She had only ever given herself to Winn. Only him. The memory of that intimacy—the tenderness in his hands, the way he used to whisper her name—was her one thread of sanity. It was the light she clung to in the aftermath of everything. The stranger who had taken her dignity had not taken that.

He could never take Winn from her, or the small heartbeat growing inside her belly. That baby was her reason to breathe. Her tether.

Still, she couldn’t tell anyone that. If she dared to speak the truth—that she sometimes heard the man’s laughter when she closed her eyes, they’d probably drag her to a psychiatrist.

"How are you doing?" Trish asked gently, snapping Ivy out of her spiral. The two women were curled up on the garden chair.

"I’m fine," Ivy said automatically, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Trish arched a brow. "Okay, I know you’re healing. Physically. But how are you settling into all of this?"

"It’s been okay," Ivy said at last. "Takes a bit of getting used to—being waited on hand and foot. If I so much as try to reach for a spoon, Sam appears out of nowhere with a butler in tow. I’m starting to think the walls here whisper every time I move."

Trish chuckled, glancing around.

"Also... whenever Irene comes to visit, it feels kinda awkward."

Trish tilted her head. "Awkward how?"

"I mean—" Ivy leaned closer, lowering her voice as if the house itself might overhear. "Yeah, she’s married to my uncle now, but she used to be my fiancé’s girlfriend." She made a pained face. "She has seen... you know... his private bits."

Trish choked, coughing through a burst of laughter. "Oh my God, Ivy!"

"What? It’s true!" Ivy said defensively. "Every time she smiles at me, I swear she’s thinking about it. Like she’s got this mental picture catalogued somewhere and I’m supposed to just... forget?"

Trish pressed a hand to her mouth, still laughing. "You are jealous."

"Yeah, I am," Ivy admitted. Her eyes went soft, faraway. "I look at her and I feel small. Winn loved her once. That thought just—it gnaws at me, Trish. I know it’s silly."

Trish’s laughter faded. "Actually," she began quietly, "I bring news that... may derail this conversation."

Ivy straightened, her chest tightening. "What is it?"

Trish exhaled slowly. "You’ll probably hear it on the news anyway, so... I’d rather you hear it from me." She hesitated. "Winn... he got married to Sharona yesterday."

Ivy’s heart slammed straight to the floor. "No... he—he wouldn’t...What?"

Trish’s eyes softened. "According to Sylvia, he had to."

Ivy blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. "You talked to Sylvia?"

"Yeah. She came over to my place last night. Needed to get away from everything. She told me."

Ivy’s lips trembled, a bitter laugh escaping. "Of course she did." She wrapped her arms around herself, nails biting into her skin as if the pain could anchor her. "I guess it’s over then, right? It... it’s over?"

Trish reached forward, her hand hovering before gently touching Ivy’s arm. "Ivy... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. Not right now. Not when you’re still—"

"Don’t," Ivy interrupted softly. "Don’t treat me like I’m fragile glass, Trish."

Ivy got to her feet slowly. "They won," she said. "They got what they wanted at my expense... Would you come back another time?" she asked quietly. "I need a nap."

"Ivy," Trish protested softly, standing up. "I cannot leave you alone like this."

"It is exactly what I need." Ivy turned to face her friend. "I need to be alone right now. Please, Trish."

Trish hesitated. Still, she nodded and whispered, "Okay. But call me if you need anything."

Ivy managed a brittle smile and left the garden. The mansion seemed larger than ever as she walked through it—endless corridors.

When she entered her bedroom, she stood before the mirror.

She willed herself not to cry. Her lips trembled as she tried to hold the pieces of composure together. But the pressure built and cracked through her chest. The tears came anyway—hot, angry, relentless.

It dawned on her then—brutal and clear as glass—that she didn’t matter to Winn. She had been convenient, necessary for a moment, but not irreplaceable. Just a piece in whatever cruel game Tom—had designed.

Her sobs deepened. She dropped to the floor. Her reflection fractured in the mirror as her shoulders shook violently. Images rushed her mind in cruel succession—Winn’s smile, the warmth of his hand on her skin, the way he used to whisper her name. All of it. Every stolen kiss, every laugh, every whispered promise—now tainted.

Tom had won. The realization hit with the finality of a slammed door. He had succeeded in keeping them apart. Their love—if it could even be called that now—hadn’t been strong enough to survive the world’s ugliness. Maybe it was too new. Maybe it was built on borrowed time and wishful thinking.

She pressed her palms against the floor, gasping through her tears. The room felt too large, the air too thin.

Was he with her? While she was fighting for her life, bleeding and broken, too weak to move or even scream, was he with another woman? Was he holding Sharona, whispering the same words that used to belong to her alone? Did he touch her with those same hands that had once trembled for Ivy’s body?

The bile of betrayal rose in her throat. While she was recovering from the abuse she suffered, from the violation of her body, was he thinking about Sharona?

*****

Winn’s phone buzzed against the surface of his desk the following Monday morning. He grunted, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he reached for it. He hadn’t slept properly in days—not since the wedding.

He’d spent the night in the guest room which he now realised had a very uncomfortable mattress, avoiding the bed they were supposed to share. He wanted to give the illusion of a happily married man in case his grandfather’s lawyers were watching. The house staff could talk.

Winn really didn’t know how far his grandfather had gone to ensure Winn did as he asked.