Chapter 90: At the house

“I'm going to see her.” The words came out before I could stop them. Beck's hand froze on the coffee mug. “Ivy, no.”

“She's not going to stop. The texts, the car, the surveillance. She wants me to come to her.”

“Then she wins.”

“Then I know what she wants.”

He set down the mug. The ceramic clicked against the counter. “What she wants is to use you. The way your mother tried to use you. The way Victoria tried to use you.”

“Maybe. But I'll never know unless I go.”

He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “You're not going alone.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

“Elena comes. I come. No arguments.”

“No arguments.”

He kissed me. Not hard. Not desperate. Gentle, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. “I don't like this.”

“I don't either.”

“Then why are we doing it?”

“Because running hasn't worked. Hiding hasn't worked. Fighting might not work either. But at least I'll know I tried.”

Elena found the house. It was in the old part of the city, brick and ivy, with a wrought iron gate and a garden that had gone wild. Margaret had bought it thirty years ago, under a different name, and had been living there ever since.

“She's not hiding,” Beck said as we parked across the street. “She's been in plain sight the whole time.”

“People see what they expect to see.” Elena killed the engine. “No one expects a criminal mastermind to live in a house with a rose garden.”

I stared at the windows. Dark. But someone was home. I could feel it.

“I go alone,” I said. “You wait here.”

“Ivy—”

“If she sees you, she'll shut down. She wants me. Not you.”

Beck's jaw tightened. “Five minutes. Then I'm coming in.”

“Five minutes.”

I got out of the car.

The gate creaked. The path was uneven, stones slick with moss. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again.

The door opened.

Margaret stood there, gray hair pulled back, sharp eyes studying me. She was wearing a simple dress, no jewelry, no makeup. She looked like a grandmother. The kind who baked cookies and read bedtime stories.

“You came.”

“You knew I would.”

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

Inside, the house was warm. Bookshelves lined the walls. A fire crackled in the hearth. Photographs covered the mantle—faces I didn't recognize, places I'd never been.

“Sit.” She gestured to a chair. “Tea?”

“No.”

She sat across from me. “You have questions.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

“Start with the one that matters most.”

“Why now? Why not years ago? When I was a kid. When I needed family.”

Margaret was quiet for a moment. Then: “Your mother was dangerous. Not to you. To everyone else. I stayed away to protect you.”

“You stayed away to protect yourself.”

“Same thing.”

“No.” I leaned forward. “It's not. You let me grow up thinking I had no one. You let me believe that family was just my mother and father and a sister who couldn't speak.”

“I let you believe you were safe.”

“I was never safe.”

She didn't deny it.

“I built an empire,” she said. “Not like your mother. Not with threats and violence. With patience and time. I collected people. Favors. Debts. And when your mother started her own empire, I looked the other way.”

“Because she was your daughter.”

“Because she was a monster.” Margaret's voice cracked. “And I didn't know how to stop her.”

“You could have gone to the police.”

“The police were in her pocket.”

“You could have told me.”

“You were a child.”

“I'm not a child anymore.”

She looked at me. Really looked. “No. You're not.”

“I'm not here to recruit you,” she said. “I'm here to warn you. Your mother's enemies are real. They're coming. And they won't stop until you're dead or under my protection.”

“Why would your protection matter?”

“Because they fear me more than they hate her.” She stood up and walked to the mantle. “I have resources. People. Places to hide that no one knows about.”

“In exchange for what?”

“In exchange for you. Your trust. Your loyalty.” She turned to face me. “I'm not asking you to become me. I'm asking you to let me become your shield.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I'll do what I can from a distance. But I can't promise it will be enough.”

I stood up. “I need to think.”

“Take all the time you need.” She walked me to the door. “But don't take too long. They're already here.”

“Who?”

“Your mother's network. The ones who didn't get caught.” She opened the door. “I've been watching them. They've been watching you. It's only a matter of time before they make a move.”

I stepped outside. The garden smelled like roses.

“I'll be in touch.”

“I know you will.”

The door closed behind me.

I walked to the car. Beck was out before I reached the door. “What happened?”

“She wants to protect me.”

“From what?”

“From my mother's enemies. The ones who are still out there.”

Elena started the engine. “Did she give you names?”

“No. She wants me to trust her first.”

“And do you?”

I looked back at the house. The windows were dark. The garden was still.

“I don't know.”

We went back to Beck's place. I sat on the couch, staring at the wall.

