Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Ivy
"Fresh Provence lavender buds, twelve bucks a pound. Can't get it any cheaper, sweetheart. Top-shelf stuff—same quality the fancy aroma shops in Manhattan use."
In the damp wholesale market air thick with the mingled scents of spices and rotting vegetable leaves, the stall owner slapped a bag of purplish-gray dried buds onto the sticky wooden counter and bellowed at me.
"Ten dollars," I said, pinching a small handful of the buds between my fingers and lifting them to my nose. "I didn't come here to hear you brag about Manhattan, boss."
"Fine, fine. Pretty girl like you—deal." The owner shrugged, a little embarrassed, and quickly bagged the lavender for me.
When I stepped out of the wholesale market, the sky hung heavy and low. A cold wind tugged at the hem of my trench coat.
The shopping bags in my hand were heavy with more than just the lavender—one pound of pure California honey and two gallons of premium plant-based butter. The real, expensive ingredients weighed on me; with every step, a dull ache spread through my lower back from the strain.
I was already starting to regret coming alone today.
I had slipped out to the wholesale market by myself. The reason I'd been so secretive? Ever since Damian and I went baby shopping together, he seemed to have awakened some deep paternal instinct. Lately he'd been watching over me like a hawk. He wouldn't even let me go buy cheese on my own.
He had a last-minute errand in Manhattan today, so I seized the chance to pick out the right materials carefully.
I could already picture his reaction if he found out I'd come here alone—
He would widen his eyes, grip my shoulder with one hand, and look at me with that serious, solemn expression, "Ivy, it's extremely dangerous for you to be out by yourself right now. You need to be especially careful about—"
God, just imagining it made my ears feel like they were growing calluses.
I shifted the shopping bags and used my free hand to gently cradle my slightly rounded belly.
"We'll be home soon, baby," I whispered, comforting both the little one and myself.
Business at the shop had been booming lately. The healthy balance in my account gave me confidence I'd never felt before. The feeling of standing on my own two feet in this city was more satisfying than any designer gown at a fancy dinner party.
It was getting dark. I decided to take the shorter route home.
The alley was narrow and dim. I'd walked through it during daylight before—it saved me from having to loop around two extra blocks.
But today, under the gloomy sky, an inexplicable sense of unease settled over me.
I instinctively quickened my pace. My flat shoes slapped against the wet, oily concrete, the hurried patter echoing off the walls.
Suddenly, heavy, chaotic footsteps sounded behind me. My heart clenched. I tried to speed up, but before I could even turn my head, two large shadows reeking of cheap weed burst out of the darkness.
"Hey! Drop the bags!"
Before I could scream, one of them—the one with a knife scar across his face—grabbed the strap of my canvas tote with brutal force and yanked me backward.
"Let go of me!" I shrieked, instinctively clutching my bag.
"Fucking bitch, you wanna die?" The taller thug snarled. He lunged forward, shoved me hard in the shoulder, and snatched the bag away.
"Ah!" I lost my balance instantly. As I fell backward, I curled protectively around my belly.
My body slammed hard onto the unforgiving concrete.
Sharp, throbbing pain exploded across my palms and knees. My hands scraped against broken glass and filthy water; blood mixed with mud trickled down my wrists.
My pants were torn at the knees, raw skin bleeding. The burning sting made my vision flicker and darken for a second.
The impact sent my phone sliding out of my trench coat pocket. It landed in a puddle just a few inches from my right hand.
The screen glowed faintly in the dim alley, catching my eye.
Ignoring the blood on my hands, I crawled desperately across the cold ground. My trembling fingers swiped frantically across the screen.
In my panic, my brain had shut down. I didn't dial 911. I didn't even check the name at the top of my recent calls. I just followed muscle memory and pressed it.
The call connected.
"Ivy? What's wrong?"
Damian's voice cut sharply through the deathly silence of the alley.
"Shit! The bitch is on the phone!" The scarred man stomped on my hand. The crushing pain nearly shattered my bones, forcing a piercing scream from my throat. He kicked the still-connected phone hard, sending it flying.
