Chapter 4: She’s My Girlfriend

Ivy.

I stumbled away from Tyler’s estate, the sharp morning sun offering no comfort.

My bare feet throbbed against the pavement.

Every step a stinging reminder of how completely my life had collapsed.

Under my skin, my wolf, Nyx, prowled restlessly.

"That arrogant bastard." she snarled, her fury mingling with exhaustion. "Fine. We don’t need his pity."

Hailing a cab felt like a total surrender.

But I had nowhere else to go.

The driver kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror, his nose wrinkling at my disheveled state. I didn’t blame him. I looked and smelled like I had been dragged straight out of a rain-soaked gutter.

The ride was dead silent, except for the hum of tires on the wet ground.

He turned the corner onto my street and my heart spiked.

My eyes went wide.

“Stop right here!” I blurted out, thrusting cash at the driver before tumbling out of the backseat.

Maya stood directly outside my apartment building.

She was casually tossing heavy black trash bags onto the curb like yesterday’s garbage.

My clothes, my books, and a few framed photos spilled onto the wet concrete.

She looked fresh and smug, wearing one of my favorite old robes like she owned it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded. My voice was hoarse, sharpening with immediate rage.

Maya eyed me up and down, then dramatically pinched her nose. “Bitch, you need a serious shower. Oh, wait. Sorry. You don't even have a bathroom anymore.”

“What do you mean I don’t have a bathroom?” I snapped, gesturing wildly at the brick exterior. “You’re standing right in front of my house. This is my place. You were just squatting so I'll advise you to go find someone else to squat with.”

“Oh, this?” Maya turned, pointing a manicured nail at the building with a cruel, satisfied smile.

“It’s officially mine now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My gaze shifted as Mrs. Elliot, the building manager, stepped out of the side office with a clipboard in hand.

“Mrs. Elliot,” I called out, approaching her quickly while my head still spun from last night’s breakdown. “I need this lying slut removed from my apartment right now.”

Mrs. Elliot avoided my eyes, staring intently at her paperwork. “Actually, Miss Carter, she paid a full year's rent in advance, plus a hefty holding f*e. Technically, the lease has been transferred to her name.”

“No... No, that's impossible.” I said, panic clawing tightly at my throat.

“Your previous lease expired months ago, and you've been on a month-to-month basis,” Mrs. Elliot continued flatly, already turning on her heel to walk away. “So yes, it is perfectly legal. Good luck, Miss Carter.”

Before I could even process things, Maya reached for the framed picture of my parents laying on the porch.

The photo was taken right before the accident that stole them from me when I was barely ten years old.

It was the absolute only physical memory I had left of them—their smiles preserved in those delicate, etched glass.

I rushed forward, grabbing the edge of the heavy frame.

“Let go bitch!” Maya thundered.

“No... please. Anything but this,” I begged, my anger instantly melting into desperate panic as I pulled back.

Maya yanked harder, her eyes gleaming with pure malice.

“Pathetic. You're still clinging to dead people’s pictures while your actual life burns to the ground.”

She gave one final, violent tug, then abruptly let go.

The sudden release sent the portrait flying from my grip.

I lunged to catch it, but my bare foot slipped on the slick, wet pavement.

My head cracked against the concrete with a sickening, heavy thud.

Shards of glass scattered around me like fallen stars.

The very last thing I saw before the world went completely black was my parents’ fractured, broken faces staring back up at me.

*******

The rhythmic, annoying beep of medical machines pulled me back to consciousness.

A dull, heavy throb radiated from the back of my skull.

Tight bandages tugged uncomfortably at my hair.

“Miss Carter.” A man in a crisp, expensive suit sat in the chair beside my hospital bed.

He looked professional, calm, and entirely out of place. “Where... where am I? How did I get here?”

My voice was completely raspy, my throat parched. “Mr. Vane and I were on our way to the rink when we spotted you lying unconscious on the sidewalk,” the man explained smoothly. “We have no idea what happened out there, but the paramedics brought you straight here.”

Tyler.

Again.

After walking out on the deal he proposed to me.

Why did he save me?

“The doctor says you’ll need to rest for a few hours before you—”

My gaze drifted past the man to the television mounted on the hospital wall.

It was tuned into a live, high-profile pregame sports interview.

The arena lights on screen were bright and blindingly familiar.

Noah stood firmly in front of a microphone, with Maya pressed tightly against his side.

She held his arm like she belonged there, flashing a dazzling smile for the cameras.

My stomach twisted into a violent knot.

I grabbed the bedside remote, cranking up the volume with trembling fingers.

“Ivy... no,” Noah was saying into the microphone, his voice dripping with absolute false sorrow. “She never truly thought of me as her boyfriend. She was just using me the whole time. But this woman right here...” He paused, reaching over to pull Maya into a deep kiss.

The crowd in the background murmured excitedly.

“This gold was standing right in front of me the whole time, but that conniving bitch never let me see it.”

“So you and Miss—” the sports interviewer started.

“Maya,” she chimed in smoothly, smiling like a supreme victor.

“You and Miss Maya are officially a thing now?” the interviewer pressed.

“Yes, we are,” Noah agreed, slinging a arm around her waist.

I hissed through my teeth, pure pain and deep betrayal warring inside my chest.

Nyx snarled in agreement.

“That two faced bitch."

The on-screen interviewer quickly turned his attention to the other side of the media panel.

“Mr. Vane, as the team captain, is there anything you would like to say regarding these serious allegations?”

Tyler loomed over the microphone in his full Thunder hockey gear.

His dark tattoos peeked out from his jersey, and his expression looked like it was carved from solid ice.

He glared at Noah with pure disdain.

His feral Alpha eyes glowed faintly under the stadium lights.

“This man right here,” Tyler said, his deep voice incredibly low, dangerous, and echoing through the speakers.

He gestured sharply toward Noah. “Is a liar and a complete fraud.”

The live crowd gasped loudly.

Even the interviewer looked visibly stunned. “What exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Vane?”

“The person who leaked those classified team documents was absolutely not Ivy Carter,” Tyler stated firmly.

“And how can you be so certain of that?” the interviewer pressed, leaning in.

The camera zoomed in tight on Tyler.

His gaze hardened completely, sweeping across the entire arena as if he were claiming every single inch of the territory.

He stared directly into the lens, locking eyes with the camera as if he knew exactly who was watching from a hospital bed miles away.

The suspense in the room grew suffocating as he paused.

“Because,” Tyler delivered smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“She’s my girlfriend.”