12: Doesn't have to be a lie

Ivy's POV

I couldn’t believe how low my life had sunk. Disrespect wasn’t even the right word for what I was feeling. It was worse—humiliating, degrading, like every ounce of control had been stripped from me.

Demi leaned back, arms spread across the booth, grinning as his friends howled with laughter. He was completely unbothered by the filth pouring from his mouth, completely unaffected by the way he was reducing me to a punchline.

A trophy. Something to be discussed, picked apart, and passed around for amusement.

I had to get out of there.

Swallowing my disgust, I forced a tight smile and leaned in close to him. “Demi, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He glanced at me lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Oh? My shy little girlfriend has something to say?”

His friends chuckled, and I felt my nails digging into my palms.

“Just a minute,” I repeated, keeping my voice light.

Demi exhaled heavily, like I was inconveniencing him, but stood anyway. “Fine. We’ll be back, guys.”

They barely acknowledged us as we stepped out into the nearby alley.

The second we were out of anyone's sight, I turned on him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Before I could say anything else, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm and yanking me forward. My back slammed against the cold brick wall, knocking the breath from my lungs.

A gasp tore from my throat. “Demi—”

His palm pressed flat against my chest, pinning me there effortlessly.

“You don’t ever disrespect me in front of my friends again,” he murmured, his voice sharp, dangerously low. His breath was hot against my face, suffocating, and tainted with the cheap beer he’d been drinking.

A tremor ran through me, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

“I didn’t disrespect you,” I shot back, my voice unsteady. “But you’re lying to them. Saying that we've had sex, and that's not even true.”

Demi smirked, tilting his head slightly, eyes gleaming with something cruel. “So?”

My stomach twisted.

Was this just a game to him? Did he really go around telling his sleazy friends, and anyone else who cared to listen that we’d slept together?

Had it really gotten to that point?

“So?” I echoed, disbelief thick in my voice. “You’re telling them we’ve done things we haven’t. You’re slut-shaming me while—”

He cut me off with a sharp, humorless laugh, leaning in just close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin.

“Baby, it doesn’t have to be a lie anymore.”

My body locked up, every muscle going rigid.

His hand moved, not quickly, not forcefully, but slow, deliberate. A light, teasing graze across my cheek, trailing down, over my collarbone, and going lower.

No.

My pulse slammed against my ribs as I jerked back, my breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.

“Demi, please stop it.” My voice cracked, a mixture of fear and fury tangling in my throat.

But he didn’t.

His smirk only widened, his hand flattening against me, pressing just enough to keep me right there.

“It’s high time we took our relationship to the next level,” he murmured, his voice almost lazy, like this was nothing to him. Like I wasn’t even real, just something to be claimed, taken, used.

The words sent an icy wave of panic crashing through me, and I shook my head quickly, trying to keep my breathing even.

“Demi, no. We—we’re not doing this.”

He tilted his head, watching me, enjoying the discomfort flickering across my face.

“Especially,” he mused, “since you didn’t bring the money I asked for.”

His fingers traced a slow line along the neckline of my shirt. “Seems only fair you make it up to me another way.”

My stomach plummeted, and my entire body trembled, because this was a whole new kind of nightmare.

“No,” I blurted. “That—that wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

His hand stilled. Then he let out a soft chuckle, like I had just said the stupidest thing in the world.

“Arrangement?” He leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “There was never an arrangement, Ivy.”

I stared at him, my body numb, and the alleyway spinning around me. Then he leaned in close again, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“The only rule here is that you do what I say. Every single moment. Understand?”

My throat tightened.

I had done everything for him.

Everything.

“Demi, please,” I whispered. “I—I do everything for you already. Your tests, your exams, your college applications. I cover for you when you need me to. Isn’t that enough?”

My pulse was a rapid drum against my ribs, my fingers trembling at my sides.

His expression didn’t shift at first. Then, slowly, his eyes darkened, the amusement bleeding away, replaced by something colder. Something worse.

“Why?” he murmured.

I blinked. “What?”

Demi tilted his head, his smirk sharpening, turning razor-edged. “Why would that be enough, Ivy?”

A sick feeling crept into my gut, twisting deep.

His lips curled, something ugly flickering behind his gaze. “Am I too much of a pauper to fuck a princess like you?”

The words landed like a slap.

I knew that look. That slow, assessing gaze. Like he wanted to see me break. Like he enjoyed seeing me squirm.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But nothing came out.

Demi didn’t wait for an answer.

He just stepped back, adjusting his jacket with smooth, practiced ease, looking completely unbothered. Like he hadn’t just crushed the last bit of control I had left under his boot.

“You’ll come over next weekend,” he said. His tone was casual, almost bored, as if he were confirming dinner plans.

My throat tightened, and my fingers curled into fists.

He turned, already walking away, but then, just as he reached the turn back to the diner, he paused.

Like an afterthought, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk stretching slow and deliberate.

“Oh,” he added, his voice dripping with amusement. “And my friends will be there to watch, too.”

And then he was gone.

I stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.