The phone smashed against the mottled brick wall. The screen shattered into a spiderweb and went black. Damian's voice cut off abruptly.
"Hand over the cash! Jewelry too! Hurry up!" The taller thug who had pushed me rummaged through my bag, found nothing valuable, then grabbed me by the collar of my coat and hauled me roughly to my feet. My back slammed against the moss-covered red brick wall.
My fingertips dug into the wounds on my palms, the pain making me tremble, but I forced myself to stay calm. I pulled out my wallet with a hoarse voice and begged, "There's a bank card in the wallet. The PIN is written on the back. Take everything... please, just let me go."
As I spoke, I hurriedly shoved all my valuables—including my old watch—into their hands.
The scarred man snatched the wallet, glanced at it, and a flash of greed lit up his eyes.
But when he turned back and looked me up and down, his gaze changed in a way that sent ice down my spine.
"Hey, man," he said, clutching the wallet with a nauseating chuckle, "check out this woman. Under that coat... belly's a little round, probably knocked up, but that face? You don't see that around Brooklyn every day."
He gestured greedily in the air with one filthy hand, nails caked with dirt.
"Don't fucking complicate things. Grab the money and let's go!" The other thug frowned and glanced nervously toward the alley entrance. "We're not far from the main road. If someone comes..."
"What are you scared of? At this hour, there's not even a cat in this alley.
" The scarred man licked his cracked lips, his eyes burning with lust that made my stomach churn with fear.
"Quick and clean. I've been backed up for weeks.
You keep watch at the entrance. Give me five minutes, then we split everything. "
The tall thug stared at my terrified, desperate face, then spat on the ground. "Fuck. Make it fast! If anyone shows up, I'm not sticking around for you!"
He stuffed the wallet into his jacket, pulled his hood low, and strode toward the alley mouth.
In the gloomy alley, only the scarred man's heavy, ragged breathing remained.
"Don't move, baby. Be good, and I'll make you feel real nice..."
He reeked of cheap booze and stale drugs. With a twisted grin, he lunged at me. His rough hands ripped open the buttons of my trench coat, then slid under my top, groping my shoulders and collarbone with crude, shameless hunger.
"Let go of me! You animal! Let me go!!"
I screamed like a madwoman, tears finally bursting free. I scratched at his face with my nails and sank my teeth into his arm with every ounce of strength I had.
"Fuck! You bitch, still fighting back?"
He howled in pain, furious, and slapped me hard across the face.
The blow was brutal. My head slammed back against the brick wall. A deafening ring exploded in my ears, and the world twisted and overlapped before my eyes.
My limbs went limp. Stomach acid surged up my throat, nearly making me vomit on the spot.
Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. He pinned me against the cold wall, his filthy hands roaming over my body.
In that moment of utter hopelessness, I forgot the bakery, forgot the pride and dignity I'd clung to these past weeks. All that remained was Damian.
Damian.
Damian, where are you? Save me. Save our baby.
I closed my eyes and cried out in my heart—the most helpless, desperate plea of my life.
But no miracle came.
Tears mixed with blood trickled into my mouth. I would rather die here. I would rather smash my skull against the brick wall behind me than let this disgusting pig touch me.
I gathered the last of my strength for one final fight.
"Let her go!"
Before I could move, a furious, almost hysterical roar exploded from the alley entrance.
Someone had come to save me? I forced my blood-loss-dizzy eyes open and vaguely saw a dark figure sprinting toward us like a madman.
It was... Damian!
He was still wearing his work suit, though the jacket hung open and his tie was long gone.
His eyes were bloodshot with rage as he stared at the scarred man in front of me.
While the man on top of me was momentarily stunned, Damian closed the distance and delivered a powerful side kick straight into the shorter thug's ribs.
The sickening sound of breaking bone echoed through the alley.
"Aaaahhh—"
The scarred man screamed in agony and flew backward like a rag doll, smashing into a metal trash bin. The bin caved in with a deafening crash.
"Fuck! Who the hell are you?" The taller lookout at the other end of the alley turned pale.
I wanted to warn Damian, but the man had already pulled something from his waist—a switchblade!
