CHAPTER 113: DON’T IVY ME

"What..." Ivy pressed her palms against her forehead, trying to steady herself. Then she looked at him — really looked at him — and her voice trembled, equal parts pain and fire. "How would you feel if I was looking at my ex-boyfriend like I wished he was right on top of me—fucking me!"

Winn froze. The image hit him hard, visceral, unwanted — Ivy beneath someone else, looking at another man with the same hunger she used to reserve for him. Jealousy burned through him.

"Ivy..." he started.

"No!" she cut him off, stepping forward, pointing a trembling finger at him. "Don’t ’Ivy’ me! You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her tonight? Like I was invisible. Like you were remembering something I’ll never be."

"That’s not—"

"Don’t lie to me!" she shouted.

Winn felt defeated. The rain kept beating down on him. "Babe... I didn’t."

"Don’t! I saw you! I watched you! What... what am I doing?" she whispered, more to herself than him. "Winn, what am I even doing with you? I..." She sighed, a deep, shaky sound, then turned away and dug through her bag with trembling hands, trying to find her keys, anything to give her hands purpose.

Her heart was beating too fast, her thoughts a blur of pain and disbelief.

"Ivy... don’t... don’t do this, please," Winn pleaded, taking a small step toward her. He could barely see her through the wet strands falling into his eyes. All he wanted was to hold her, to explain everything before she slipped away completely.

She turned sharply to him again. "Winn, just go. I really need to evaluate if this heartache is worth it." She wasn’t screaming anymore. She wasn’t angry. That scared him more than her shouting ever could. It seemed like she was giving up.

Winn started to take a step toward her but froze when she instinctively retreated. He lifted his hands slightly, surrendering. "It is, Ivy," he said. "I promise you, it is." His chest heaved, the rainwater dripping off his chin. He meant every word.

"I need to think," she said softly. "By myself." She finally found her keys, her hands fumbling with them for a moment before she could fit one into the lock. "I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Good night, Winn."

Winn’s heart clenched at how easily she said "good night,". "Ivy... I’m... I’m sorry... just wait... just let me say this."

Her hand froze on the door handle. She didn’t turn around, but her shoulders stiffened.

"I admit," he began, "it was uncomfortable seeing her." His hand ran through his wet hair, his movements restless, anxious. "And I was... being stupid. Because I wanted to get a rise out of her husband." He exhaled. "It was stupid. So goddamn stupid. I should’ve been thinking of you, Ivy — about how you would feel."

She turned slowly.

"You hurt me," she said simply. "And the worst part is, you know how it feels to be made small. You’ve spent your whole life fighting someone who did it to you, and tonight you did it to me."

"I know," he said softly. "And I hate myself for it. I don’t want to be that man — not to you."

"I need to believe that," she whispered. "But right now, I can’t. See you at work tomorrow."

And then she turned the key, the lock clicked, and she slipped inside, leaving him standing there — soaked, speechless, and staring at the closed door.

******

The next morning, Ivy woke to a cold ache in her chest. She dragged herself out of bed, every movement mechanical.

The storm had finally let up but still drizzling. She stood for a moment at her vanity, staring at her own reflection — eyes puffed.

By the time she grabbed her bag and pulled on her coat, the world outside was gray and biting. Puddles rippled across the driveway and the cold air nipped at her ankles. She tucked her chin deeper into her scarf, bracing herself for a miserable Monday at House of Kane.

Then she saw the Escalade. Still parked right where Winn had left it the night before. He’d probably taken a ride home and left the car. But then she noticed the fogged-up windows. Her pulse jumped.

She hesitated, heart pounding, and walked closer. Through the glass, she saw him — head tilted awkwardly against the window, still wearing the same wet clothes. Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh my God," she whispered, panic spiking as she rapped hard on the glass. "Winn! What the hell!"

He startled awake, blinking groggily before fumbling for the lock. When the door opened, the smell of damp leather and cold air hit her nose — and so did the sight of him. His lips were tinged blue, his shirt clinging to his chest, and his hands trembled from the cold.

"Did you stay in the car all night?" she demanded.

"I..." His teeth chattered.

"Oh my God!" she cut in, grabbing his wrist as if his stupidity might physically melt away if she squeezed hard enough. "You bull-headed, stupid idiot!" She shoved the door wider. "Get in the house!"

"I need you to listen to me, Ivy. Please," he said, struggling to find his footing. His eyes met hers.

"Winn, honey," she said, as she tugged at his arm, "I’ll listen to you all you want, but you’re freezing. You look like a sad wet puppy. Get in the house. Now."

He grabbed her arm before she could retreat again — his touch firm but trembling. "Listen!" he said, breath uneven, desperation roughening his voice. "I wasn’t going to leave for you to make the decision to leave me."

His fingers flexed against her arm. Ivy froze — every instinct screaming to pull away, but her heart, that reckless, lovesick traitor, stayed right there in his grasp. "Winn..." she whispered, his name trembling on her lips.

"You..." he swallowed hard. "You cannot leave me, Ivy. I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t want to— I cannot lose you. Hell, I knew that since the moment those damned Dutch investors took a shine to you."