.”
“Poor baby.” I turn back to the cutting board, resuming my chopping. Celery next. Then onions. “Must be hard, staying in five-star hotels and drinking champagne with export executives. Switzerland is beautiful. One of my most favorite places.”
He kisses my neck, wrapping an arm around my stomach. “I didn’t know you’d been?”
I pause, hesitating. Whoops. That was fucking sloppy.
“The champagne was Dom Pérignon. And the executives were boring as shit.” His hand lands on my waist, and he pulls me back into him. Devon loves to be touchy. A lot. Kind of miss the part about Parker where he fucking despised me as much as I did him.
“I missed you.” His groan vibrates through my body.
I hum, noncommittal, and pop another carrot into my mouth.
When I don’t answer, he brushes his lips over my ear. “Did you miss me?”
No. “Obviously.”
Devon laughs against my neck, before he releases me to grab a beer from the fridge. I watch him in my peripheral as the news station drowns out his words.
He doesn’t notice.
I finish chopping the vegetables and slide them into the waiting pot on the stove.
My eyes flick to the corner again, meeting that blinking red light like an old friend.
Devon leans against the counter, beer in hand, watching me stir. “You seem different.”
“Different how?” I sweeten my tone, praying he backs the fuck up.
He takes a slow sip of his beer. “I don’t know. Fitter. Have you been working out more?”
Every day. Six hours minimum. Combat training in the morning. Weights in the afternoon. Cardio at night until my lungs burn and my legs give out and I’m too exhausted to dream about pale blue eyes and scarred throats.
I shrug, playing nonchalant. “A little.”
Devon’s mouth curves, his bottle clicking once against the granite. “It suits you.”
I don’t answer. The fuck does he mean it suits me? I know it suits me.
Movement catches the corner of my eye as Daniel’s silhouette passes. He lifts a hand in a subtle signal that only I know means we got a problem.
I turn the elements off. “Be right back.”
Devon barely glances up from his phone. “Where are you going?”
“Just need to chat with my assistant.” Daniel is the most unserious assistant ever. I can’t believe I didn’t dignify him with a more accurate job description. He also doesn’t find it funny.
I wipe my hands on the dish towel, toss it over the chair, and slip through the glass doors, pulling my cardigan tight against the cold. Winter is a cruel bitch this year.
Daniel waits by the railing near the pool, posture loose but his eyes cutting right through me.
I stop in front of him. “What is it?”
Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his beard. “The house.”
Of course it’s about the house. “What about it?”
“The buyer who fell through?” He watches me for a second. “It was Asher.”
My mouth snaps shut, fingers biting into my arms. “What?”
“The anonymous buyer. It was Asher. He purchased the house through a shell company, but Punk traced it back to him finally, or someone let her finally trace it back…”
He bought my house.
“There’s more.” Daniel’s voice drops. “He’s here. Arrived in Veilarath this morning.”
I blink. “On what side?”
If I didn’t know this man, I’d say he looks pressed. “Ah, this side. And he’s not alone.”
The world goes quiet as I say her name, needing to hear it even though I already know. “Camille?”
Daniel nods, lips pulled tight.
My eyes close as I breathe in the setting sun, hoping it’ll distract me from feeling that familiar pulse of rage returning. Hello, old friend.
Of course they jumped all the way into whatever they had. Everything was fake with you.
I grit my teeth. “But it’s my birthday weekend.”
“I know.” Daniel winces, the wrinkles on his face deepening. “Pretty sure he knows too…”
“Oh,” I laugh, but I kill it before it gives me away. “He does.”
My fingers find the choker, grazing fresh scars from where I tried everything Google and TikTok recommended I do to remove it. Be great if this fucking thing was fake too.
I open my eyes and stare out at the snow cloaked yard. At Mount Crow that has always felt like mine despite how hard I pretend I don’t want it.
Let him come. Let him see Devon in my kitchen and a version of me he doesn’t recognize anymore. He doesn’t know Devon is a job. He could be my forever home, that’s why he’s in Veilarath and we’re not in the US. I want him to see that the girl he broke doesn’t exist anymore.
I killed her myself.
Daniel interrupts my thoughts. “You want me to see what I can do?”
“No.” I turn back toward the house. “It’s fine. I’m sure we can figure out the house issue while he’s here.”
Through the glass, Devon is still at the counter, head bent over his phone, blind to everything unraveling around him, but especially to the red light flashing in the corner.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I open the group chat.
Punk: Oh no, homie…
Shut up and fix this.
Punk: I can fix what I can… but that…
Punk…
Leon: You good? We’ll be there soon.
I’m fine.
And that may just be the biggest lie I’ve ever said, because I’m pretty sure the word I’m looking for right now is homicidal.
Swinging the door open, I shoulder my way inside, a loose strand of hair catching on my lip. I blow it aside, temper burning hot under my skin.
He bought my house. My fucking house.
I’m halfway across the kitchen when voices drift in from the foyer. Devon’s easy laugh reaches me first, followed by a deeper voice I already hate.
Him.
I stop in the doorway.
Devon has his back to me, one hand held out in greeting as if we’re hosting a goddamn dinner party. He has no idea what he’s invited into our home.
My home.
His home now, apparently.
Asher stands in the entrance, snow dusting the shoulders of his black coat. Camille hovers at his elbow, her fingers curled around his bicep like she’s afraid he’ll float away.
One month.
Thirty-one days since he told me I was a mistake. Since I left his house and swore I’d never fucking look at him again.
He looks good. Shit. I hate that he looks good. His jaw cuts sharper now, his neck and shoulders thicker under the coat. I know every one of his tattoos, and they shift across his skin as he turns.
His eyes find me, re-igniting a flame I’m not so sure ever burned out.
Devon follows his line of sight. “Babe, you didn’t tell me new friends were coming?”
“Pretty sure I did,” I say through clenched teeth. “But these aren’t friends.”
My eyes snap to Asher. “What are you doing here? Why did you buy my fucking house?”
Asher unzips his jacket. “Missed you too, Venom, and I didn’t buy it. I put a bid on it. Like I was gonna let you sell our fucking house.”
Our fucking house.
I wince, folding my arms in front of myself. Really bad habit. I need to stop showing my insecurities so easily.
My hands drop.
“Ah…” Devon’s head swings between us, confused. “What is going on here?”
Camille shrugs. “These two are… hmmm… what should I call it? Ex lovers? Ex married?”
“You’ll be ex-fucking-iled if you don’t get the fuck out of my house, Camille.” I flash a smile at her, teeth bared. “I will shoot you this time.”
“Aww,” Camille pats my shoulder and every tendon in my arm locks tight. “Ash is right. You are so cute when you go all—” her hands wave. “—Assassin mode.”
I still, eyes flying to Asher who’s already glaring at Camille. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed my gun until I feel the weight in my hand.
My brows lift. “Give me two reasons why I’m not burying a bullet in her skull, Ash…”
Asher finally drags his attention off her and onto me. “You already know one.”
I lower the gun with a soft growl. I need to get away. It’s been less than two minutes and I’m ready to risk my entire life just see the inside of Camille’s skull.
The front door opens again. Who the fuc—“Khloe?”
A smile splits across my face when the familiar tall replica of the asshole in the living room steps through.
“Oh my God I’m so sorry I’m early, but, wait!” she points suspiciously. “That better not be Camel-toe’s car in the driveway, she’s the only bitch I know who would have a legit pink plate in—“
My lips curl to stop my laugh as Khloe pauses near the living room, obviously noticing that her assessments were right.
She turns back to me with a fake smile. “Couldn’t even give a bitch a heads up? Just let me walk right into that one, huh?”