𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃

─── Ivy ───

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"Oh my God, Ethan... it feels so good."

The words hit me like a physical blow before my brain could even translate the sound.

I stood frozen on the plush carpet outside the corner office of Hayes Publishing, the sharp edge of a cardboard bakery box digging painfully into my palms.

Red velvet. It was his favorite, a ridiculous, five dollar peace offering I had picked up from the bakery downstairs after lying to my department head about a sudden plumbing emergency at my apartment.

I had just wanted to surprise my fiancé on a completely normal Wednesday afternoon, clinging to the naive idea that this was what women in love were supposed to do on their lover's birthday.

The owner of the name currently moaned through the door and I had spent the previous Sunday huddled over fabric swatches and seating charts, bickering over the exact shade of the ivory chair covers for our October wedding. And now this?

Ethan Hayes had been the center of my universe since our junior year at Westview High, the only man I have ever been with, and the person I had built every single future dream around.

His receptionist, Sarah, refused to look up from her monitor. She was staring at a mundane company budget spreadsheet terrifyingly. Her face had gone completely pale, frozen in that specific, agonizing mask people wear when they are praying the ground will swallow them whole so they do not have to witness a tragedy.

Through the paneled door, the breathless sounds continued, entirely unbothered by the quiet dignity of the corporate hallway. My fingers trembled violently against the brass handle, but I forced my wrist to turn anyway.

I needed to see it. To kill the stupid shred of hope that was still whispering that I was just hearing things.

When the door clicked open, the midday Tennessee sun was pouring through the windows, illuminating everything with a sickening clarity.

Ethan had a blonde girl pressed against the edge of his office desk. It was Kelsey or maybe Kylie, one of the new marketing assistants from the corporate office.

She was a pretty girl, as hot as a supermodel, in her mid twenties who had smiled warmly at me during the company Christmas party and told me how much she admired my handmade dress. Her navy pencil skirt was bunched up around her hips, and Ethan’s slacks were pooled at his ankles. His hands were gripping her thighs.

A neat stack of neon company Post its had been knocked over, scattered across the rug like confetti. My mind was blown but my hands remained inexplicably steady. I kept holding that bakery box perfectly level, like an invisible camera was recording me and I had to play my part as the winner in this embarrassing situation.

"You're cheating on me," I said.

My voice didn't rise in anger like I expected it to which was disappointing. Ethan’s head snapped toward the door and immediately his eyes widened in panic as he scrambled to pull himself away from her. "Ivy—shit—"

I didn't wait to hear any excuse because what excuse on the planet is there to justify what I just saw?? Except Ethan had a twin brother which he does not. I turned on my heel and walked back out into the lobby before he could even adjust his clothes.

Sarah was still glued to her chair, looking physically sick as she watched me approach the elevators.

"Ivy, I'm so—"

"Don't," I whispered, lifting a hand to cut her off.

My voice sounded small, like it belonged to a completely different girl. "Please don't say anything, Sarah."

The elevator ride down to the street level lasted a lifetime. Forty seconds of staring at my own hollow reflection in the mirrored walls. The moment my flats hit the concrete sidewalk of the bustling Nashville street, my knees gave out.

I managed to throw out an arm, flagging down a yellow cab with one hand while my other arm kept the cake to my torso.

The driver that stopped was an older man with kind grey eyes and a fading Southern drawl. He took one long look at me through his rearview mirror as I scrambled into the backseat.

"You alright?"

Just that single question broke whatever wall I had built up inside me. I pressed my forehead against the cool tinted glass of the window and completely fell apart.

Yes, I cried.

And it wasn't a cinematic cry; more like a choking sob that tore at the back of my throat and made it impossible to catch my breath. The driver looked startled but didn’t ask anymore concerning questions which I'm grateful for. Instead he reached over the seat and passed back a fresh box of tissues.

"Aw, crap," he murmured softly, pulling out into the midday traffic. "Take your time, hon. I ain't going nowhere."

