Page 27 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
I look back at Ivy, still curled beneath the sheets, her breathing slow and steady, utterly unaware of the storm gathering beyond the walls of this suite. She lies there in perfect stillness, untouched by the knowledge unraveling my morning, wrapped in the illusion that the world hasn’t changed since we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
What happens when she finds out I’m the one who handed her the truth, but did it in secret? Not because I doubted her,but because I didn’t trust myself or maybe I did, and that’s the problem.
I dress quickly, grab my jacket, and before I leave, I scribble a quick note on the hotel stationery. The words come fast, unfiltered:Didn’t want to wake you. Had to step out early. Last night meant everything to me—every second, every touch. I meant what I said. I love you, Ivy. I’m not walking away from this. From you. I’ll call you later.
I fold it and leave it on her nightstand, right beside the glass of water she placed there hours ago. The hotel corridor is empty, carpet thick beneath my feet, the stillness doing nothing to calm the pounding in my chest. Then I call my driver, tight control, sharp commands, no space for hesitation. The front desk greets me with a wary smile. I nod, keep moving.
***
Derek’s corner office sits empty, the blinds drawn tight as if even the morning light isn’t welcome there. When I ask his assistant, she offers a practiced smile and says he had an early meeting, no details, no times, no context. Just enough vagueness to raise every alarm I’ve been trying to silence.
The timing is unsettlingly precise, so calculated, it feels like a trap laid weeks ago, just now springing to life. Like a move he’s already ten steps into, waiting for me to catch up.
I step into my own office and close the door behind me. I cross the room and pull open the blinds, flooding the space with a sharp wash of morning light. The skyline unfolds before me, sleek, impassive, and unforgiving, like it’s daring me to keep up with whatever game is already in motion. The skyline stares back at me like it knows something I don’t.
I try to focus, emails, project briefs, a call with our legal counsel, but after a few failed attempts, I give up. My thoughts keep circling the same drain. I check Ivy’s name in my messages more than once, half-hoping for a text, a sign. Nothing.Eventually, I get up to stretch my legs and step into the hallway, only to pause just around the corner from the boardroom. That’s when I hear them, Derek and our mother, voices low but unmistakable.
"Ivy looked radiant at the gala," she says smoothly. "Almost... liberated."
"She always did like attention," Derek replies, tone light, but there's a bite beneath it. "I wonder what changed."
"Perhaps she finally realized who she belongs with."
A pause.
"Or maybe someone showed her something." His words are pointed. Weighted.
I freeze, breath held in my throat. If Ivy has seen the photos, if she knows the truth, it won’t be radiance she’s wearing. It’ll be armor. A composed exterior masking confusion and a growing wall between us. My shoulders stiffen. He's baiting me.
I return to my office and sink into the chair, my eyes fixed on the desk as the weight of last night crashes headfirst into the pressure of today. I want to protect Ivy, from Derek’s manipulation, from the ghosts of her past, and most of all, from the version of me I’ve spent years trying not to become. But I can’t protect her from the truth. Not if she learns it from someone else.
I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over her name. Then I stop. If she hasn’t seen the footage yet, maybe I still have time. Maybe I can tell her first, before Derek does, before he has a chance to twist it into something uglier than it was.
I need to see her tonight. I need to explain everything before the truth detonates in someone else’s voice. If I wait too long, everything we just built might crumble. She could look at me not with trust, but with doubt. I need to see her before that happens, before she looks at me like I’m someone she never really knew.
***
In a moment of impulse, I head down to the underground level, where the executive garage sits quiet and half-lit. Derek’s car is still there. So is he.
He’s leaning against the driver’s side door, sipping from a silver thermos like it’s just another Monday.
“You’ve been busy,” I say as I approach.
Derek doesn’t look surprised. “You always assume I’m the one playing games.”
“Because you usually are.”
His gaze flicks up, sharp and amused. “Come on, Jack. Slipping envelopes under her door? That’s not your usual brand of honor, is it?”
“You don’t get to say her name.”
“She lived with me,” he counters, voice quiet but cutting. “I think I earned the right.”
I take a step closer. “You lost that right when you treated her like collateral.”
He sets the thermos down. “You’re slipping, big brother. Leaving trails, getting sentimental. What did you think would happen when she found out?”
“I planned to tell her.”