“Ivy.”

“Yeah.”

“You're not actually considering her offer.”

“I'm considering that she might be the only thing standing between me and a bullet.”

He sat next to me. “Or she might be the one holding the gun.”

“She had twenty years to hurt me. She didn't.”

“She had twenty years to help you. She didn't.”

I leaned into him. “What if I'm wrong?”

“Then we deal with it together.”

“What if you're wrong?”

“Then you get to say I told you so.”

I almost smiled. “That's not funny.”

“It's not supposed to be.”

He kissed my forehead. “No decision tonight. We sleep. We think. We decide tomorrow.”

I lay awake, watching Beck sleep. His face was soft in the dark, younger somehow, like the boy who'd ignored me in hallways, who'd pushed me away, who'd finally let me in.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I grabbed it before it could wake him.

Unknown number. A single line: “Your grandmother is lying. She's the one who sent the men to the warehouse. She's been playing both sides for years.”

My thumb hovered over the screen. Beck shifted beside me. I held my breath.

“Who is this?”

“Someone who wants you to live.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

A pause. Then: “Your mother's lawyer. The one she trusted. The one who's been watching you since the beginning.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I have proof. Meet me tomorrow. No Beck. No Elena. Alone.”

I read the message again. My chest was tight. Beck would say no. He'd lock the doors, call Elena, turn this into another siege. He was right to want that. But he didn't know what it felt like to have everyone around you making decisions about your life.

“Where?”

“The old rink. Midnight. Come alone, or the truth dies with me.”

I turned off the phone. Beck's arm was still draped over my waist, his breath warm on my neck.

I didn't sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of a choice I hadn't made yet.

I went to class. I smiled at Simone. I answered questions from fans on social media. I ate lunch with Beck and pretended everything was fine.

“You're quiet,” he said.

“Just tired.”

“You didn't sleep.”

“Neither did you.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. “Ivy, whatever's going on in your head, you can tell me.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me.”

I looked at him. His eyes were dark, worried. He'd spent months protecting me. Tracking threats, watching windows, sleeping with one eye open. He deserved the truth.

But the truth was that I had to do this alone.

“I'm fine,” I said. “Really.”

He didn't believe me. But he let go of my hand.

The hours crawled. Beck had practice. I told him I'd meet him after.

Instead, I went to the old rink.

The sun was setting. The building was dark, abandoned, the ice long gone. I sat in the stands and waited.

My phone buzzed. Beck: “Where are you?”

I didn't answer.

Another buzz: “Ivy.”

I turned off my phone.

The door creaked.

A figure walked out of the tunnel. Blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, a face I knew from somewhere but couldn't place.

“You came.”

“Who are you?”

She stepped into the light. “Someone your grandmother made the mistake of crossing.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only one you're going to get.” She pulled a folded paper from her jacket. “Proof. Just like I promised.”

I took it. Opened it.

A photograph. Margaret, shaking hands with a man I didn't recognize. The caption on the back: “The night your mother went to prison.”

“She set her up,” the woman said. “Your mother was reckless, but she wasn't stupid. She never would have gotten caught without inside help.”

“Margaret helped her?”

“Margaret sold her.” The woman's voice was cold. “To protect her own empire. Your mother was a loose end. And loose ends get cut.”

I stared at the photo. My grandmother. The woman who'd offered me tea and roses.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because your mother wasn't a monster. She was a woman who made terrible choices, but she loved you. And she died thinking you hated her.”

“She's not dead. She's in prison.”

“For now.” The woman turned to leave. “But your grandmother doesn't leave loose ends.”

She disappeared into the tunnel.

I sat in the dark, the photograph burning in my hands.

The door creaked again.

Beck's voice: “Ivy.”

I didn't turn around.

He sat next to me. “I followed you.”

“I know.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you would have tried to stop me.”

“Yes.” He took my hand. “And I was right.”

“She's not wrong, Beck. Margaret set her up. Sold her out.”

He looked at the photograph. His jaw tightened.

“Then we have a bigger problem.”

“We have the same problem. We just know more about it now.”

He pulled me against his chest. “No more secrets.”

“No more secrets.”

“Promise me.”

I looked up at him. “I promise.”

He kissed me. Not gentle. Hard, desperate, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “I love you.”

I didn't say it back. I just held on.

Tonight, I'd kept a secret.

Tomorrow, there would be more.

But right now, in the dark, with his arms around me, I let myself believe that was enough.