They Called Me a Homewrecker——Then Three Wolves Refused to Let Me Go

POV: Ivy

By the next night, Chloe and I were drinking tequila together.

She had been my best friend for two years, and the moment I called her from my apartment floor, she had dropped everything and shown up with three bottles of liquor. We spent two hours replaying the humiliating video of Dean and Sarah at the cafe until anger replaced most of my urge to cry.

By Friday, we had reached the stage where revenge sounded healthier than hiding.

"Fuck Dean," Chloe announced, slamming down her shot glass.

The nightclub music swallowed half her words, but I got the important part.

"Agreed."

I lifted my own shot.

She caught my wrist before I could drink it.

"Actually, no. You're done."

She pushed a glass of water toward me.

"Drink. I have a surprise."

That sentence should have scared me more than it did.

Suddenly, Chloe’s phone vibrated violently against the sticky bar.

She glared at the caller ID and let out a vicious groan.

"My mother. If I don't answer, she’ll send pack guards to drag me to a dress fitting for Sarah's stupid engagement party."

She grabbed her purse, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin.

"I booked you a gigolo."

I nearly sprayed water across her dress.

"You did what?"

"One gorgeous man. No feelings. No Dean. Emotional first aid."

"You are insane."

"Probably. But you're newly single, publicly humiliated, and I'm rich enough to make bad ideas happen quickly."

I laughed despite myself.

Chloe tapped her ringing phone.

"Dark crimson shirt. He should be here any minute. I have to take this outside before my mom ruins my night. Don’t leave this spot!"

She turned on her heel and vanished into the patio crowd.

I was still smiling when the club doors opened.

A tall man walked in wearing a dark crimson button-down.

My stomach flipped.

It was him.

The stranger from the cafe.

I slid off my stool.

He spotted me halfway across the room.

Recognition sharpened his face.

I stopped in front of him, pulled a folded fifty from my purse, and pressed it against his chest.

"Your tip. For being on time."

He looked down at the bill, then at me.

"What exactly do you think my job is?"

"You're not supposed to make me explain it."

His mouth twitched.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Enough to know you're very bad at flirting with a paying customer."

Understanding finally reached his eyes.

He took the fifty, folded my fingers around it, and pushed my hand gently back toward me.

"Wrong guy, sweetheart."

"That's not what my best friend said."

"Where is this friend?"

I pointed vaguely toward the empty bar stool and the distant patio doors.

He looked past me, analyzing the empty space, then looked back at my face.

"You're getting water."

"Bossy for a gigolo."

That earned me a quiet laugh.

He guided me to a booth, but his hand stayed at my elbow rather than my waist.

He ordered water, fries, and coffee.

When I tried to complain, he ignored me.

"Eat."

"I don't take orders well."

"I've noticed."

For the next hour, he kept me in that booth.

We talked.

By the time the fries were gone and I had finished two glasses of water, the room had stopped tilting.

I watched his hand curl around his coffee cup.

"You really aren't the guy my friend hired."

"No."

"And you could have told me your name at any point."

"You didn't ask."

I leaned back.

"That's obnoxious."

"So was tipping me fifty dollars."

I laughed.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

The air changed.

It was subtle at first.

A pause that lasted too long.

The low pull under my ribs tightened until sitting across from him felt harder than touching him would.

I stood.

He did too.

"Ivy." His voice had changed. "You were drinking earlier. If you're trying to forget your ex, don't use me to do it."

I swallowed.

That should have embarrassed me.

Instead, it steadied me.

"I'm not asking because I don't know what I'm doing."

His jaw tightened.

"Tell me tomorrow won't turn this into something I took from you."

I looked him straight in the eyes.

"Tomorrow I may regret my judgment," I said. "But I won't say you made the choice for me."

His hand came up, stopping just short of my cheek.

"And what are you choosing?"

I closed the last inch myself and kissed him.

He froze.

Then his restraint snapped.

His hand slid into my hair, and his mouth came down on mine with a hunger that made my knees weak.

Morning sunlight found me with my cheek against a warm chest.

Memory returned in bright, humiliating detail.

The stranger was asleep beside me.

My phone buzzed inside my purse.

Chloe.

I slipped into the bathroom before answering.

"Where the hell did you go?" she demanded.

"You know where I went."

"No, I don't! I finally escaped my mother’s phone call, came back inside, and you were gone."

I lowered my voice. "I left with the man you hired."

Silence.

"Ivy. The man I hired wore a blue polo."

My hand tightened around the phone.

"No. You said crimson."

"I said his agency profile had a crimson background! His message said blue polo. I just spent the last hour apologizing to a guy sitting alone at the bar."

I stared at myself in the mirror.

My face went cold.

"Who did you leave with?" Chloe asked.

I looked at the locked bathroom door.

"I have no idea."

I ended the call, dressed as quietly as I could, and escaped before the stranger woke.

I spent the rest of the day hiding in my apartment, trying to convince myself the entire night could stay filed under Terrible Decisions I Will Never Repeat.

But in a powerful pack, scandals don't get time to breathe.

The cafe video had already reached the elders. By noon, Dean and Sarah's families were in full damage-control mode. They treated Dean's infidelity not as a dealbreaker, but as a minor PR crisis. The engagement was moving forward, and tonight's scheduled engagement party would proceed exactly as planned to contain the public fallout.

Chloe’s mother—the Vale Luna—was ruthless about pack politics. She ordered Chloe to attend and execute a flawless performance of a supportive ally to Sarah's family.

Chloe refused to go without me.

She showed up at my apartment with a dress, a pair of heels, and an absolute refusal to take no for an answer.

Which was how, by that evening, Chloe dragged me into the grand foyer of the country club for the engagement party I had every reason to avoid.

She called it my public execution of Dean's reputation—showing up looking flawless instead of hiding like a victim.

"There is one person you still haven't met," she said as we crossed the marble floor. "My stepbrother got back into town this week."

I barely listened.

"He's over there."

I looked up.

A man stood at the foot of the grand staircase with a bourbon in one hand.

Black suit.

Dark hair.

A face I had kissed less than twenty-four hours ago.

Pine and storm rolled across the room.

My lungs forgot how to work.

Chloe smiled.

"Ivy, meet Ace."