Ivy's POV
I can't breathe.
The video on my phone plays again. Marcus reading my journal. Everyone gasping. People recording. My mother's face twisting with disgust.
My hands shake so hard the phone slips from my fingers onto Damien's library floor.
"Ivy." Damien's voice cuts through my panic. "Look at me."
I can't. I can't look at anyone ever again.
"Ivy." His hand cups my chin, gentle but firm, forcing my eyes to his. "We fight back. Do you understand? We don't run. We don't hide. We fight."
"How?" My voice cracks. "Everyone saw. Everyone knows. They think I'm disgusting. They think you're—"
"I don't care what they think." His gray eyes burn into mine. "I only care what you think. Do you regret this? Do you regret us?"
"No," I whisper. "But Serena—"
"Will come around or she won't. That's her choice." He pulls me closer. "But you're not facing this alone. Not anymore."
My phone buzzes on the floor. Again. And again.
Damien picks it up, his jaw tightening as he scrolls through the messages. "Block these numbers. All of them."
"I can't just ignore—"
"Yes, you can." He hands me back the phone. "These people don't matter, Ivy. They're vultures feeding on scandal. Don't give them the satisfaction."
Another buzz. This time it's a number I recognize.
Marcus.
You destroyed us. Now I'll destroy you. This is just the beginning.
Ice floods my veins. "Damien, he's threatening me."
Damien reads the message, his expression going deadly cold. "Forward this to me. Then block him."
"What are you going to do?"
"Handle it." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Marcus Chen is about to learn what happens when he threatens what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should scare me. Instead, it makes me feel safe for the first time tonight.
A car engine sounds outside. Headlights sweep across the library windows.
We both freeze.
"Who—" I start, but Damien's already moving to the window.
His whole body goes rigid. "Your mother's back. And she brought someone with her."
My stomach drops. "Who?"
"A police car."
The world tilts. "She wouldn't. She didn't actually—"
"She did." Damien's voice is calm, but I can see the fury in his eyes. "Stay here."
"No!" I grab his arm. "I'm not letting you face this alone."
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods. "Together, then. But let me do the talking."
The doorbell rings. Then someone pounds on the door.
"Damien Cross!" My mother's voice shrieks from outside. "I know my daughter's in there! Open this door right now!"
Damien squeezes my hand once, then walks to the foyer. I follow, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He opens the door.
My mother stands there in her designer coat, mascara running down her face. Behind her are two police officers looking deeply uncomfortable.
"Mrs. Sterling," Damien says coolly. "This is quite dramatic, even for you."
"Don't you dare speak to me." She points a shaking finger at him. "You kidnapped my daughter!"
"I'm right here, Mom." I step into view. "And I came here by myself. Nobody kidnapped me."
Her eyes narrow. "You're not thinking clearly. He's manipulating you. Officers, please—my daughter is being held against her will by this predator."
One of the officers, an older man with kind eyes, clears his throat. "Ma'am, your daughter appears to be here voluntarily. She's also twenty-two years old. We can't force her to leave."
"She's confused! Traumatized! She was publicly humiliated tonight and ran straight to him!" My mother's voice rises. "Don't you see? He's been grooming her! Taking advantage of her vulnerable state!"
"That's a serious accusation," the second officer says, looking at Damien. "Sir, how long has this young woman been here?"
"A few hours," Damien says calmly. "She came here upset after her boyfriend humiliated her at a party. I offered her a safe place to stay."
"Safe?" My mother laughs hysterically. "You call this safe? She's twenty-two! You're forty-two! You're her best friend's father!"
"All of which makes me a concerned adult offering help to someone in distress," Damien replies. "Nothing illegal about that."
The first officer nods. "He's right, ma'am. Unless your daughter wants to press charges or leave, there's nothing we can do here."
"Ivy." My mother turns to me, tears streaming. "Please. Come home. We'll fix this. We'll say he manipulated you. We'll—"
"Stop." The word comes out stronger than I expect. "Just stop, Mom. I'm not going home. I'm not lying about Damien. And I'm not ashamed."
Her face crumples. Then hardens. "Fine. Stay here. Ruin your life. But don't come crying to me when this all falls apart."
