Chapter 21
Ivy
Iroll out of Asher’s bed the next morning, the sun bleeding through the windows of his room. I’d never come in here much until I needed to furnish it. Now I wish I did so more often.
Asher remains still, spread over the bed and tangled in sheets. Last night flickers through my head. The words we said, the secrets that almost spilled, and the way he feels inside of me.
Jesus.
I’d had sex many times before, but never like that. It’s like being touched, but not felt. Eating, but not fed. If this is what it feels like to fall… then I need to find my feet.
Slipping on the clothes from last night, I find my phone in my pocket and open a text from Luce.
Parker isn’t here. Have you heard from him?
I exit her text and scroll to the one I got from him.
I’ve got to fly out for a few days but I will be back before the ceremony.
Flicking back up to Luce, I open her newest ones.
Ok I talked to Daniel and he said he needed to fly back to the US for a few days. You’re good to be a ho.
And then another.
But also where’s Camille? She might still come home.
I breathe out a sigh, collecting the rest of my things and quickly tip toeing through the bedroom. As soon as I hit outside, my eyes land on Jord and Luce, sipping coffee from the fire pit both with grins as wide as my damn legs last night.
Rolling my eyes, I head toward them.
Luce hands me a mug and I take it, tossing my clothes to the side. “Don’t even start. I mean it.”
“I wasn’t gonna say a single thing.” Luce grins at me from behind her coffee. I still smell of him. It’s like a perfume now that won’t let go.
“So,” Jord finally says. “Hows the dick?”
I shake my head, tying my hair back. “You’re both terrible.”
“No, but seriously.” Luce sets down her mug, and I know that tone. The fun's over. “Ivy, this is getting dangerous.”
My shoulders tighten. “It's fine.”
“Is it?” Jord leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Because from where I'm sitting, you're playing with fire while standing in a puddle of gasoline.”
Heat crawls up my neck. Here come my best friends, ready to call on my bullshit. “Parker's gone for a few days. Nothing's going to—”
“You know we're not talking about Parker.” Luce's voice drops. “But speaking of partners, do you think Camille's just going to roll over? That girl's got claws, and she's not afraid to use them.”
I take a long sip of coffee, buying time. It burns going down. “Camille?” I raise a brow at Luce. “You insult me.”
Jord scoffs. “Keep murder off your brain, that isn't what we're saying. You didn't see her face yesterday when Asher basically told her to fuck off in front of everyone. That's not something people like her forget.”
My stomach twists, remembering the way Asher had dismissed her. The way he'd chosen me, publicly, definitively.
“Look, I appreciate the concern, but—”
“Do you?” Luce cuts me off. “Because it seems like you're content to let this whole thing blow up in your face. And when it does, it won't just be you catching shrapnel.”
She's right. When this implodes, and it will, everyone around me will feel it.
“I know what I'm doing,” I lie.
Jord clucks his tongue. “Sure you do. That's why you're sneaking out of his room at dawn like a teenager.”
Before I can respond, the sound of heels on stone makes us all turn.
Camille stalks across the patio, designer sunglasses hiding what I'm sure are red-rimmed eyes.
She doesn't look at us. Doesn't acknowledge we exist. Just beelines for the pool house with the kind of determination that makes my skin prickle.
“Shit,” Luce mutters.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting another text from Parker, but it's a notification from an unknown number.
My blood turns to ice water as I open it.
The photo loads, and suddenly I can't breathe. It's a photo of Asher tucking me under his arm last night, kissing my forehead while keeping his eyes trained directly on the camera. Possessive. Protective. Caring, as if I'm not a bomb that could detonate at any time.
A text follows.
Could it be that you're closer to this than you think?
My thumb hovers over my phone as I try to shuffle words in my head. Could it?
No.
I'm merely filling the void.
I wait for a reply, and when the chat bubbles disappear and his next text pops up, my stomach hits the ground.
So he means nothing to you?
My throat swells as I swallow.
Nada.
Really?
Really.
Hmmm…
I don't respond, because what do I say to that?
His next text hits me like a fucking truck.
Prove it.
“Shit.” I shut my phone and shuffle up the chair to find Luce and Jord both staring at me. I flash them both a smile. “It's fine.”
Pushing up from the lounge, I make my way to the house before they do something like corner me further and all those damn cracks that Asher has put in my chest finally fracture and my heart spills out.
