The Night

The ballroom shimmered as if spun from stardust, each crystal chandelier scattering light across silk gowns and polished champagne flutes. The air buzzed with laughter, music, and whispers of futures about to begin.

But Ivy Marlowe barely noticed any of it.

Her pulse was a steady drumbeat in her ears, louder than the violins, drowning out the chatter.

Because he was here.

Asher Cole.

The boy she had admired from the shadowed edges of charity galas and family functions. The one whose name had always felt like a secret in her heart. Over the years, he had become untouchable, the golden heir to the Cole fortune, a man whose smirk could disarm a boardroom, whose eyes hinted at something dangerous, something damaged.

And tonight, at the Astantin University prom, he stood alone at the edge of the crowd.

The tailored black suit molded perfectly to his tall frame, the loosened bow tie at his throat giving him an air of controlled recklessness. In his hand, a crystal tumbler caught the golden light.

But his expression… dark. Remote.

The sight of him sent a ripple of courage through Ivy’s chest. If I don’t speak to him now, I never will.

She smoothed her dress, deep emerald silk that felt suddenly too daring, and stepped forward, each movement steady despite the tremor in her heart.

“Asher,” she said, her voice softer than she intended, but steady enough to hold his attention.

He turned his head, and those eyes, stormy grey, shifted to her. For a moment, she felt pinned in place, his gaze slow, deliberate, as though assessing every hidden thought.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice didn't possess any interest but that didn't phase her young heart.

“I…I am Ivy Ma-...” Before she could complete her words, he interrupted her.

“Ivy Marlowe.” His voice was deep, rich, carrying a faint curve of amusement.

Her heart skipped.

‘He knows my name!’

“I… I just wanted to thank you for being here,” she said, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “You’ve always been-...” She hesitated, heat rising in her cheeks. “An inspiration.”

A low laugh slipped from him, but it wasn’t cruel. It was almost… bitter. “An inspiration. That’s new.” He tipped his glass toward the crowd, his eyes scanning the glittering chaos. “Funny. The one person I wanted to see tonight isn’t here.”

Ivy’s breath caught. “Someone important to you?”

His mouth quirked, not in a smile, but in something darker. “She’s leaving for Europe.”

That's when her eyes dropped to the glass in his hand and his droopy yeah.

“Are you drinking to forget her?” The question rolled out of her mouth even before she could stop it.

That question fell heavy between them, tinged with something sharp and unspoken. He didn't reply, just chugged down the liquid in one go.

And yet… she saw a flicker of something else beneath the polished mask. Not just loneliness. Not just regret. Something more fragile, something he didn’t want anyone to see.

The hum of the ballroom faded as they drifted toward the terrace, where the air was cooler, quieter. Manhattan’s skyline glittered beyond the balustrade.

One drink became two.

His humor, wry, edged with shadows, pulled her closer with every word. The more he spoke, the more she realized his charm was a weapon, honed to keep the world at a careful distance.

And then his gaze shifted, lower, more intent.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Ivy,” he murmured, voice dipping low enough to brush her skin like a touch. “I’m not the man you think I am.”

Her pulse stuttered. “Maybe I want to find out who you are.”

Something in his eyes darkened. The corner of his mouth lifted, not a smile, but something far more dangerous. His fingertips brushed her wrist, igniting a spark that traveled straight through her.

The night unraveled into heat, into the taste of champagne and velvet and the dizzying rush of finally being seen. Every moment felt like a dream she’d carried since she was old enough to name it.

___

IN THE MORNING

The scent of his cologne still clung to the sheets, but the space beside her was cold.

Ivy sat up slowly, silk tangled around her legs, her heart heavy and aching. Her heartbeat stopped for a moment.

‘Did he just leave me like this..?’

All the hope of love that she has been yearning for years was almost crushed when she heard someone clear his voice.

It's his voice! He didn't leave. Yet. That automatically brought a smile at the corner of her lips.

Across the room, Asher stood near the window, perfectly dressed, his tie knotted with precision. His profile was cut sharp against the pale morning light, beautiful, distant, unreadable.

“Good morning,” she said softly, searching for a trace of the warmth she’d felt the night before.

