บททั้งหมดของ Love Wasn’t Part Of The Plan: บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

The moment my father stepped into the house, the air shifted. The storm outside had stopped, but inside, the tension was thick enough to suffocate. His eyes locked on me — pale, still hooked to the small patches of IV tape from the hospital, hair damp and matted — and I could see the storm in his face. Fear, anger, disbelief, and something heavier I couldn’t name.“My God… Ivy,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he reached toward me, only to stop short. “This… this is exactly what I feared.”I shrank back into the couch cushions, my mother’s hand still resting lightly on my arm, grounding me. I didn’t have the strength to speak, not really. My throat felt raw, my chest still aching from the events of the day. The words caught in my throat before they could escape.“You were supposed to be safe,” he continued, his tone rising now, a mixture of fury and heartbreak. “I leave for a few hours, and this—this happens? Tell me, Ivy, who did this to you?”I looked down, blinking rapidly, unwi

The smell of coffee drifted through the house before the morning light had fully broken through the clouds. It was the first time in weeks that I’d woken up without flinching at every sound, without the weight of panic sitting on my chest. The bruises were fading now—faint traces of purple along my wrists and shoulders—but the memories still clung to me like damp air.My mother’s soft humming floated from the kitchen. I lay there a few seconds longer, staring at the sunlight crawling across my ceiling, before forcing myself out of bed. My body was still slower than I wanted it to be, the kind of slow that came after trauma—when your mind was ready to move on but your heart hadn’t caught up yet.When I stepped into the kitchen, Mom turned and smiled. “Morning, sweetheart. You look a little better today.”I smiled faintly, tugging at my sleeve. “Getting there.”She poured a second cup of coffee and slid it toward me. “Your father’s still asleep. He worked late last night.” Then, almost

By the time I got home, my throat was raw, and my head felt like it was full of static. The argument, the shouting, the looks — everything from school kept replaying in my mind like a scene I couldn’t shut off.I slammed the front door behind me, pressing my back to it for a second as if I could shut the world out that way. My hands were still shaking.Mom’s voice drifted from the living room. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re home early.”I didn’t answer right away. I took a few steadying breaths, forcing my tone to sound normal. “Yeah. Just… tired.”She peeked over the couch, knitting still in her hands, a soft smile on her face. “First days back are always hard. You’ll get used to it again.”If only she knew what really happened. The fight, the whispers, Chloe’s venomous words echoing in my ears. But I didn’t have the energy to explain — not tonight.“I’m going to shower and change,” I said quietly.She nodded. “Dinner’s in the oven if you get hungry when you're back.”I climbed the stairs,

The silence in the Pierce mansion felt heavier after Mrs. Pierce’s voice sliced through the air.She didn’t have to raise it — her words carried power without volume. That kind of quiet, restrained sharpness that only the rich seemed to master.I turned toward her slowly, my palms damp, my pulse tripping over itself.Her expression was calm — too calm — and that scared me more than if she’d been angry. Her lipstick was flawless, her pearls gleamed under the chandelier, and her eyes… they held that cold, polished kind of disdain that said she already knew how this conversation would end.“Come with me,” she said simply.I followed her down the hallway — every click of her heels echoing like a countdown. The living room lights dimmed behind us as she led me into her private study, the one lined with glass shelves and expensive art I’d only ever dusted from afar.The door closed with a soft click. The sound felt final.Mrs. Pierce turned to face me, arms folded lightly across her chest.

By morning, my eyes felt raw from crying. The world outside my window was soft and gray — that kind of washed-out light that makes everything look tired. I hadn’t really slept; I’d only drifted in and out of a haze of memories. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mrs. Pierce’s face, the way she looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.When my phone buzzed again, I didn’t need to check to know who it was.Asher.He’d called through most of the night — message after message, his name lighting up the screen like a pulse I couldn’t ignore. But I did. Because I didn’t know what to say. Because how do you tell someone that the world they live in just spat you out?I shoved the phone under my pillow and sat up, my body aching, my head heavy. Mum was already up, moving quietly in the kitchen, pretending not to watch me too closely. Dad had left for work earlier, though I could still feel the weight of his anger in the air — the kind that doesn’t need shouting to be loud.B