Damien's POV
I should look away.
Every instinct I've developed in forty-two years of life screams at me to turn around, walk out, and pretend I never saw this.
But I can't move.
Ivy Monroe is frozen on my library couch, tears streaming down her face, her hand still caught beneath her dress. Her eyes are wide with horror, her lips parted in shock, and she looks absolutely devastated.
And God help me, even now—especially now—she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I—" Her voice breaks. She scrambles to fix her dress, her whole body shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll leave. I'll—"
"Don't." The command comes out harsher than I intended. "Don't move."
She freezes again, looking at me like a trapped animal. Like she's waiting for me to yell, to call her disgusting, to throw her out of my house.
I should do all those things.
Instead, I step into the room and close the door behind me.
"What happened?" I keep my voice level, controlled, even though my heart is pounding like a war drum. "Why are you here, Ivy? Why are you crying?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." She's still shaking, hugging herself now. "I shouldn't have come. I just thought—you're supposed to be in Singapore."
"Flight got cancelled. Weather." I loosen my tie, suddenly feeling like I can't breathe. "I came home early. Now answer my question."
She looks down, and fresh tears spill onto her cheeks. "I can't. Please, just let me go."
"No." I move closer, watching her flinch. Hating that she's afraid of me. "You broke into my house in the middle of the night, clearly devastated about something. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me what happened."
"I didn't break in. I used the code—"
"I know. I gave you that code three years ago." Three years ago, when her father died and I held her at the funeral and felt something shift inside me that I've been fighting ever since. "You're always welcome here, Ivy. You know that. But you need to tell me what's wrong."
She's quiet for so long I think she won't answer. Then, in a voice so broken it physically hurts to hear: "Marcus."
My hands clench into fists before I can stop them. I've never liked that boy—too smooth, too entitled, too obsessed with image. And the way he looks at Ivy sometimes, like she's a possession instead of a person, makes me want to break his face.
"What did he do?" My voice is deadly calm now. The tone my business rivals recognize right before I destroy them.
"He—at the party—" She can't seem to get the words out. Her breathing is getting faster, panicked.
I cross the remaining distance and sit in the chair across from her. Close enough to reach her if she needs me. Far enough to not terrify her more than I already am.
"Breathe, Ivy. Just breathe." I use the same voice I used when Serena was little and had nightmares. Gentle. Safe. "Whatever happened, you're safe now. I've got you."
The dam breaks.
Everything spills out in broken sentences and gasping sobs. The photos Marcus projected for everyone to see. The cruel things he said about her. And worst of all—the journal entries he read aloud.
Her private fantasies about me, shared with fifty people.
My blood turns to ice, then fire.
"He did what?" I'm standing before I realize it, rage burning through every vein. "He violated your privacy like that? Publicly humiliated you?"
"Everyone knows now." Her voice is so small. "Serena knows. My mother knows. They all know I'm—" She chokes on the words. "That I think about you. That I want you. That I'm disgusting and wrong and—"
"Stop." I'm in front of her now, crouching down so we're eye level. "Look at me."
She shakes her head, covering her face with her hands.
"Ivy. Look at me." I gently pull her hands away, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You are not disgusting. You hear me? Not even close."
"But I—"
"How long?" The question escapes before I can stop it. The question I've been afraid to ask for over a year.
She blinks, confused. "What?"
"How long have you felt this way about me?"
The color drains from her face. "You don't want to know that."
"Yes, I do." My heart is hammering so hard she can probably hear it. "How long, Ivy?"
She closes her eyes, new tears sliding down. "Three years. Since my father's funeral. Since you held me and I felt—" She stops, shaking her head. "I know how wrong it is. I know you see me as Serena's friend, nothing more. I never meant for you to find out. I never meant—"
"Ivy." I cup her face in my hands before I can talk myself out of it. Her skin is soft and wet with tears, and touching her feels like grabbing a live wire. "Do you know what I saw when I opened that door tonight?"
"Something shameful—"
"No." My thumbs brush away her tears. "I saw a beautiful woman seeking comfort. I saw someone in pain, reaching for the one thing that makes her feel better. And God help me, all I could think was that I wanted to be the one comforting you. Not a fantasy. Me."
Her eyes go wide. "What?"
I should stop. Should let her go. Should remember that she's twenty-two and my daughter's best friend and completely off-limits.
But I've been lying to myself for too long.
"I've noticed everything, Ivy. For over a year, I've noticed. The way you blush when I walk into a room. How you find excuses to stay when Serena leaves. How you look at me when you think I'm not watching." I lean closer, watching her breath catch. "I've been fighting this because you're young and innocent and deserve better than a broken man twice your age. But tonight, seeing you like this, knowing you want me too—"
"Damien—" My name on her lips sounds like a prayer.
"If I kiss you right now," I whisper, "there's no going back. This changes everything. Your friendship with Serena. Your relationship with your mother. Your whole life. Are you prepared for that?"
She should say no. Should run. Should save herself.
Instead, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
The kiss is soft, tentative, and it destroys me completely.
I pull back, breathing hard. "That's not an answer."
"Yes," she whispers. "Yes to everything. I don't care about the consequences. I just want you. I've always wanted you."
Something inside me snaps.
I pull her off the couch and into my arms properly, kissing her the way I've wanted to for months. Not gentle this time. Desperate. Hungry. Claiming.
She melts against me with a small sound that makes me want to devour her.
Then my phone rings.
We break apart, both breathing hard. I glance at the screen and my blood runs cold.
It's Serena.
And she's calling at two in the morning, which means something's wrong.
Ivy sees the name and goes pale. "Oh God."
I answer. "Serena? What's wrong?"
"Dad?" My daughter's voice is thick with tears. "Where are you? I'm at the house. I need to talk to you. It's about Ivy and—Dad, something terrible happened at the party tonight."
Ivy's hand flies to her mouth.
Serena's at the house. Right now.
And Ivy and I are standing in the library, my tie undone, her hair messed up from my hands, both of us looking exactly like what we are.
"I'm here," I say, my eyes locked on Ivy's terrified face. "I'm in the library. I'll be right there."
"The library?" Serena's voice changes. Gets suspicious. "Why are you in the library at two AM?"
My mind races. I could lie. Send Ivy out through the garden entrance. Hide this.
But I'm done hiding. Done pretending.
"Serena," I say carefully. "I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?"
"Dad, you're scaring me. What's—"
The library door flies open.
Serena stands in the doorway, her phone still pressed to her ear, staring at her father and her best friend standing way too close together in the middle of the night.
Her face goes from confused to horrified in slow motion.
"No," she whispers, the phone dropping from her hand. "No. Tell me this isn't what it looks like. Tell me you're not—Dad. Ivy. Tell me you're not together."
Ivy looks at me, panic in her eyes.
And I make the choice that will change all our lives forever.
"We need to talk," I say.