Chapter 3

My mom's still watching me, worried. I force a smile and wave her off.

The second I close my bedroom door, my father calls.

"Ivy. Made any decisions about settling down yet?"

"You know the deal. You get married first, then the board hands you Sharp Industries. No arguments."

I hold the phone. My eyes are clear for the first time in months.

"Dad. Don't worry. I've got it handled. Give me one week — I'll have an answer you'll like."

I hang up. Sink into the couch. And it hits me — how insane the last three years have been.

Shane's whole song and dance. On loop.

"My family messed me up. I'm broken inside. Marriage terrifies me."

"Just don't push for a ring, and I'll love you more than any husband ever could."

Turns out it was never trauma. It was a get-out-of-jail-free card so he never had to commit.

My phone screen lights up. Sloane just posted an Instagram carousel.

Wedding photos.

There's Shane. In a matching tux. On one knee.

Carefully — tenderly — arranging the train of Sloane's white gown.

Looking at her the way he never — not once — looked at me.

Sienna commented under the post. Zero subtlety.

"Some girls beg for seven years and get nothing. Others just crook a finger and get the whole galaxy."

They must've forgotten they didn't block me.

Because at almost the exact same moment, Shane texts me.

"Ivy, my stomach is acting up again. Need a few days to rest."

"Don't bother me this week. I need space."

I laugh, short. Then I hit FaceTime.

It rings forever before he finally picks up, fumbling.

I lift the corner of my mouth. The camera is shaking violently. The background is all white silk and champagne.

The audio bleeds through.

"Congratulations to the beautiful bride and groom!"

"Mr. Vaughn, your fiancée looks like this dress was made for her!"

Shane's eyes dart everywhere. His hand shoots up to muffle the mic.

Caught red-handed. His face flips through five different colors.

Then, in the span of about four seconds, he flips it around. Gets defensive.

"Ivy, don't get the wrong idea."

"Sloane's last relationship gave her PTSD around wedding dresses. I'm helping her work through it."

"And, hey — helps me get over my marriage fear too. It's a win-win, right?"

I look at his self-righteous face. And the last flicker of anything I felt for him just... dies.

I don't ask him to come home. I don't tell Sloane to delete the post.

I just laugh, once. And hang up on him.

Then I screenshot everything. Every text. Every photo. Every second of that video call.

Ammo. For when I need to prove I was never the crazy one.

The week flies by.

Tonight — my engagement party with the Cross Family.

That morning, I dial Shane one last time.

Consider it a farewell gift to my own seven wasted years.

He picks up. Still cocky.

"Ivy Sharp. I knew you couldn't live without me."

I don't correct him. My voice stays flat.

"Noon. Our coffee shop."

"One last meeting. If you show up on time, I'll give you one last chance to explain yourself."

Shane laughs on the other end.

He thinks he's got me right where he wants me.

"Told you. You couldn't last three days."

"I'll be there. On the dot."

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