He started to drive, navigating the familiar turns of the city while I wept into my hands, giving me the space to unravel until the worst of the panic finally subsided. By the time I could finally swallow the lump in my throat, I managed to whisper my address.

My throat felt like sandpaper, and my eyelids were swollen and heavy. When the cab finally idled outside my building, I reached into my purse for my wallet.

The driver shook his head, waving his hand to dismiss the meter before I could even pull out my card.

"Don't you worry about that fare," he said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "Just go inside and take care of yourself. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be crying on her birthday."

He lingered on the bakery box for a split second. "Happy birthday love.”

God, this is the worst day of my life.

"Thank you," I choked out, pushing the door open. I climbed the steps to my apartment still clutching the cake, acutely aware of the fact that I absolutely loathed red velvet and would have to drop the entire thing straight into the kitchen trash.

The absolute second my key turned in the lock, Bridget’s shrill tone rang through the entire house.

"What were you thinking, Jon? You want us to end up in a federal prison?"

On any other afternoon, I would have slipped past the kitchen and locked myself in my bedroom, pulling my headphones over my ears to block out the noise. My stepmother screaming at my father was practically the permanent ambient soundtrack of this apartment.

But the words federal prison made me froze my hand right where it was on the doorknob behind my back. My phone was vibrating again in my jacket pocket and that hadn't stopped since I left downtown. It was Ethan’s seventh consecutive call.

I pulled the screen out, pressed decline and shoved it down into the very bottom of my tote bag. I was never going to speak to him again.

Now the thought of walking into the kitchen and explaining to the bickering couple that the wedding was off felt entirely impossible. There was no sympathy waiting for me there anyway.

Bridget had spent the last three years reminding me exactly where I stood in the social hierarchy, always wondering aloud why a prominent family like the Hayeses would let their only son marry a girl who had to take on grueling surrogacy contracts just to pay her tuition at Parsons.

A desperate little charity case. That was Bridget’s favorite label for me, and she threw it around every chance she got. Honestly, I didn't care. There wasn't a single shred of shame in what I did.

Selling my egg for one cycle was a hell of a lot cleaner than selling drugs, and it kept me from having to beg Ethan for a handout just to pay my Parsons tuition. I wanted my degree in fashion designing, but I wasn't going to sell my soul to the Hayes family trust fund to get it.

"Well I'm not doing a ten to fifteen year stretch in a cell because of you Jonathan," Bridget snapped, her heavy steps vibrating through the floorboards. "I will have my lawyer hand you divorce papers by morning.”

The loud shattering crash rattled from the kitchen followed immediately by my father’s defensive roar.

"You were the one who pushed me into this so you better take accountability! I told you I couldn't keep up with the country club fees—"

"Well dumbass you shouldn't have been stupid enough to get caught!" she shrieked back. "God, you're such a moron. If you and your daughter end up in a cell, that's your problem. Not mine."

A heavy silence descended on the apartment, followed a second later by the sound of a slap. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth as I pressed my back hard against the drywall of the corridor.

"Don't you ever raise your voice to me like that again," my dad warned in a very dangerous tone.

Bridget let out a mocking laugh that sounded completely unhinged.

"Or what, Jonathan? You're gonna hit me again? Go right ahead. Add domestic assault to the embezzlement charges. Twenty years at Htech and a orange jumpsuit is all you have to show for it. Such a loser. I can't believe I married you."

I sank slowly down the length of the front door until I was sitting flat on the floor, pulling my knees up tightly against my breast to make myself as small as possible.

Fresh tears I didn't know I still had found their way back down my cheeks, but I didn't have the energy to wipe them away. My eyes began to sting again and my head hurt like hell but nobody would care.

Even if my family had been the kind of people who offered comfort, this wasn't the night to tell them that my wealthy fiancé had just obliterated our future. Bridget would take joy in my humiliation and my dad would command me to go back to Ethan on my knees just so his family’s legal team could save him from a grand jury.

I buried my face into the fabric of my sleeves, completely paralyzed by the realization that I had lost the man I loved and discovered my father was some criminal all before the sun had even set. But before I knew it, I fell asleep.