She storms to her car, slamming the door so hard the whole vehicle shakes.
The officers apologize for the disturbance and leave.
Damien closes the door, and silence fills the house.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "She had no right to—"
"She's your mother. She's scared." Damien pulls me into his arms. "But she doesn't get to control you anymore."
I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his scent, letting his warmth chase away the cold fear.
My phone buzzes.
Then buzzes again.
And again.
Damien takes it from me, his expression growing darker with each message he reads.
"What?" I ask. "What is it?"
He doesn't answer. Just turns the phone so I can see.
It's a group chat. Hundreds of people. All discussing me.
Did you see the videos from her party?
She's been obsessed with her best friend's dad for YEARS.
That's so sick.
He probably encouraged it. Older men love naive girls.
I heard they've been hooking up since she was in high school.
The lies multiply. Twist. Grow worse with each message.
Then a new text appears. From a blocked number.
A video.
My hands shake as I press play.
It's footage of me arriving at the Cross estate tonight. Time-stamped. Showing me using the gate code. Walking inside.
And underneath: Breaking: College student spends night at older lover's mansion while family desperately searches for her. Full story at 11.
"Someone's watching the house," I breathe. "Someone filmed me coming here."
Damien's expression goes ice cold. He strides to the window, looking out into the darkness.
"There." He points to the tree line beyond the gates. "See that flash? Someone's out there with a camera."
Horror washes over me. "They're stalking us."
"Not for long." Damien pulls out his phone. "I'm calling security. No one gets near this property without authorization."
But before he can dial, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
Against my better judgment, I answer.
"Hello, Ivy." Marcus's voice slithers through the speaker. "Enjoying your night with Mr. Cross? Because I have to tell you, the internet is absolutely eating this up. You're trending, babe. Number three on Twitter."
"Marcus—"
"I told you this was just the beginning. By tomorrow morning, everyone will know exactly what kind of person you are. What kind of person he is." His voice drops. "You humiliated me. Now I'm returning the favor. Times a thousand."
The line goes dead.
I stare at Damien, terror flooding through me.
"What did he say?" Damien demands.
Before I can answer, car headlights flood the driveway.
Not one car. Five. Six. Ten.
News vans.
They swarm the gates like vultures, cameras already rolling, reporters shouting questions we can't hear through the thick windows.
Damien's phone rings. Then mine. Then the house phone.
The world is closing in.
"This is bad," I whisper. "This is really, really bad."
Damien pulls me close, his jaw set. "Let them come. Let them film. Let them write their stories. It doesn't change anything."
But when I look out the window at the mob of reporters, at the cameras pointed at us like weapons, I know everything is about to change.
My phone buzzes one more time.
A message from Serena.
Turn on the news. Right now.
With shaking hands, I grab the remote and switch on the TV.
My face fills the screen.
A reporter's voice: "Breaking news tonight as shocking details emerge about college senior Ivy Monroe and her alleged relationship with billionaire Damien Cross, father of her best friend—"
The screen changes to show Marcus, sitting in an interview.
"She's been obsessed with him for years," he says, looking earnest and wounded. "I tried to help her. Tried to be there for her. But she only wanted him."
No.
No, no, no.
Then the screen shows my journal entries. The explicit ones. Displayed for millions to see.
Damien's hand finds mine as we watch my entire world burn on national television.
And then the reporter says something that makes my blood freeze:
"But the story takes an even darker turn. Sources close to the family claim this relationship may have begun when Monroe was still a minor, raising serious questions about—"
The screen goes black.
Damien threw the remote across the room.
We stand in the destroyed silence, surrounded by news vans and lies and a scandal that's growing faster than we can stop it.
Then headlights sweep across the windows again.
A car I recognize.
Serena's car.
She gets out, and even from here, I can see she's crying.
She walks to the door.
Damien and I look at each other.
"Whatever happens," he says quietly, "we face it together."
I nod, unable to speak.
The doorbell rings.
When Damien opens it, Serena stands there, her phone in her hand, her face streaked with tears.
"Dad," she whispers. "Tell me they're lying. Tell me you didn't sleep with her when she was underage. Please. Tell me this is all just lies."