Ivy's POV
I want to disappear.
That's all I can think as Marcus stands at the front of the restaurant, champagne glass raised, talking about our "perfect love story" to fifty people who are pretending to care.
"And that's when I knew Ivy was the one," Marcus says, flashing his practiced smile. "She's everything a man could want. Beautiful, smart, and so incredibly innocent."
The word makes my stomach twist. Innocent. He says it like it's something precious, but I hear what he really means. Boring. Frigid. Not enough.
Everyone claps. My mother beams from her table, probably already planning how to brag about this to her country club friends. My best friend Serena squeezes my hand and whispers, "He's so sweet! You're so lucky."
I force a smile and nod, but inside I'm screaming.
Because while Marcus talks about loving me, all I can think about is someone else. Someone I have no right to think about. Someone whose name I whisper in the dark when I'm alone and ashamed and desperate for something I can never have.
Damien Cross.
Serena's father.
My stomach drops just thinking his name. It's been three years since the obsession started—three years of guilt and secret journals and touching myself while imagining hands that will never touch me back.
I'm the worst friend in the world.
"Ivy?" Marcus's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Baby, where'd you go?"
I blink. Everyone's staring at me. "Sorry, just overwhelmed," I lie, plastering on another fake smile.
Marcus kisses my forehead, and I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. He could be kissing a statue.
"She's so emotional," he tells the crowd, and they laugh like it's charming instead of condescending.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I shouldn't check it during my own party, but I need an escape. I glance down.
Serena: Dad's still stuck in Singapore. Won't be back for another week. Ugh, I miss him!
Relief and disappointment crash through me in equal measure. Relief because I won't have to see Damien and pretend I don't love him. Disappointment because... I won't see Damien.
I'm sick. I know I'm sick.
"Bathroom," I mumble to Serena, standing up too fast. The room spins a little—I've barely eaten today, too anxious about tonight.
The bathroom is blessedly empty. I lock myself in a stall and press my forehead against the cool metal door, trying to breathe.
Three years ago, my father died in a car accident. I was nineteen and completely shattered. At the funeral, I couldn't stop crying—ugly, gasping sobs that made people uncomfortable.
Then Damien appeared. Tall and solid and calm. He didn't say anything stupid like "he's in a better place" or "everything happens for a reason." He just pulled me into his arms and let me break apart.
I remember exactly how he smelled. Like expensive cologne and coffee and something warm I couldn't name. I remember how safe I felt, wrapped in his strength. I remember looking up at him through my tears and thinking, This. I want this forever.
That was the moment everything changed.
The bathroom door opens. "Ivy?" Marcus's voice. "You okay in here?"
No. "Yeah, just fixing my makeup."
"Come on out. I want to do something special."
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. I unlock the stall door slowly.
Marcus is leaning against the sink, arms crossed, and he's smiling. But it's not his normal smile. This one has edges.
"You've been distant lately," he says quietly. "Cold. Rejecting me."
"I haven't—"
"Don't lie." His voice is still soft, but there's anger underneath. "I've been patient, Ivy. So patient. But it's your birthday, and I think it's time everyone knew the real you."
Fear shoots through my chest. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll see." He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
"Marcus, what did you do?"
He just smiles and walks out.
I follow him back to the main room on shaking legs. Everyone's watching us now. Marcus walks to the front where there's a projector screen usually used for business presentations.
"One more surprise for the birthday girl," Marcus announces, pulling out his phone.
No. Please, no.
The screen flickers to life.
And there I am. Photos. Intimate photos I sent him months ago when he begged, when he said it would help him wait, when he promised they were just for him.
Me in my underwear. Me biting my lip. Me trying to look sexy and failing miserably because I was thinking of someone else the entire time.
The room gasps. Someone laughs nervously. My mother's face goes white, then red.
"My frigid girlfriend," Marcus announces, drunk and cruel. "Trying so hard to be sexy. But you know what's funny? She can't even satisfy a real man. She's too busy writing fantasies instead of living them."
He pulls papers from his jacket. Printed pages.
My journal. My private journal from my laptop.
"No," I whisper, but it's too quiet. Nobody hears me.
Marcus starts reading aloud. My words. My secrets. My shame.
"'His hands on my skin, burning me alive. His voice in my ear, telling me I'm his. I know it's wrong. I know I'm disgusting. But I can't stop thinking about—'"
He pauses for effect, eyes finding mine across the room.
"'—Damien Cross.'"
The room explodes.
Serena's face—oh God, Serena's face. Horror. Betrayal. Disgust.
My mother stands, one hand over her mouth.
People are whispering, pointing, pulling out phones.
And Marcus keeps reading. Every dirty thought. Every desperate fantasy. Every shameful moment I poured onto those pages, thinking they were safe.
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't think.
Then my body takes over. I run.
Through the restaurant, past the staring faces, out into the rain. I don't have a coat. Don't have my purse. Don't care.
I just run.
My car is right there—I must have left my keys in it. I throw myself inside and peel out of the parking lot, tires screeching.
Where am I going? I don't know. Can't think. Can't—
Yes. Yes, I know exactly where I'm going.
The only place that's ever felt safe. The only place where I can fall apart completely.
The Cross estate.
It'll be empty. Serena won't come home tonight—she's staying at her boyfriend's. And Damien's in Singapore.
I can hide there. Just for tonight. Just until I figure out how to survive this.
The gate code still works. The house is dark and silent, exactly like I expected.
I stumble to the library—my favorite room in the whole mansion. Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather furniture, the smell of old books.
I collapse on the couch and finally, finally let myself shatter.
Sobs tear through me so hard I can barely breathe. My whole life just ended. Everyone knows. Serena knows. My mother knows.
Everyone knows I'm in love with my best friend's father.
In my grief and shame and desperation, I do what I've done in secret for three years. I slip my hand beneath my dress, close my eyes, and whisper his name like a prayer.
"Damien."
It's pathetic. It's all I have left.
I don't hear the door open.
Don't hear footsteps.
Don't realize I'm not alone until a voice cuts through the darkness—deep and familiar and impossible.
"Ivy."
I freeze. My blood turns to ice.
No. No no no no no.
I force my eyes open.
And there, standing in the library doorway in a business suit with rain in his silver-streaked hair and those piercing gray eyes burning into me, is Damien Cross.
Home early from Singapore.
Watching me.
Having seen everything.