22: Prim and Proper Ivy

Ivy's POV 

Brandon’s slow, deliberate clapping filled the room, each sharp sound making my stomach churn. He was smirking like he’d just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, with something dark and entertained, like he was savoring the moment.

“Wow, Ivy,” he drawled, shaking his head with mock admiration. “Who would’ve thought? The prim and proper Ivy has this side to her.”

My throat felt tight. My entire body was frozen in place, my pulse hammering so loudly in my ears that I barely registered my own shaky breaths. I didn’t want to look, I shouldn’t look, but my eyes betrayed me, flickering to the wall where it was all laid out.

Photographs. Screenshots. Undeniable proof of what I had done.

My secrets, my lies, my worst nightmares, taped up like some grotesque art exhibition for him to enjoy.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

Brandon took a slow step forward, his smirk widening as his sharp gaze traced every humiliating detail spread across my wall. His hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed, like he was admiring a masterpiece.

“I have to say,” he mused, his voice laced with amusement, “this would look fantastic on your Ivy League application. The admissions board loves a well-rounded student, don’t they? And you even topped it up by helping Demi with his exams multiple times.”

A sick, twisting dread curled in my stomach.

He knows.

And worse—he’s enjoying this.

The short-lived peace I had felt just hours ago, the lightness, the relief, it all came crashing down, suffocating me with the weight of reality. 

I had spent months trapped under Demi’s control, months doing whatever it took to keep him quiet, to protect myself, my mother, my future. And now, somehow, Brandon had everything.

I forced myself to swallow past the lump in my throat, to push words out even though my voice was barely above a whisper.

“How did you get this?”

Brandon tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider my question, then let out a quiet chuckle. “Now, Ivy, that’s not important right now.”

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. “It’s important to me.”

His smirk didn’t falter, didn’t waver for even a second. If anything, it sharpened. “No, the only thing that’s important is what I could get you to do now that I have this.”

He gestured lazily toward the wall, toward the damning evidence that had just shattered my world into a million sharp, merciless pieces.

A cold, suffocating panic clawed at my chest, my stomach tightening into knots.

Brandon took another step closer, lowering his voice into something almost casual, almost conversational, as if he wasn’t holding my entire life in his hands. 

“You see… maybe now you’ll take me seriously enough to get your mother out of my house.”

I felt the words like a slap, like ice shattering inside me. He wasn’t just here to toy with me, to blackmail me for fun. This was personal.

“And while you’re at it, you can go ahead and drop out of school too, now that I know all your dirty little secrets.” he said, his voice like a blade.

His smirk deepened, his golden-brown eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “That sounds fair, don’t you think?”

My breath hitched. He was serious.

He wanted my mother gone. And he wanted me to throw away everything I had worked for.

The realization hit like a fist to my stomach, knocking the air out of me. My vision blurred at the edges, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

I forced myself to speak, my voice barely more than a whisper as I grasped for anything that might make him reconsider.

“Brandon, you know it's not possible. My mom is pregnant for your dad. And school is the only thing I have. It’s my only ticket to my dreams.” I said, as my throat tightened. 

But Brandon didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn't care.

He just watched me with that same damn smirk, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, like he was savoring every second of my desperation. Like my panic, my fear, my entire life crumbling at his feet was nothing more than entertainment to him.

“None of that is my business,” he said flatly, his voice dripping with indifference. “You should probably stop wasting time and wait for my instructions.”

And just like that, he turned and started walking toward the door, completely unmoved, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb and walked away.

Panic clawed at my chest. My thoughts spun so fast I could barely keep up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

My mind raced, as I desperately thought of a way to get through this. That was when another thought, one I hadn’t fully considered before, popped up.

“Wait.”

Brandon stopped, but he didn’t turn around.

I swallowed hard, my voice shaking. “What happened on Saturday evening?”

He didn’t move, and didn’t answer.

I forced myself to take a breath, my pulse roaring in my ears. “The last thing I remember is seeing your face before I passed out. And now, Demi is lying in the hospital, almost dead, and now, you have something only he had.”

Something really wasn’t adding up to what happened.

Brandon stood still for a moment.

Then, finally, he turned his head just enough for me to see his profile, and he shrugged so casually, like the answer didn’t matter.

And then he walked out of the room.