Signed Away: His New Wife

**IVY POV**

The thought of Chicago pulsed through me like new blood, vibrant and exhilarating. The past was a heavy cloak I had worn for too long, but now, finally, I was shedding it. I had two weeks. Two weeks to pack my meager belongings, to gather the small sum of money I had painstakingly saved, penny by penny, from years of working menial jobs and tutoring Dyllan through his police exams. Money that Dyllan had, only last month, suggested we "lend" to Heather for a new car, because her old one was "giving her anxiety." I had refused then, a quiet rebellion simmering beneath my compliant surface. Now, that money was my ticket to freedom.

I walked back into the familiar, suffocating warmth of the Chambers' house. The scent of Coralie' s pot roast, usually comforting, now smelled cloying, like a trap. As I stepped into the living room, a high-pitched, sweet voice drifted from the kitchen. Heather. She was always home, always finding new ways to avoid actual work.

"Oh, Dyllan, you're back!" Heather's voice, syrupy and deliberately childlike, reached me. "Did you tell Ivy how much I missed you? I thought she' d never let you go!"

A low chuckle from Dyllan. "You know Ivy, always so serious. But she understood. She always does." His voice, thick with a smug satisfaction, made my stomach clench. "Said I should make sure you're doing okay."

"Oh, Ivy's so sweet!" Heather purred. "But I was so worried about you, about your future together… What if I' m always like this? What if I always need you, Dyllan? Will Ivy ever truly understand?" Her voice was a masterpiece of feigned vulnerability, a carefully constructed illusion of self-doubt.

"Of course she will, baby," Dyllan soothed. His voice vibrated with a possessive pride. "And even if she doesn't, I understand. You're my sister. I' ll always take care of you. Always." The words, meant for Heather, were a knife twisting in the old wound of my past life. Always. He had said that to me too, once. Empty promises, whispered under the guise of responsibility.

A sharp pain sliced through my chest. The old Ivy would have crumbled, tears stinging her eyes. But this Ivy, the reborn Ivy, just felt a cold, hard knot of resolve tightening in her gut. I took another deep breath, pushing the pain down, deep down, where it couldn' t touch me.

Then, I pushed open the kitchen door. The sound of my entrance made them both jump. Dyllan, still holding Heather' s hand, looked startled, his face flushing faintly. Heather' s carefully constructed façade of fragility fractured for a split second, a flash of annoyance in her eyes before it was replaced by wide-eyed innocence.

"Ivy! You're back!" Dyllan said, pulling his hand away from Heather' s as if burned. The sudden movement made Heather pout. "Everything okay at City Hall?"

"Everything's fine," I replied, my voice flat, devoid of any warmth. I didn' t look at either of them directly. My gaze swept over the kitchen, noting the pile of unwashed dishes from breakfast, the crumbs on the counter – Heather' s usual contribution to household chaos. "Just a bit of paperwork."

"Oh, right, the license!" Heather chirped, a little too brightly. "I told Dyllan you two should celebrate tonight! Maybe a fancy dinner, just the two of you!" Her eyes darted to Dyllan, a silent challenge.

Dyllan cleared his throat. "Yeah, Ivy, how about it? Tonight? To celebrate?" He looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He wasn't used to me being so… unreadable.

"I can' t tonight," I said, without missing a beat. The words tasted like freedom. "I have too much to do. And I' m pretty tired."

Dyllan' s jaw dropped. He literally blinked at me. "Tired? But… this is our engagement! Our marriage license day!" His voice held a note of genuine shock. He had expected me to jump at the chance, to be grateful for his crumbs of attention.

Just then, Heather, ever the opportunist, piped up, her voice trembling slightly. "Oh, my goodness, Ivy, what happened to your bracelet? The one Dyllan gave you for your birthday last year? The silver one with the little sapphire? It was so beautiful." She held up her wrist. Around it, glinting in the kitchen light, was my bracelet. The one Dyllan had given me, the only piece of jewelry he' d ever bought me. The one I had loved and cherished, worn everyday as a symbol of his supposed affection.

My blood ran cold. The coldness was familiar, a ghost from my past life where Heather had always taken what was mine. But this time, there was no pain, only a detached observation.

"Oh, this old thing?" Heather giggled, a sickly sweet sound. "I saw it on your dresser, Ivy, and just thought it was so pretty! I hope you don't mind. I didn't think you'd be wearing it today, since you're so busy." She tugged at Dyllan' s sleeve, her eyes wide and innocent. "Isn't it pretty, Dyllan?"

Dyllan, ever the protector, immediately stepped in. "Heather, give that back to Ivy. That's hers." But his tone was soft, not truly admonishing.

I shook my head. "It's fine," I said, the words barely a whisper. I looked at Heather, her smug smile hidden beneath an exaggerated blush. "You can keep it, Heather. It never really suited me anyway."

The bracelet. That bracelet had been with me through so much. In my past life, when he had given it to me, I had felt a burst of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, he did see me, did love me. I had worn it during my lonely pregnancy, during the agonizing labor, during the quiet moments of grief. It had been a symbol of a promise he never kept. Now, it was just a piece of metal. A burden.

Both Dyllan and Heather stared at me, their mouths slightly ajar. They expected a fight, tears, a dramatic scene. They expected the old Ivy.

But the old Ivy was gone.

"I'm going to my room," I said, my voice flat. "I need to study." I turned and walked away, not waiting for a response. I heard the faint murmur of their confused voices behind me, but I didn't care.

I closed the door to my small bedroom, the one I had shared with Heather for years before she demanded her own. I locked it. The click of the lock was a satisfying thud, a solid barrier between my past and my future.

I pulled out the law school application forms, my eyes scanning the requirements. My acceptance letter from five years ago, yellowed at the edges, lay beneath them. This time, there would be no deferral. No excuses. I had lost five years, a lifetime, to a family that never truly saw me.

"Law school, Chicago, full scholarship," I muttered, reading the faded script. I had to reapply, of course. But the dream was still there, vibrant and alive. I had to work twice as hard, make up for lost time. The application deadline was looming, a mere month away. I had to ace the LSATs. I had to write compelling essays. I had to prove to myself, and to the world, that I was more than Dyllan' s overlooked shadow.

A frantic knock on my door startled me. Dyllan.

"Ivy? Are you really okay? What's going on?" His voice was muffled, laced with a familiar note of paternalistic concern. He probably thought I was having a breakdown, a moment of pre-wedding jitters. He had no idea.