She got outside and found him. His stance was casual, hands in his pockets, posture tall, shoulders wide. Behind him, an SUV glead, glossy black, wrapped with a giant red bow.
Ivy’s first instinct was to roll her eyes. She knew exactly what was coming. Is this what it was like dating a millionaire? she thought bitterly. They’d just gift your feelings away and think it got them out of trouble.
She walked toward him, her arms folding tightly across her chest, a shield against his easy arrogance. "I’m here," she said flatly.
Winn pulled one hand from his pocket, dangling a set of keys. "An engagent gift," he said simply, as if that explained everything, as if his world ran on transactions instead of conversations.
Ivy stared at the keys, then at him, then at the shiny car. "Oh... how thoughtful!" she drawled. She let her lips curve into a parody of the perfect fiancée smile, batting her lashes dramatically. "You are such a good fiancé! What would I do without you? Of course, a car will stop being mad at you."
She spun on her heel before he could answer, storming back toward her building.
Behind her, Winn stood frozen, the keys still dangling in his hand, his smirk faltering.
"Ivy!" Winn stalked after her, his long strides eating up the space between them. The slam of the door vibrated through the walls, echoing the frustration in his tone. "I’m trying here."
"How?!" She spun on her heels. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in disarray, her cheeks flushed from rage still boiling in her veins.
"How are you trying, Winn? By throwing cars at like so reality TV sugar daddy? I am not so bimbo that you just buy off! News flash—" she jabbed her finger against his chest, "—I don’t even know how to drive!"
"Wait—you don’t—"
"No!" she barked, and the fire in her tone should have seared him into ash. But he only looked more pained, more baffled.
He raked his hands through his hair, pacing a tight circle. "What do you want to do then, Ivy? How do you want to fix this?"
"Have you tried apologising?" she shot back, arms folded across her chest.
"My mum made apologise!" he blurted, defensive, chest puffed.
The most sarcastic laugh she’d ever heard tore from her throat. She clapped mockingly. "Bravo, Winn! Truly bravo! You sound like a five-year-old. Do you even hear yourself? My mum made do it!"
"Ivy," he said again, low, warning.
Her chin lifted, her eyes daring him. "You used my situation against , Winn. You looked in the eye, and instead of standing with , you made feel small. Then you show up here, with a goddamn bow-wrapped SUV. For what? To prove your point that I’m desperate for money?"
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flickering with sha. "I shouldn’t have," he admitted.
"You keep saying that, Winn. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have done that. Do you even know how pathetic it sounds? If you know you shouldn’t have, then apologise. And an it." She jabbed her finger into his chest again, punctuating each word. "Not because your mommy told you to."
Winn was on her in a heartbeat, a blur of muscle, his body caging hers against the back of the couch. The cushions dipped under her weight. "Watch your sweet little mouth, love."
"Or what?" she snapped, eyes blazing up at him. The bite in her voice was supposed to cut him, but even she could feel the tremor underneath — the ache of wanting, the fear of giving in.
"Or," his breath brushed hot against her ear, his hand sliding along her jaw until his thumb tilted her chin upward, "I’ll put it to a better use."
"No! No! No!" Her palms pressed against his chest, but his body was a wall. She tried to wriggle out from under him but he held her fast. "You cannot sexualise everything, Winn. You can’t just distract with your body and expect to forget!"
"I don’t apologise, Ivy," he murmured. "I never needed to. Apologies make you weak."
"I don’t..."
He lifted a finger and pressed it lightly against her mouth. The gesture silenced her. "Shhh..." he whispered, his forehead lowering to almost touch hers. "I’m not done talking...I’m sorry."
She blinked, stunned.
"I’m sorry," he repeated, firr this ti. "Because you make weak."
Ivy lifted her eyes slowly to his, the space between them humming with an energy she didn’t want to na. "I... I make you weak?"
"Worse," he said. "You make a finished man. I look at you and I know you’re the best decision I’ve made in a long, long ti." His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth as if he could wipe away her doubt.
She swallowed hard, her breath catching as the heat of his words sank into her skin. "So why can’t you trust then?" she whispered, the fight ebbing from her voice even as her heart raced.
His eyes darkened, old pain rising to the surface. "Because," he said quietly, "the last woman I trusted handed to the devil and ran away with him."
"I am not her." Ivy whispered. She wanted him to hear her, to see her for who she was, not through the filter of his betrayal and scars.
His grey eyes softened. "No," he said firmly. "You are not." He drew in a deep breath, like he was steadying himself. "And I may not be the most sensitive man. Hell, I know I’ll annoy you 99.9% of the ti." The corner of his mouth quirked upward, that trademark cocky grin slipping out despite the heaviness of the mont.
"But I plan on being a good man to you."
"When you say ’good man,’" Ivy shot back, arching a brow, "you an throwing gifts at when you ss up?" She folded her arms across her chest.
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