It was so hot. So unbearably hot.
Ivy Delacroix felt like she had been thrown into a scorching desert, her entire body burning with a heat that made her restless.
Three o'clock in the morning.
The lights in the opulent presidential suite suddenly blazed to life.
Moments later, the door burst open, and several people stormed in, cameras clicking furiously as the flashes illuminated the room.
The chaotic scene revealed a large bed in complete disarray.
On it lay a young woman, her face serene with exhaustion.
Her dress, now torn, lay discarded on the floor, and faint purple marks marred her exposed arms and shoulders—unmistakable evidence of the night's madness.
The intense flashes made her eyelids flutter as she stirred.
Slowly, Ivy opened her eyes, the bright light stinging them as she tried to make sense of the scene.
Before she could fully process what was happening, a figure lunged toward her.
Slap!
The sound echoed sharply through the room.
Dominic Hale, the man she had trusted and celebrated with just hours earlier on her 18th birthday, stood over her with fury etched into his face.
"You disgusting wretch! You dared fool around with other men behind my back?" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.
Ivy's cheek burned from the slap, the pain radiating as her face reddened.
Her fingers clutched the quilt tightly around her trembling frame, and her wide eyes slowly focused on Dominic's face, her expression transforming into one of cold fury.
"You drugged me," she said through gritted teeth, her voice steady despite her anger.
For a brief moment, Dominic's gaze faltered, a flicker of unease crossing his features.
But he quickly regained his composure, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the room.
"Where's the man you slept with?" he demanded, ignoring her accusation.
His tone was mocking, but there was a flicker of irritation. His plan had gone awry.
Last night, he had arranged for two man whores to lure Ivy to a guest room, where they would "accidentally" be discovered by reporters.
Instead, Ivy had stumbled into the wrong room, derailing his carefully laid scheme.
Still, the outcome was the same, or so he thought.
Ivy's voice was ice-cold as she replied, "Why don't you tell me, Dominic?"
Her words hit like a whip, and Dominic's composure cracked, but only for a second.
He sneered.
"I thought you might at least admit your mistake, but no—you're trying to pin this on me? You're unbelievable." He turned to the cameras behind him, raising his voice dramatically.
"I, Dominic Hale, hereby declare that my engagement to Ivy Delacroix is officially over. From this moment on, I will never associate with a woman like her again."
And with that, he stormed out, the reporters trailing behind him like a pack of hyenas.
Ivy was left in the now-silent room, her mind racing as she tried to piece everything together.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone.
She glanced at the screen—her grandmother was calling. Relief briefly washed over her as she answered, her voice shaky but sweet.
"Grandma—"
But the voice on the other end wasn't her grandmother's.
"This is the Brighton Falls General Hospital. The owner of this phone has been in an accident. Please come immediately."
Ivy froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Three days later, at the cemetery.
Ivy knelt on the cold, damp ground, her black dress fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze.
She had been there for hours, staring at her grandmother's tombstone.
The marble was smooth and new, and the portrait engraved on it captured her grandmother's kind, yet firm, expression perfectly.
But now, looking at that face, Ivy's heart felt heavy with guilt and sorrow.
"I'm sorry, Grandma," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I wasn't there when you needed me the most. I should have protected you, like you always protected me."
Three days ago, everything had fallen apart.
Her grandmother had been in a car accident, and by the time Ivy got the call and rushed to the hospital, it was already too late.
The doctors' voices had been distant and cold as they explained there was nothing they could do.
Ivy remembered staring at her grandmother's lifeless form, the warmth and laughter gone from the woman who had been her rock.
The household servants later told Ivy that her grandmother had received a phone call just before the accident.
The caller had claimed something urgent had happened, forcing her grandmother to leave the house.
Yet when Ivy checked her grandmother's phone, there was no record of the call.
Who had called her?
The funeral had been a simple, quiet affair. Now, with all the guests gone, Ivy knelt alone at the gravesite, her heart aching with grief and anger.
A faint rustling sound came from behind her, breaking her thoughts.
"Even if you kneel here forever, your grandmother won't come back to life."
The voice was sharp and cutting, but familiar. Ivy didn't need to turn around to know who it was.