Chapter 122 Chapter 122 Yours
My boss, Sky, sent me to Miami to acquire a one-of-a-kind Troy Marrow painting. It’s gorgeous—a poppy field bursting with deep reds and soft oranges, surrounded by towering dark green pines that almost feel alive. There’s something haunting about it, like it holds a memory you can’t quite reach. I was able to make the deal and wrap everything up earlier than expected. I enjoyed my week away—the ocean air, the constant buzz—but I couldn’t wait to get home. The trip was supposed to last a full two weeks.
I slip on my Prada sweatshirt—it’s a cold spring night in Vegas. I grab my luggage from the conveyor and head out to catch a taxi.
Traffic is insane for a Monday night.
The events from a week ago replay in my head. I haven’t told Gemma—I’m too embarrassed. Maybe I should. Dragon asked me for something… unspeakable. He wanted to watch me get gang-banged—his exact words—by Lucas, Josh, and Dorian. I didn’t even hesitate. “Hell fucking no.”
Then the guys started hitting on me, touching me way too much. One night in the kitchen, Lucas pressed himself against my ass, and I snapped. I smacked the shit out of him. Dragon clapped like some idiot—“You passed the test.”
I saw fucking red.
When have I ever given him a reason to doubt me? I’ve been better to him than any man I’ve ever dated. That stupid “test” had Penelope written all over it. It had to be her.
The taxi drops me off on the sidewalk. I drag my bag up the driveway. Dragon must have the guys over—the driveway is full. I open the door. The dog gate is closed, and Thor is stuck in the foyer, pacing. I bend down and love on my boy. I open the gate, and he bolts down the hall toward the noise in the game room.
I follow him, leaving my luggage behind, the house smelling faintly of smoke, alcohol, and something heavier.
As I round the corner, the guys are laughing—loud, careless.
My eyes land on Dragon.
Something inside me cracks the second our eyes lock.
They’re at the poker table. Clothes are piled in the center. Penelope is sitting on Dragon, her hands all over him. Lydia is on Lucas, Carrie on Dorian, Dahlia on Josh. All of them are naked, flushed, laughing, playing strip poker.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I turn to walk away—but I stop.
Rage floods my veins, hot and violent, burning through me like wildfire. That crack inside me splits wide open, sharp and unbearable. For a second, I feel completely unhinged—like I could destroy something. Someone.
Dragon.
For putting me through this bullshit. For humiliating me like this.
My heart breaks all over again.
I turn back to face them. They’re frozen now, the laughter gone, replaced with tension thick enough to choke on. Thor stands in front of Penelope, barking, teeth bared, protective and furious.
I walk forward slowly, my movements controlled, deliberate.
I slide my engagement ring off my finger.
I drop it on the table, right on top of their pile of clothes. The sound is soft—but it hits like a gunshot.
“Sit, Thor.”
Our Dalmatian drops to his ass instantly, like the good boy he is, eyes still locked on her.
“At least one of you recognizes she’s a piece of shit.”
Lucas snickers, low and stupid.
“Don’t let me stop your fun,” I say flatly, turning to leave. I glance back over my shoulder. “I’ll be back for my stuff tomorrow. I suggest you’re not here. I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Baby—” Dragon scrambles up, knocking Penelope onto the carpet. His hands try—and fail—to cover himself. He’s hard.
“Don’t bother. We’re done.”
I walk straight out the front door, grab my luggage, and head for my car. I can hear him calling after me, his voice chasing me down the driveway.
I don’t stop.
I get in—blocked in.
Fuck this.
I drive straight over the flower bed in the middle of the driveway, dirt and flowers crushing under my tires as I force my way out.
Once I hit the street, I have no idea where to go. Tears blur the road, the city lights stretching into streaks. It feels like the ground opens beneath me again, swallowing me whole, dragging me somewhere dark I can’t climb out of. Hell, I am going to hell.
I drive around for three hours. Aimless. Numb. The radio plays something soft and meaningless, filling the silence I can’t handle.
My phone keeps blowing up—Dragon. Voicemail after voicemail.
I finally turn toward my apartment.
I don’t even have a key.
I push past the elevator doors, knock on the door, and just stand there, shifting my weight, my chest tight. I don’t know where I’m going to sleep. The couch, maybe. Or maybe I should go to Gemma and Alek’s—they have a three-bedroom in the next building.
The door swings open.
Ivan stands there in a towel, wet, water still dripping down his chest, tracing lines over his skin.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his deep, velvety voice pulling at something buried in me.
“Where’s Stanislav?” I ask, brushing past him, my voice tighter than I want it to be.
“He’s across the hall. Bought that apartment. Him and Tiana are there.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
Ivan shrugs. “The walls are thin.”
I let out a short, hollow laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
I collapse onto the couch, the cushions sinking under me, trying to keep it together, my hands trembling slightly.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, rewrapping the towel around his waist, his eyes fixed on me.
“What do you think happened?” I snap, holding up my hand—bare, empty. “The same thing that always happens to me…”
I stop myself. I’m not saying it. Not out loud. That I lost another man to someone better. Again. Always fucking again. What is wrong with me? My chest feels like it’s ripping apart, sharp and relentless, but I force the tears back. I’m not crying in front of Ivan. Not him. He’s another asshole who tore me apart once already.
“What the fuck did he do?” Ivan growls, jaw tightening, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “I’ll kill him.”
“Same thing you did,” I shoot back. “Which bedroom is empty?”
“Yours,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t sleep in there.”
I drag my bag to my room and collapse onto the bed, still fully dressed, right on top of the covers.
The sheets smell like Ivan—clean, sharp, familiar.
That’s all it takes.
The tears come harder, breaking through everything I was holding back. I bury my face in the pillow and sob, the sound muffled, raw.
My phone keeps ringing.
I pull it from my back pocket, clear my throat, forcing my voice steady, and answer.
“Stop fucking calling me,” I snap. “Or I’ll show you exactly how I deal with assholes. Hand or tongue—which would you rather lose, you cheating ass motherfucker?”
He hangs up.
Silence settles heavy in the room.
Then—
A chuckle.
Fucking Ivan is laughing.
I press my lips together, trying not to smile.