Ivory’s POV
My husband was working late again. He had been working late every day for the last six months. And some days he wouldn’t even come home. For every night I woke up alone, every business trip, and every impromptu weekend meeting, I repeated one line to myself like a mantra— “Damian loves working, and he loves me.” With that, I turned a blind eye to all his excuses, the ones that made sense and the ones that didn't. I endured them all. I never confronted him, never asked for more. It was another late night, and I thought to bring him some dinner. I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve stayed home, at least, I wouldn’t have to watch my husband thrust into another woman like a sex-starved wild animal. He seemed to be enjoying himself so much that he didn't notice me standing there, he didn't even care that he was fucking another woman with our wedding ring on his finger. Tears rushed to my eyes, blurring my sight. I wiped them away quickly and turned to walk away, but midway, I stopped, angered by her happy moans. "Aw, harder! "Yes, I'm cumming, just fuck me harder! I’m cumming, yes!” “Not this time,” I muttered bitterly. No, I couldn't just walk away, and I sure as hell wouldn't let them cum. I barged into the office and let the food box in my hand fall noisily. Damian’s eyes widened with shock as he noticed me for the first time. "Ivory?!" "What are you doing here?!" He exclaimed, pulling out of the bent over lady, his average sized dick hung loosely to his groin. "Bringing you dinner…” I answered, my voice quivering slightly. “Is this the late-night meeting with your Boss?” My eyes wandered to the lady who seemed to be hiding behind him. I had been paying all my attention to Damian because I couldn't exactly blame the lady for his infidelity. But suddenly the butterfly tattoo on her back struck me. It was just the same as… I gasped. It took a while for me to fully process what my brain was telling me. "Camille?!" "It can't be you, is it?" Slowly, the lady stepped away from his shadow, now dressed in a lingerie. "Why do you seem surprised?" she rattled without any hint of remorse. "Any problem?" “You are my friend.” I managed to mutter. “My closest…” I told her everything about my marriage. I told her about my distress with Damian, and she advised me to let it go. She advised me to trust him. "What?" She rattled, "It's not my fault that he doesn't find you attractive. Even the maid is more attractive to him." "Camille... He's my husband..." "But he doesn't love you!" Camille yelled, "And you know it. Look, he's prepared the divorce papers. Stop flattering yourself, Damian is mine!" As Camille spoke, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I wanted to scream out in pain but my voice came out in a shaky whimper. "What is happening? Damian, you want a divorce?" "I’m sorry, Ivory," Damian said, "This is not working for me anymore, you’re too boring. I've already signed the papers; I know it will be hard for you so take your time" Before Damian finished his statement, I walked over to the brown envelope on the table. I contemplated for a moment about my future if I signed the divorce papers but honestly, I knew I couldn’t endure any more of Damian’s cheating. He was a chronic womanizer and it was obvious, he would never change. Determined, I penned down my signature and turned away. He didn't deserve it. The four years I gave him, he didn't deserve it. I spent the last four years of my life, living in denial, convincing myself that Damian would never cheat on me. I was wrong, very wrong. He was sleeping with every other person except me. "Don't act all high and mighty when you know you'll regret it," he said as I made my way towards the door. Usually, I would walk away quietly with my head down, but not anymore. "Regret it?" I shot back, "No! I'm going to find someone who will love me and be attracted to me and..." "You wish, Ivory. It will only happen in your dreams.” Camille sneered, "Don’t flatter yourself with all that nonsense. No one will find you attractive!” Camille's words were like fuel to an already burning house and before I could tame myself, I charged at her with everything in me. I wanted to tear her face apart. But at that moment, a loud sound echoed in the room taking us all by surprise. I paused, looking around for the cause. It took a minute for me to realize that I had been hit in the head and my body was shutting down. Tears rushed to my eyes, and I couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the betrayal. But the last person I saw was Camille standing over me, smiling triumphantly. Few Hours Later I jolted awake at the sudden, loud slam of the door, my heart pounding in my chest. "Am I alive?" I thought to myself. My eyes were open but I could see nothing but stark darkness. Attempting to move my body, I discovered I was bound- both legs and arms tightly tied to a chair. Approaching footsteps resounded in the air, and my heart responded with fear, pounding loudly as it drew nearer. "Camille?" I called in a shaky voice, "Damian?" "I swear to God, you'll regret this, you will regret this you disgusting man!" The footsteps ceased, and I held my breath. "Take off the mask," he ordered I froze at the sound of the cold voice. It wasn't Damian.Willis didn’t mean to go back that soon.He told himself he’d wait until Friday. Give it a few days. Let things settle. But the quiet in his apartment stretched too wide, and the idea of her—the chaos of her, the warmth—was louder than his self-control.So on Wednesday evening, just after dark, he found himself outside her door.He hadn’t even texted.The spare key was exactly where she said it would be, tucked beneath a tiny cactus in a blue ceramic pot. He hesitated only a second before using it.The apartment smelled like incense and lemon, soft and lived-in. Jazz was playing from a speaker in the kitchen—Coltrane, maybe. Something that meandered, low and longing.“Hey,” she called from down the hall, casual, like she’d known he’d show up. “You’re early.”Willis smiled to himself and slipped off his coat. “I’m always early. I just never show it.”Liv walked into his view in nothing but a robe and that lazy, dangerous smirk he was already addicted to. Her eyes dragged over him like
Willis woke up with sunlight in his eyes and a soft ache in his body.The sheets around him were tangled, still warm from where she’d been. Liv was gone. The room hummed with leftover heat and echoes—clothes scattered like evidence, air thick with the scent of last night.For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact moment her mouth met his throat, the way her laugh caught in her chest right before she whispered his name into his skin.His heart thudded, not from regret—but from a low, humming awareness of how long it had been since he felt anything that close to pleasure. Since he stopped performing, and just wanted.There was music playing from somewhere in the apartment—soft, old soul, Marvin Gaye or something close. The scent of coffee drifted under the door, warm and grounding. It could have been romantic, if either of them were in the mood for that kind of lie.He sat up and found his shirt slung across the lamp.When he walked out, s
Willis hadn’t meant to go out.He’d planned on staying in, maybe working through the stack of unread books on his coffee table or reorganizing the spice rack he didn’t really use. But the apartment felt too still, the kind of quiet that echoed. And he couldn’t stop wondering what Ivory was doing.So he went out. Just for a drink. Just to prove to himself that he still knew how to be in the world.The bar wasn’t loud, which helped. Exposed brick, amber lighting, and something soft playing through overhead speakers. A woman in the corner was reading a poetry book aloud, half to herself, half to a man who looked smitten.Willis chose a spot at the bar. Ordered something smoky, which he didn’t finish. He scrolled through his phone out of habit. No messages. Nothing from Ivory. Not that he expected it.Still.She was everywhere. In the way he glanced at the door like she might walk in. In the way his chest tightened when someone laughed in a way that almost sounded like her.He closed his
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
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
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