Chapter 54 Luca

Chapter 54 Luca
I stand just inside the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the wooden frame as Ivy peels back the layers of tissue paper. Her movements are slow, hesitant, like she isn’t sure whether the thing inside the bag is a gift… or a trap.

When the knitted sleeves spill over her palm, the entire room seems to hold its breath.

A dark green cardigan.
Long. Soft. Weighty with warmth.

Ivy leaves stitched along the arms and hem in looping, detailed patterns.
Brown buttons, each one slightly different.

My chest tightens.

Ivy studies it silently, her expression shifting too fast to catch—surprise, confusion, a flicker of longing she tries to banish, and then the familiar wall slamming back into place. Her fingertips glide over one of the embroidered ivy leaves, soft and almost tender.

Of course he’d pick something like this. Something handcrafted. Something meaningful. I got quite a lot of enjoyment burning his last gift with my girl. 

“You don’t have to keep it,” I say, trying for neutrality even as something tightens painfully in my chest. Even if it would break me… if she chose him, I’d step aside. Her happiness always comes first.

She finally lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes are softer now but shadowed by confusion. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

I look away for a moment, because there’s too much in her eyes—too much hurt he caused, too much hope she’s still fighting, too much I wish I could protect her from.

“If it hurts you to have it… get rid of it,” I say. Then, quieter, “If it doesn’t… keep it. It’s your choice.”

She gathers the cardigan closer to her chest without realizing it.

That tiny, unconscious motion hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

“I don’t get him,” she whispers. “He’s acting like he… like he cares. But I know he doesn’t. He’s always had someone else he preferred.”

Someone else?
She thinks he wanted someone else?

“So that’s what you think?” I ask quietly. Even I—who’d give her everything without hesitation—wouldn’t choose anyone over her. How could he?

She nods again, fragile in a way she never lets herself be.

“He would never choose me,” she murmurs.

And there it is.
The part that breaks me every time.
The part he never sees.
The part she tries to hide behind anger and fire and steel.

“Ivy,” I say, stepping closer but careful not to touch her. “You’re wrong about that.”

Her eyes lift, confused. “About him?”

My heart pounds. I have to walk carefully here—one wrong word, and I hand her right back to him. And that…I can’t allow. Not after everything.

“About anyone choosing someone over you,” I answer instead.

Her breath catches the slightest bit, and I look away before she notices too much — before she sees what’s written too clearly in my eyes.

If she knew the truth…
If she knew who has been choosing her, silently, painfully, consistently…

I don’t know if it would ease her heart or destroy the fragile trust she still has left.

So I breathe slowly, steadying myself.

“You’re worth more than you think,” I say, voice thick but controlled. “Anyone who can’t see that… doesn’t deserve you.”

The cardigan lies across her lap, dark green against her skin, a soft pool of warmth she hasn’t pushed away.

For a long moment, Ivy just sits there, silently running her fingertips along the green knit like she’s trying to decipher a message woven into the stitches. Then she takes a slow breath, stands, and walks toward her closet.

I step back to give her space, watching her carefully—watching the way her shoulders square as if she’s making a decision she’s not ready to speak out loud.

She pauses with the cardigan in her hands, fingers brushing the embroidered ivy leaves once more before she reaches for a hanger.

And hangs it up.
She keeps it.
Something in my chest loosens… and tightens at the same time.

She is keeping that gift from that asshole but… she is not putting it on immediately. 

She shuts the closet door gently, like she’s sealing the decision away before she can change her mind. When she turns back toward me, her expression is steadier, though confusion still lingers behind her eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll wear it,” she says softly. “But… I couldn’t throw it away.”

Her voice cracks just faintly on the last word.

“I get it,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

She studies me for a moment—really studies me—and the air shifts. There’s something different in her gaze now, something warm, searching, almost hesitant. It sends a ripple of heat through me, one I do everything in my power to hide.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs. “Even when I’m being… difficult.”

A small, crooked smile touches her lips, the kind she probably doesn’t realize she’s giving.

“I don’t think you’re difficult,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than intended. “Just hurting.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and she looks away in a shy way.

After a moment, she takes a step closer—not much, but enough that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes under the warm lamplight.

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to trust anymore,” she admits quietly. “But… I know I trust you.”

My breath stutters. Just for a split second. She doesn’t notice.
Or maybe she does, but mistakes it for something else.

“So… if I ever choose someone…” she continues, voice barely above a whisper, “I want it to be someone who makes me feel safe.”

The words land like a blow I never saw coming.
Not painful.

Just… overwhelming.

She doesn’t realize what she’s saying.
She doesn’t realize what it does to me.

Or maybe she does—but not in the way I hope. Not in the way that matters.

I swallow, grounding myself before I speak.

“You deserve that,” I say gently. “Someone who won’t ever hurt you. Someone who sees you.”

A soft breath leaves her, almost a sigh.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Maybe… maybe I already have that.”

The world tilts for a heartbeat.

I force myself to stay still, to not react too strongly, to not read too much into words she doesn’t fully understand herself.

But she looks at me—really looks at me—and for one terrifying, beautiful moment…
…I think she might be choosing me.

She doesn’t realize the truth.
She doesn’t know I’ve already chosen her.

Long before tonight.
Long before him.

“Get some rest, Ivy,” I say softly, because if I say anything else, everything will spill out. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

She nods, finally easing onto the bed.

And as I turn off the lamp and step toward the door, her voice stops me.

“Luca?”

I look back.

“Thank you,” she says. “For staying.”

My heart twists.

“Always,” I answer.

And I mean it.
More than she’ll ever know.