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Run away with me
Last Updated:
2025-05-25 17:13:01
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The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet Where it all began
Arlo didn’t ask anything else.He waited at his door in sweatpants and a tee, like he hadn’t expected her but had been waiting all the same.Ivory stood in his hallway, arms wrapped around herself, barely breathing.He opened the door wider.She stepped inside.The apartment smelled like cinnamon and coffee—something warm. Something safe.He didn’t touch her.She didn’t ask him to.They sat on the couch like they were made of glass, the silence stretching out, comfortable and impossible.Ivory stared at the floor.“I saw him,” she finally said. Her voice was thin, papery.“I know,” Arlo said softly.She looked up.He hesitated. Then reached for his phone on the coffee table, turned it so she could see the screen. A message was still open.Willis: Take care of her. Don’t hurt her again.Beneath it, another.Willis: You got what I wanted. Please make it worth it.Ivory blinked. “He texted you?”Arlo nodded. “About an hour ago.”Her throat burned. “Did you reply?”“No.” He set the phone
The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet If I don’t, why does it hurt?
Ivory got there early.Too early.The café was half-empty, the slow lull of mid-morning softening the clatter of mugs and the low hum of conversation. She chose a booth near the window, back to the door. If he came and left without seeing her, maybe that would be enough.Maybe just knowing he’d tried would be enough.She folded her hands in her lap to hide how badly they were shaking.The waiter came by twice. She ordered tea, not because she wanted it, but because it felt like something to do. She didn’t touch it.When Willis walked in, she knew it before she saw him. The air around her shifted—her spine straightened without her consent.And when she did look, she wished she hadn’t.He was wearing a blue shirt. Soft at the collar, sleeves rolled, like he wasn’t trying to be anything except himself.He spotted her.And paused.Not for long. Just enough that her stomach flipped. Then he walked over, hands in his pockets, jaw set tight.“Hey,” he said.Ivory stood. “Hi.”She didn’t know
The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet 8th street
Ivory didn’t cry in the car on her way to work.She thought she might. Thought she’d at least feel something sharp enough to break her open. But all she felt was the faint buzz of too many feelings packed too tightly. Like static in her chest.By the time she stepped into her office, Denise handed her a coffee and a stack of folders she didn’t remember asking for. Ivory murmured thanks, closed the door, and leaned against it for longer than she should have.She didn’t take off her coat.Instead, she went to the window, untouched coffee in one hand, and stared out at the city.Somewhere in that mess of towers and tinted glass, Willis existed. She imagined him opening his inbox, seeing no message from her. Imagined him walking to a meeting. Imagined him doing everything he always did—with the same grace, the same humor, the same steadiness that had once been the most comforting part of her life.She felt like a traitor.The knock on her door was brisk. Then Miranda stepped in without wa
The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet You’re not that forgettable
Ivory woke up on Arlo’s couch, sunlight draped over her like a silk shawl. She blinked slowly, unsure of where she was until the smell of toast and the quiet sound of Marvin humming from the next room settled her back into the present.She sat up, her hair tangled, her heart oddly still. The storm had passed, or at least paused.Her shoes were neatly set by the door. A blanket, light but warm, had been laid over her. And there, on the coffee table, sat a glass of water and a note — Arlo’s handwriting, crooked and familiar.“You look prettiest when you’re calm.”Ivory dropped the note. No smile. Willis was the first thing she thought when her eyes opened. She let the note fall gently back onto the table.She padded into the Arlo’s unhidden bar, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and allowed the hot drink burn all the way to her chest. She poured herself another glass. Before she could down it, the door slid open, andBefore she could down it, the door slid open, and Arlo stepped in.
The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet I wanted it to work
Ivory stood by the window a moment longer, the cool morning air brushing her skin, her mind still tangled in the conversation with Arlo. She had said no to the movie invitation, but her heart wasn’t sure what it wanted. The familiar ache lingered — the one she’d been trying to bury for months— and now it was crawling its way back to the surface, stubborn and insistent.Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, pulling her from the spiral of thoughts.Willis: Hey, how’s your day? Thinking about you.She stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her fingers wanted to type something warm, reassuring — to hold on to the safe and steady world Willis offered. But the words stuck, tangled in the knot of guilt and desire inside her.Ivory sighed, locking her phone without replying. She wasn’t ready yet.⸻Later that afternoon, Ivory found herself pacing the length of her living room, the oversized hoodie she wore doing little to shield her from the storm inside. She kept rep
The Billionaire’s Wrong Pet I still want you
Ivory didn’t sleep much last night. She’d tried— but couldn’t. So after the conversation at the window, after Arlo had turned away from her and left her standing there, breath caught, skin hot with shame, chest hollow with something she didn’t have a name for, she hopped back into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come.Instead, she paced her home like a ghost, tracing memories with every step. The light switches she hadn’t touched in weeks. The scent of dust and old perfume in the hallway. She changed the sheets on her bed not because they were dirty, but because they held a scent she no longer wanted. Or maybe because they didn’t smell like anything at all.In the quiet, she realized how long she’d been gone—from this place, from herself.She walked barefoot into Marvin’s room just before sunrise. He wasn’t there, of course—he was still asleep next door at Arlo’s—but she stood by his bed anyway, tugging at the edge of the rocket ship duvet she’d bought years ago. She fixed the corners with
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