No, Damian. I tried to scream, but only a weak sound came out.
I could only watch in horror as the man crouched low, circled behind Damian, raised the knife, and charged!
No, this couldn't happen! The terror of losing Damian made my whole body shake.
"Damian! Behind you! He has a knife!!" I screamed with the last shred of strength in my throat.
Damian twisted slightly. He didn't even turn his head. At the exact moment the blade was about to sink into his back, he dodged sideways with blinding speed.
The cold steel sliced through his white shirt, leaving a long gash. Blood instantly soaked the fabric.
Thank God—it didn't look fatal. My earlier desperate shout had left me slumped against the wall, but I breathed a sigh of relief.
A ridiculous thought even flashed through my mind: Good thing the sole heir of the Wentworth family had been trained in the best mixed martial arts and self-defense programs in the country since childhood.
My vision was blurring. I couldn't clearly see what Damian did next, but I heard the sharp pop of a joint dislocating.
"Ah—! My hand! My fucking hand!!" the man howled in pain.
When I managed to open my eyes a little, I saw Damian execute a perfect shoulder throw, slamming the man hard onto the cold concrete.
But the scarred man who had been kicked away had crawled out of the trash pile. Blood covered his face. Looking like a complete madman, he grabbed a broken metal pipe and swung it viciously at Damian from behind.
The heavy thud of metal hitting flesh made my eyes fly wide open.
The pipe smashed into Damian's left shoulder. His tall frame staggered. He let out a muffled grunt, and fresh blood soaked through the shoulder of his white shirt.
No! Damian! My tears poured down uncontrollably.
But Damian seemed to feel no pain. He turned, eyes blazing with pure violence, and stared at the man who had hit him.
He reached out, grabbed the pipe, and yanked hard, pulling the attacker straight toward him.
Then he threw a punch fueled by all his rage—straight into the man's face.
The sound of a shattered nose bone and a spray of blood exploded at the same time.
The scarred man flew backward and collapsed, twitching twice before going still.
The taller thug, his arm dislocated, tried to scramble up from the ground, but Damian stomped on his chest. The immense pressure made him cough up blood; he couldn't move a single finger.
I finally relaxed. I wanted to ask Damian how badly he was hurt, but no sound would come out.
Bright police lights suddenly flooded the dark alley. The wail of more than a dozen patrol cars grew louder as heavily armed Brooklyn officers came sprinting in, guns drawn, splashing through the filthy water.
"Hands up! Drop your weapons!"
The crisis was finally over.
I curled tightly in the dark corner, my trench coat in tatters. The searing pain in my palms and knees, the sickening feeling still crawling on my skin, and every negative emotion I'd bottled up these past days—all of it crashed down on me at once.
My breathing turned into ragged gasps. A familiar, terrifying cramping and dropping sensation gripped my lower abdomen.
My hands gave out. I lost my balance and slid slowly down the cold red brick wall, collapsing powerlessly onto the bloody, muddy ground.
"Ivy, Ivy!!" Damian whipped around to look at me. In that instant, the savage fury in his eyes vanished, replaced by raw panic and heartbreak.
He didn't even glance at his own bleeding side or his visibly deformed left arm. He scrambled over to me on hands and knees.
My vision was already fading. Blood loss and overwhelming terror had drained every last bit of strength from me. The shouts of the police and the wail of sirens grew distant.
But I could still feel it.
A pair of arms carefully, tremblingly lifted me from the cold ground. The familiar scent brought me a sliver of peace.
Damian pulled me tightly against his chest. I could hear his heart pounding wildly with fear and feel his hot, desperate tears splashing onto my cheeks.
"Ivy, don't fall asleep, please. I'm sorry. I failed to protect you. I'm so sorry."
His voice trembled with sobs and endless guilt.
It's okay, Damian. You did more than enough.
I wanted to open my eyes and tell him I was fine, but I had no strength left. I could only weakly squeeze his hand.
"Ivy!"
That final, hoarse, throat-shredding cry was the last sound I remembered.
Darkness swallowed me, and I passed out completely.