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She huffs, exasperated and pissed off. Celeste has plainly had more than she can take. “Because from where I’m standing,objectively, thereisno other option. Look at the extent to which he’s fucked with you, Ivy. You’re dealing with all of this, and the asshole is nowhere to be seen. He lied to you for months and then only divulged half of the truth. How else am I supposed to view him?”
Her animosity against him shoves me into defensive mode. “I get it, but you know me. You know my gut, and I’m telling you, that man loved me. Better than I’d ever imagined being loved. What if he’s suffering somewhere too?”
“I don’t know what else to say.” She sighs, hurling a hand into the air. “Maybe it was complicated. Maybe some of his feelings were authentic, and that’s what you picked up on, more so because you also wanted it to be true. But the evidence suggests that whatever he felt, he chose some other gain over you.”
Maybe she’s right. I can even see Gage being convinced of that even though we were getting close those last few weeks. But Ty? Not with his past, not with our friendship. He wouldn’t just throw me out. This can’t be right.
The last loose end to check out is the gallery I sell my art to. The owner always claimed I had a superfan who bought all my pieces. I think it might have been Wells, so I’d like to pop in and talk with her.
Since I haven’t slept since my cry-fest when I took a power nap on Celeste’s bed, I close my eyes for a few hours, waking restless and eager to move forward. I’m applying my makeup after a shower when the last day in my old home washes over me. I unzip the inside compartment of my makeup bag and find the ruby necklace. My pulse gallops, blood swishing in my ears in a berserk charge.
Holy hell.Physical proof.
As I wander out in search of Celeste, I’m gleeful and dazed and jabbering on and on about finding the necklace with Wells’s boots and hiding it.
“Holy shit!” she exclaims. “We were like, what, fifteen when you lost that?”
“Yeah.” That answer is breathy because I’m captivated by the necklace dangling from my hand as though it might be a figment of my imagination.
“Who was the girl we hung out with at the camp? The one who had a crush on your security guard. Gemma someone?”
“Gemma Frost,” I supply.
Celeste drops into the desk chair, opening the laptop with a renewed vigor. “Let’s look her up. She was with us when the necklace got lost. Honestly, I always wondered if she stole it.”
I shake my head dubiously. “She had no reason to do that. Her parents were more loaded than mine.”
Celeste shrugs. “Maybe she’s connected to Wells.”
“That’s a stretch,” I snarl.
“It’s all a stretch, sweet pea. Your life is like a drunken one-night stand when you wake up stranded without your clothes.”
I snap my head toward her, equal parts alarmed and amused.
She flaps her hand with a huff. “Fucked up is all I meant. Don’t judge.”
“Right.” I chuckle, moseying back to the bathroom to finish my makeup.
Moments later, she gasps. “Fucking Christ, Ivy!”
I peek my head out while curling my lashes. “Did you find her?”
She spins her desk chair to face me, a contrite frown tugging her lips down. “Not exactly. She disappeared—one month before your eighteenth birthday.” Her tone is threaded with suspicion, and I can’t blame her. The timing of that is suspect for sure.
My gut stirs. I know it isn’t a coincidence. Too many ominous pieces have collided for me to believe anything related to my life is fortuitous. Maybe Gemma did steal this necklace, but I can’t fathom how Wells or anyone else knew it was mine.
Before driving out to the Victoria Shops to talk with the gallery owner at The Art Garden, I drop by my house to search my dad’soffice, hoping I can find something about his dealings with Wells, The Order, or KORT. It takes less than thirty seconds to happen upon an envelope with my name in my father’s top desk drawer. I’ve been in this desk countless times since he fell ill, and this wasn’t here. I bristle from the eerie feeling it sends crashing over me, but this is my father’s handwriting.
Inside is a letter from my father’s lawyers, informing me of a safe deposit box set up by my father. Looks like I’ll be heading there.
Hopping back in the car, I take off for the bank, unsurprised that it’s part of the Pax Logan empire—the seat in KORT that manages financial institutions. After I present my ID and the security information from the lawyers, I’m shown to a room and offered private time with the contents of my box.
A mingling of hope and fear sends a frisson of apprehension up my spine as I lift the letter resting on top of a box. I unfold it with my shaky hands, and my eyes brim with tears at the sight of the first line.
My dear, sweet Ivanna,
You reading these words means, for some unfortunate reason, I was unable to deliver them to you in person. This would be one of life’s ironies. I fought to grant you extra time to grow and become, but that robbed us of precious moments I had so desperately wanted to share with you—to be the one who could show you who you were born to be and help you with the transition.
