Page 24 of Fractured Loyalties

Twenty-Four

IVY

I have no idea what is happening, but if Roman’s face is any guide, it’s not good. This is the first time I’ve ever been in my stepfather’s office, and as he barks at us to sit, I’m already hoping it’s the last.

Roman sits in the chair next to me, both of us facing Robert’s desk. His eyes are locked on the floor, his jaw flexing. The air is a pressure chamber, and all of the rage I felt toward him is now morphing into pure fear.

But I still fucking hate Roman for this.

Robert sits, steeples his fingers, and then looks at us with the kind of calm they say murderers have before they cut your throat.

“Your mother is in Paris,” he articulates. “However, despite her absence, she’s been made aware of the current…situation.”

Oh my God. They know. They freaking know.

Robert sighs, just once, then continues. “I suppose I should be angry about what I have been made aware of. I suppose I should shout or hit something, but frankly, I’m just… disgusted .”

“That’s really rich?—”

He taps the paper in front of him, cutting Roman off, and I stupidly wonder if he has the same URL that I got. “You two have managed to achieve, in record time, what the last three generations of Woods have failed to do—to make us a laughingstock. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Roman says nothing, and I hate it. I want to will him to make a joke, to do anything to cut the cold. But his face is carved from wax, his lips pressed together so tightly they’re white.

“Irena is mortified. But she’s nothing compared to the amount of cleanup I’ll have to do.” His gaze flicks over to me and lands hard. “That tape has been viewed over twenty-three thousand times. Your face is the only one visible, Ivy .”

The heat crawls up my neck, atomic. I want to tell him it wasn’t my idea, that Roman is the architect of all this, but I can’t speak. All I can do is squeeze my fingers harder.

Roman shifts in his chair, his voice coming out roughly. “I didn’t?—”

“Whether you posted it or not is immaterial,” Robert cuts him off coldly.

“It exists and it is now viral. It will never, ever go away.” He sits back, exhaling slowly.

“Roman, you are twenty-one. Ivy, you are eighteen. The legal side is thin ice but survivable. What isn’t survivable is the reputational fallout for the family. ”

Roman rakes a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not…”

“You are the most talented disappointment I have ever produced, Roman. And I have produced several.”

The insult doesn’t even land. Roman’s face is unreadable.

Robert turns to me again, but speaks more softly. “Ivy. I’m not your father. I never pretended to be. But I am disappointed in you. Deeply.”

I nod. His words sting worse than anything my real father ever said to me. I’m shocked by the ache of wanting this man’s approval even as he dissects me.

Robert stands, his eyes still on me.

“You are to remain in your room. You will not leave the house until I have decided what to do with you. Edward has been instructed to remove all electronics. And you," he points at Roman, "are to leave this house, effective immediately .”

The words hit like bullets, and the room becomes a grave.

Roman blinks, slowly, the only outward sign of any reaction. “What?”

“You heard me,” Robert says, his expression cold. “Pack your shit and go. Do not contact Ivy. Do not set foot on the property. As of now, you are disinherited. Legally, you are my son. In reality, you are nothing. I’m sure Nico will find a room for you.”

“Fuck you,” Roman growls, but Robert ignores it.

He turns to me instead. “Ivy, you are not to contact Roman. If you do, I’ll know.” The cold promise in his voice is terrifying. “You are not to speak to anyone about this. Irena will handle your college acceptance. You are to finish the semester with minimal incidents.”

I finally managed to speak. “What about school? The tape?—”

Robert interrupts. “The Woods Foundation will take care of the school. You will graduate. You will never speak of this again. Understood?”

I nod, mute.

Robert nods back, then sits again, gesturing to me. “Go. Now. ”

I don’t wait. I bolt from the room, the blood pounding in my ears, the shame burning in my bones. I want Roman to follow, but he doesn’t. He stays, rooted, just as he’s been instructed to.

I make it to my room and slam my door. I slide to the floor, curling up until the world shrinks to nothing but the ache in my chest.

I wish I had never come to this house. I try to wish Roman had never touched me, never looked at me, never existed. But all there is beyond the shame is a sick, gnawing realization that I feel… something for Roman.

And it’s not hate.

It’s the fucking opposite.

And that makes his betrayal so much worse.

I don't know how long I stay on the floor, twisted around myself, my head buried in the crook of my elbow. But at some point, I hear the heavy thump of footsteps in the hallway. The sound is unmistakable, and when the knock comes, it's soft.

I don't answer.

Edward pushes the door open anyway, bumping into my back. I blink up at him through strands of hair.

“If you want to say goodbye, you’ll need to get moving,” he says, his voice low. “You won’t have much time.”

“Why would I say goodbye to him? He fucking ruined my life,” I spat back at Edward.

His lips twitch. “I think… I think closure is good.”

Something about his words pulls me up. “Where is he going to go? Who’s Nico?” I keep my voice low.

Edward meets my eyes. “Your stepsister.”

I blink, wanting to ask questions, but he doesn’t give me time. Instead, he ushers me out of the room.

As soon as I get to the foyer, I see Roman standing there, a single duffel at his feet.

He's wearing a black hoodie with a bleach stain across the chest. His expression is blank.

All the wildness and arrogance have been wiped away and replaced by an absence so total it's as if he was never really a person at all.

He turns to me, as if sensing me there. For a second, he might smile, or say something cruel. But he just looks at me, his eyes flat and unreadable, the dark blue faded to a mossy gray.

Roman picks up his duffel and slings it over his shoulder. Edward gives him a nod, not quite respectful, not quite pitying. They walk toward the front door in silence, and I follow because I just can't… not .

We step through the door, out into the chill of evening air, where the sun is disappearing below the horizon. My heart is in my throat as we reach the car—the same one I rode in only hours ago.

Edward steps back, and something within me draws me toward Roman as he opens the back hatch and turns to face me fully.

Suddenly, all the ugly, twisted things we've done to each other are right there in his face. But so is something else, like a desperate, stupid kind of hope.

“You can come, too.” His words rock my chest.

I swallow hard, mouth dry. “Roman?—”

“I didn’t do this to you,” he cuts me off. “And whoever did, you’re not safe here. I can tell you that much.”

“Ivy!” Robert’s voice booms from behind me. “Inside. Now. ”

I start to back away, tears filling my eyes as the image of the video comes back to my mind.

I hate him, I love him, and I'm never going to get over it.

But most of all… I can’t trust him.

And he knows it.