Semua Bab Plain ivy? No more!!: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Ivy's povThe elevator doors closed, muting the noise of the chaos in the lobby. The reporters were still shouting below, their voices now sounded muffled and distorted, but the sound still clung to me like static I couldn’t shake off.Beside me, Liam was standing impossibly steady. One of his hands was slipped into his pocket, and the other was still holding mine as though he had forgotten to let go. Or maybe he didn't.I should’ve pulled away, but I didn't."You really didn’t have to do that," I said at last, thankful that my voice was coming out steadier than I felt.His gaze instantly flicked to me, sharp and unreadable. "Do what? Tell the truth?"I frowned. "I meant spinning it in my favor. You could’ve easily kept it neutral."He tilted his head, looking at me like he was studying a particularly difficult business contract, "Being neutral would have made you look guilty, and I really am not interested in watching you get torn apart for something you didn’t do."My chest tightene

Ivy's pov The car door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the noise. Finally there were no more flashing bulbs, no more questions shouted over each other. It was just me, tinted glass, the soft leather, and the low hum of the engine. And of course..Liam.I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My cheeks were still aching from all the smiling. My feet, hidden away in six-inch heels, felt like they were seconds away from mutiny.Across from me, Liam tugged at his tie and loosened his collar, looking maddeningly composed and infuriatingly hot. It was like to him, the gala had been nothing more than a quick pit stop and not the endless circus it actually was.The silence stretched until I couldn’t take it anymore. "Do you ever get tired of it?"His eyes flicked to me. "Of what?" "This." I gestured vaguely, at the world outside the window, at us, at everything. "Being looked at. Always being expected to… perform."His brows lifted slightly, amused. "Funny. You know,

I have never had to explain myself. Not to my father, not to the board. And definitely not to Ivy. But there she was, standing in my study with that damned photograph in her hands. My smile frozen in time, it was sharper, younger and untouched by the weight I carry now.Her eyes lifted to mine, clear and cutting. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to. Ivy Monroe doesn’t waste words when silence is more effective. "You want to know why I don’t pick up?" My voice came out lower than I meant it to. Her brows rose, but still she kept quiet. Waiting. Always waiting. "My mother only calls when she wants something," I went on, the words spilling out before I could stop myself. "Money. Connections. A name to drop at one of her charity luncheons. She doesn’t even ask how I’m doing. She doesn't care. She has already decided who I’m supposed to be, and God forbid I disappoint her image. Especially in her new husband's house." The laugh that left me wasn’t real. It was sharp, hollow. "

Author's POVThe ballroom was glittered with golden light, laughter spilling across the atmosphere as the band shifted into a softer tune. Couples were already slipping onto the dance floor, the sway of their gowns and tuxedos painting the perfect picture of high society.Ivy had no intention of joining them. She was content standing on the sidelines with her champagne flute, the sparkle of her silver gown catching the light with every small shift. Looking at her, it seemed like she had mastered the art of looking untouchable.But then Liam turned to her."If we just stand here, people will talk," he said lowly, his lips brushing close to her ear."Well, they’re already talking, so what's a little more?" Ivy replied, her voice sharp as glass."True," he admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But why not give them something worth talking about? Come on, let's dance."Before she could argue, his hand slid around her waist with that easy confidence of his that she hated. He led her to t

Liam's POVI woke up to the faint smell of ginger and something warm on the nightstand. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. But no, the empty bowl of congee and the sticky note beside it proved otherwise. "Take your meds. Don’t be dramatic. – Ivy."I chuckled under my breath, my headache dull but tolerable now. Ivy Monroe. The same woman who drafted a contract clause against 'emotional involvement' had stayed up last night to take care of me.I leaned back against the pillows, staring at the note longer than I should’ve.I should have felt grateful. Instead, what I felt was something dangerous. Want. The kind of want that gnawed at me until it burned. -She was already up by the time I dragged myself into the kitchen.Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, loose strands falling around her face as she sat perched on one of the stools, tablet in hand, coffee cup balanced dangerously close to the edge of the counter. She looked… ordinary, domestic, even. Like we've been doing