He turned, grey eyes cool now. His voice was smooth, too careful. “About last night…”

Her stomach tightened. She was begging all her stars to stop the moment right there. She was not ready for what was coming toward her. She will never be ready for that.

“It was… a mistake.” His words were clipped, controlled. “A one-night lapse in judgment.”

The air seemed to thin around her. She felt her throat was dry. “A mistake?”

He stepped closer, not with comfort, but with calculated detachment. He placed a sleek card on the bedside table.

“If you need anything, discretion, arrangements, contact my assistant. But this… will never happen again.”

It felt like the ground had shifted beneath her feet.

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady even as it cracked. She would not allow herself to lose her dignity in front of Asher. “Right. Just a one-night stand.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression, regret? Or relief?...but then the mask was back. Without another word, he left.

She flopped back into bed, the mattress holding her softly. “What was I expecting?” She whispered to herself, holding the sheet tighter against her petite body.

____

Ivy left his apartment in the same emerald dress from the night before, the early morning chill clinging to her bare arms. The city felt too bright, too indifferent. Cars passed in a lazy procession, a bus hissed to a stop, and somewhere a vendor was shouting over the steam of his cart, but none of it touched her.

Her heels clicked against the sidewalk, each step heavier than the last. By the time she reached her tiny apartment, her shoulders were stiff, her feet ached, and her chest felt hollow.

She dropped her purse onto the couch and stood there, staring at the quiet room.

“What was I expecting?” she murmured to herself, repeating the same question, her voice cracking. “That he’d wake up and… what? Love me?”

The words broke something open. A shaky laugh slipped out, but it bled into a sob before she could stop it. She pressed her hands over her face, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless.

“You’re a fool, Ivy Marlowe,” she whispered between uneven breaths. “Twenty years… for this.”

She sank into the couch, curling her knees to her chest, letting the silence press in around her.

That was when she heard it, a soft metallic clang from the mailbox outside her door.

Still barefoot, she padded over and pulled open the small hatch. Inside lay a single cream-colored envelope, heavy in her hand, sealed with an embossed crest.

Her brow furrowed. “What is this?” she asked aloud, half to herself.

She tore it open, the paper thick beneath her fingers.

“Ms. Ivy Marlowe,

We are pleased to offer you a position as the head of marketing department in Alexander & McQueen, London…”

She read it again. And again. The gold lettering swam in her vision.

London.

An ocean away. Far from her aimless life. Far from the whispers about Asher Cole. Far from the memory of one night she could neither regret nor forget.

Her fingers tightened around the letter. For the first time in hours, her tears slowed.

On the coffee table, beneath an old stack of unopened mail, was a worn leather photo frame. She reached for it, pulling it into her lap.

It was the only photograph she had of her mother before everything fell apart, Mary Marlowe, hair loose around her shoulders, smiling in the soft golden light of a summer afternoon. Ivy had been five then, small enough to fit in her mother’s lap, trusting that the warmth in her arms would last forever.

It hadn’t.

“I wish you were here,” Ivy whispered, her thumb brushing over the glass. “I wish you hadn’t left me. I wish… I wish I didn’t have to figure all of this out alone.”

Her voice wavered. “I thought if I worked hard enough, if I was good enough, maybe… maybe someone would want me. Love me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

The silence of the apartment pressed in, but she kept talking, as if her mother might answer.

“I waited for him. Twenty years. And today I finally understood…he doesn’t see me, Mom. Not really. And my heart… it feels like it’s carrying every year of waiting all at once. It’s so heavy.”

She swallowed hard, pressing the photo to her chest. “But I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep hoping someone will save me. I have to save myself now.”

Her eyes fell to the letter again, the embossed gold seal catching the dim light. “London… it’s far. And I’m scared. But maybe… maybe it’s where I finally start taking care of myself. Not the girl who’s been waiting, but the woman who’s done waiting.”

She set the photo gently on the nightstand, still facing her, and lay back against the couch, the letter resting over her heart.

“It’s over,” she told the quiet room. “Twenty years of waiting ends here.”

Her eyes closed, and for the first time in a long while, her tears stopped before sleep found her.