Dumping my things in the dirty laundry basket, I take in the bedroom. I can't sleep in here. Since Parker isn't going to be here for a while, I may as well just stay in the main bedroom, since it's my favorite bedroom.
I collect a bunch of clothes, makeup, shoes, and whatever else I might need, and haul ass back downstairs, cursing at the elevator when it once again tests my patience.
As soon as the doors slap shut behind me, I relax, banging my head against the wall a couple of times to force my thoughts down. No, you're not weak. No, you don't need an intervention. Yes, you do like him more than you thought. No, you're not thinking about love.
My eyes open, onto the room. The gondola, the pool table, the small bar, and TV, and the wall that hides the bedroom.
This is where I should have been all along. It's closer to hell.
***
“I'm nervous,” I say down the phone, chewing on my lip. “Am I losing my way?”
She's silent a moment, before her voice filters through like the morning sun after a stormy night. “No, Vanya. You're not. You don't need anyone to tell you anything. Deep down, you know the path.”
She says it like I already knew this. After showering, I decided to pick up the phone and call the one person who is far enough away from the situation to not have a bias.
“Where are you?” I ask, resting the phone on my shoulder as I fold the last piece of clothing I had. The sound of the elevator doors opening makes me pause for a moment, but I shrug it off, changing ears.
“On a job,” she says, and I hear the sound of the ocean crashing around her.
“Anyone we know?”
She laughs, and it's almost enough to make me smile. “No, unfortunately.”
I end the call and stare at my phone for a beat too long, trying to absorb her words. Deep down, you know the path.
Do I?
Shoving the phone in my pocket, I grab the few remaining items scattered across the bed and head for the elevator. The doors slide open with their usual groan, and I step inside, punching the button for the main floor.
The ride up feels longer than it should. My reflection stares back at me from the polished metal doors—oversized cardigan hanging off one shoulder, tiny sleep shorts barely visible beneath the hem, thigh-high socks bunched at my knees. I look like I rolled out of someone's bed.
Because I did.
The elevator dings. Doors part.
I step out into the main living area and freeze.
Four pairs of eyes snap to me.
Asher stands near the kitchen island, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Atlas sprawls on the couch, remote in hand. Punk perches on the arm of the same couch, phone angled like she's mid-story. And Camille—perfect, polished Camille—stands beside Asher, one manicured hand resting on his forearm.
Nobody moves.
I glance down at myself, suddenly aware of how sheer this cardigan is in direct sunlight. The lace of my bralette does absolutely nothing to hide my nipples, and these shorts might as well be underwear.
“Morning,” I say, because what else do you say when you've just walked into your own ambush wearing next to nothing?
Camille's eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate. Her lip curls. “Interesting outfit choice.”
“Thanks.” I shift the bundle of clothes in my arms, using them as a makeshift shield. “I dress for comfort, not approval.”
Atlas barks out a laugh. “Damn.”
Punk doesn't look up from her phone, but I catch the smirk tugging at her mouth.
Asher's gaze hasn't left me. It's heavy, possessive, tracking every inch of exposed skin like he's remembering for later. His jaw flexes.
Camille notices. Of course she does.
She steps closer to him, fingers tightening on his arm as she tilts her head up, angling for his attention. “Baby, we still need to talk about the gala next week. Your mother wants us back after the ceremony, so I'll book the jet to come at say, eleven?”
“Yeah.” Asher's voice comes out flat. He doesn't look at her.
She pouts, leaning into him. “You're not even listening.”
“I'm listening.”
“Then look at me.”
He does. Finally. And something in his expression shifts—something cold and dutiful that makes my chest tighten. He dips his head, and Camille rises on her toes, pressing her glossed lips to his.
The kiss is performative. Strategic. A claim staked in enemy territory.
My stomach twists. Heat floods my face, crawling down my neck and settling somewhere low and venomous. I should look away. I should walk past them, head held high, and pretend none of this matters.
Instead, I watch.
Camille's hand slides up his chest. Asher's stays at his sides.
When she pulls back, she's smiling. Victorious. She glances at me, and that smile sharpens into something cruel.
“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “Didn't mean to make things uncomfortable.”
I force my mouth into a smile. The kind that doesn't reach my eyes. The kind that says I could bury you and no one would find the body. “Not uncomfortable at all. You two are adorable.”
Atlas groans from the couch, rubbing his face with both hands. “Oh god, here we go.”
Camille's smile falters. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Atlas waves a hand. “Just sensing the vibe shift. This might get awkward.”