"What?" Ivy’s pulse quickened. She leaned over, her heart pounding as Trish held up the photographs.
The color drained from her face. The first picture hit her like a punch—her own body, moving under the stage lights at Commissioned. The pole gleamed, her masked face half-turned toward the crowd. The next image—God, the next image—was of her in the dressing room, mask off, mid-laugh.
Her name might as well have been printed across the bottom.
"Oh my God," she whispered, her hands trembling as she took the pictures. "This must be Tom!"
"Does Tom need five hundred thousand dollars, or has he officially lost his damn mind?" Trish hissed, unfolding a small note that had been stuck to one of the photographs. Pay five hundred thousand dollars in five days or these pictures hit the press.
Ivy’s heart lurched so hard it nearly hurt. She snatched the paper and read it herself, as if her eyes might find some mistake, some alternate meaning. But no. The words glared up at her in blocky, angry letters. "Oh my God. Oh my God," she muttered, her breath hitching.
"Not now. Not now! The wedding is on Saturday, Trish. Saturday. The investors are already in town for the wedding, the press is going to be everywhere!"
She pressed her hand to her forehead and began to pace. "I don’t have five hundred thousand dollars. Trish, I don’t even have fifty!"
Trish looked back at the photos. "Someone at Commission had to have taken these. No one else could’ve gotten in that dressing room."
Ivy stopped pacing and turned sharply. "You think one of the other dancers? I never had problems with any of them."
Trish pursed her lips, thinking. "I’ll ask Ben."
"No!" Ivy snapped. She grabbed the photos and shoved them back into the envelope as if hiding them could erase the truth. "No. I’d rather keep this limited to both of us. Please. The more people know, the more dangerous it gets. Who would do this to me? I haven’t worked at Commissioned since I started seeing Winn. I left all of that behind."
Trish’s eyes softened as she reached out, rubbing Ivy’s arm gently. "Calm down, sugar. You’re shaking." She guided her down to the couch. "You’re going to drive yourself insane . Just talk to Winn. He’s the only one that matters now. He’d move heaven and earth for you."
"I can’t," Ivy said in a whisper, her throat burning. "He’s already done so much for me. Five hundred thousand dollars. My God, what kind of person would do this?!"
"If these pictures get out, they won’t just ruin me. They’ll ruin Winn. His company, his reputation—House of Kane will fall before I even walk down that aisle. The whole point of the shot gun wedding is to keep the investors invested."
Trish placed her hand over Ivy’s. "Then we fix it before it gets that far."
"Again, talk to Winn."
"Babe, think about it." Trish folded her arms. "If you weren’t getting married to a stinkingly rich man, would anyone even bother to blackmail you?"
Ivy groaned and sank deeper into the couch, her head falling back. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," Trish said. "Rich fiancé equals attention. Attention equals jealousy. Jealousy equals some lowlife trying to ruin your happily-ever-after for a quick payday. It’s math, sweetheart."
Ivy cracked a tiny smile, the corners of her lips twitching despite her panic. "I see your point." She sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Hey, it’s going to be okay, sweetie." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵※𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮※𝓷𝓮𝓽
Ivy hesitated, twisting the ring on her finger. "He’s so busy right now. He’s trying to lock down the property for the new mall project, and stupid Lydia is his secretary now. I swear, that woman cannot stop gossiping long enough to actually work."
Trish chuckled. "Jealous much?"
"Of Lydia?" Ivy scoffed. "Please."
"What if we tell Sylvia?" Trish suggested suddenly. "She’s cool, she won’t judge."
Ivy gave her a long, incredulous look. "So you’re saying I should tell my future sister-in-law, hey, someone’s blackmailing me for half a million dollars, and oh by the way, I used to dance half-naked in front of dozens of powerful men. Yeah, that’s definitely going to make her love me more. I can already see the warm family welcome."
Trish sighed, rolling her eyes right back. "Okay, no need to get condescending, Your Royal Shade-ness."
Ivy groaned. "I’m sorry, I’m just—" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I’m scared, Trish."
Trish crouched in front of her, taking her hands. " Just tell Winn. You know he’ll protect you. Hell, he’d burn down the city for you."
Ivy smiled weakly. "Yeah. He probably would."
"Then trust him," Trish said, giving her a firm nod.
Ivy exhaled slowly and nodded. "Okay."
The next morning, Ivy walked into the executive floor of House of Kane, her heart pounding.
She had dressed impeccably: slim gray pants, soft curls pinned to the side, minimal jewelry.
"Good morning, Ivy," Lydia chirped from behind her desk. Her eyes skimmed Ivy from head to toe, her smile sweet but laced with envy. "You look... radiant. Wedding glow, I suppose."
Ivy forced a polite smile. "Thank you, Lydia."
"It’s been really boring without you around," Lydia said.
Ivy kept her expression neutral.
"Do you have any idea when Winn is going to be back? He isn’t picking his calls," Ivy asked, doing her best to ignore the buzzing irritation in her veins.
"He went to show the investors the property for the new mall," Lydia said. Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, "I haven’t gotten an invite to the wedding yet."
Ivy plastered on a polite smile. "I’ll be sure to send you one."
"Good. I’d just hate to miss the biggest event of the year."
"Yeah, you can just go in." Lydia smirked. "I’ll be waiting on that invite!" she added in a singsong voice as Ivy walked away.
(Garyvasquez and Chauveen. You have queen for a day. Ask any question.)