19: Hated It

19.

Brandon's POV.

The image of what Demi did to Ivy wasn't out of my head yet, and I hated it.

I should have been happy that someone else was making Ivy’s life miserable. As a human, she deserved it. If anyone was going to make her life hell, it should be me and me alone.

But somehow, watching Demi do it didn’t feel right. It pissed me off in a way I couldn’t explain, like someone was taking something that belonged to me. I had never been a fan of sharing.

She hadn’t been the same since that night during dinner. Not that she had ever been confident around Demi, but it was worse now. 

She was constantly looking over her shoulder, barely speaking. She jumped at the smallest sounds, flinched when someone called her name too suddenly. It was pathetic. And it made it way too obvious that something was wrong.

Even her Mom noticed.

I had come down to the living room and saw Ivy. She sat there at the dining area with her Mom. They seemed to have been discussing something.

Her fingers curled around a mug like she was trying to ground herself, and her shoulders were stiff like she was waiting for something to explode.

Her Mom who was seated beside her looked away from her phone and at her with a frown. “Ivy, honey, are you okay? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately.”

Ivy’s head snapped up so fast you’d think someone had thrown something at her. For a second, she looked caught, her eyes darting between her Mom and the mug in her grip.

Then, as if flipping a switch, Ivy forced a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”

Her mother tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning her face. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting jittery.”

“I’m fine,” Ivy cut in, a little too quickly. Too sharp. Too rehearsed. “It’s just school, like I said.”

Her mother didn’t look convinced, but she softened anyway. “You know you can always come to me if there’s anything wrong, baby.”

Ivy only nodded, her grip tightening around the mug like it was the only thing keeping her steady. Then, just as quickly, she set it down, as if realizing how tense she was.

“I, um… I have some schoolwork to do before the deadline,” she murmured, getting up from the chair. “I’ll head upstairs now.”

And before her mother could say anything else, she turned and walked away, leaving her phone on the table.

I glanced at it.

Then at her Mom, who was still looking in the direction Ivy had bolted. 

I walked towards the dining area, picked the phone up and followed her up the stairs. But before I could reach her, a thought came back into mind.

This was the perfect opportunity to find out what the problem was with her and Demi. Ever since I noticed this, I wanted to get my hands on her phone to check, and I had not been able to do so

But I had been paying attention to her pattern. So I knew how to unlock it.

Now was my chance.

I leaned back against the upstairs hallway wall with her phone in my hands. I glanced toward her room, listening for any signs of movement Incase she discovered her phone wasn't with her and came out of her room.

But there was nothing. She might realize soon enough, and I only had a few minutes.

I turned my attention back to the screen and swiped up. My thumb moved automatically, tracing the pattern I had memorized, and the phone unlocked without hesitation.

Great.

I tapped on her messages and scrolled until I found Demi’s name.

I was expecting more of what I had already seen at school. Demi treating her like shit, Ivy playing along like she had a choice. But also something else, and what I found made something in my chest tighten.

Ivy: Please, don’t do this.

Demi: You must think highly of yourself.

Demi: You should be glad I’m not doing it in front of an audience.

My jaw locked, and my grip on the phone tightened. The urge to put my fist through the nearest wall was immediate, but I forced myself to keep scrolling.

Then I saw a picture. A picture of a woman wearing a lingerie set, deep red, lacy. And It barely covered anything.

Demi: Buy this and wear it.

A slow, burning rage coiled in my gut, but before I could process it, I saw the next message which was a video.

I hesitated. For half a second, I debated not clicking on it. But I did. And the second it started playing, I wished I hadn’t.

Demi was lying back with his hand on his dick. He was clothed, but that didn’t make it any fucking better. He was laughing, smug, lazy, completely unbothered. Like he knew he held all the power over her. Like he knew she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The video ended, followed by a single message.

Demi: We’ll have so much fun.

A laughing emoji was right after it.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, trying and failing to keep the rage at bay.

I scrolled further, but it was all the same. Crude messages. Demands. Ivy responding with short, reluctant replies. Sometimes begging. Sometimes saying nothing at all.

I already knew Demi had something on her, that he was keeping her on a leash. I had suspected it for weeks. But seeing it spelled out like this?

Seeing the way she had no way out?

It made my blood fucking boil.

Demi was blackmailing her.

Ivy was trapped.

I forced my hands to unclench, my nails leaving half-moon imprints in my palms. I needed to breathe, to think, to not put my fist through the nearest wall like I wanted to.

Locking the phone, I pushed off the wall and walked the short distance to her door.

I knocked, but there was no response.

I knocked again, sharper this time.

After a few seconds, the door cracked open just enough for me to see her face.

Her eyes were red and puffy.

She had been crying.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me, confused, like she had forgotten I existed.

I held up her phone. “You left this downstairs.”

“Oh.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, reached for it. “Thanks.”

I let her take it without a word, watching as she immediately clutched it to her chest like she was afraid I had seen something.

She didn’t need to worry. I wasn’t going to say anything.

Then, just as fast, she stepped back and shut the door.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.

I turned and walked back to my room, but the anger didn’t go away. It sat there, burning, simmering beneath my skin.

Then, later that night, I heard her soft cries, muffled through the walls.

She tried to keep it quiet, but I could hear it.

And I hated it.