Marla’s POV
I stayed at the hospital for two days straight, I only borrowed Dana’s clothes because I didn’t want to go to HIS house. I don’t want to see him. But God didn’t hear me, I didn’t expect to see him. Not after that headline, not after I waited in a sterile hallway, praying for my grandmother to live. Not after I checked my phone between every shaky breath, hoping, stupidly, that he’d show up, and he didn't. So when I walked back into that hospital room and saw him sitting beside her bed, holding her fragile hand like he had some right to comfort, my chest constricted like a noose had been yanked tight.
No. He did not get to waltz in here like the devoted fiancé. Not after leaving me alone in hell while he crawled back into bed with the woman who started the fire. I crossed the room in three sharp steps. My fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked him up, hard enough to make him stumble. He blinked like I was the disruption, like I hadn’t just spent the worst night of my life alone while he was busy playing house with his ex.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice cracked with fury, not weakness.
Ives didn’t answer, he just stood there with that maddening blank expression that made me want to scream. So I slapped him, the sound rang out sharp against the walls, and for once, I didn’t care who saw. I pulled out my phone, held it in front of his face like a weapon. The photo, the headline. “IVES MERCER CAUGHT IN LUXURY HOTEL LIPLOCK WITH EX-FIANCÉE.” I didn’t need to explain it. He knew what I was asking.
“What the hell is this?” Still nothing. Just that dead-eyed calm he always hid behind when things got real. Then, finally, he said it.
“Yeah. I kissed her.” A pause. “We had sex.” I didn’t gasp, or scream. My breath just… stopped. Like someone had driven their fist straight into my ribs.
“You cheated on me.” My voice came out strangled. A whisper, but sharp enough to cut glass. And then, he laughed. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. That mocking tilt of his head that made it clear he thought I was being ridiculous.
“How could I cheat on someone I was never actually with?” For a second, I forgot how to stand. His words hit harder than the slap ever could. Not because he said it. But because he meant it. All of it, the late-night talks, the kisses that left me breathless, the parts of myself I handed over without a contract, all of it, to him, was theater.
“You think this was a lie?” My voice cracked under the weight of it. “You think everything we built was part of the act?” He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Just stared through me like I was a headline he’d already read and tossed aside.
“I know it started as a deal,” I continued, my chest heaving. “But it stopped being that for me. I stopped pretending the moment I started caring. The moment I let myself believe you could care, too.” Still, he said nothing. I took a breath, then another, fighting the burn in my throat. I wouldn’t cry, not in front of him. Not when he couldn’t even be bothered to flinch.
“I loved you, Ives,” I said quietly. “I didn’t even mean to, but I did. And maybe that makes me stupid. Maybe it makes me pathetic. But at least I was real.”
His silence said everything. I wasn’t worth a reaction. So I swallowed the heartbreak like poison, stood straighter, and gave him the only thing left I had: the end.
“I’m done.” I spoke clearly, so there could be no misunderstanding. “I quit. The partnership. The story. You. All of it.” His expression finally changed, just a flicker, like he’d registered a crack in the glass he thought was unbreakable.
“You’re seriously walking away?”
“No,” I said, steady now. “I’m running. Because I refuse to keep proving my worth to a man who never even tried to see it.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned my back on him, on the false promises, the headlines, the version of myself that begged for crumbs, and walked to my grandmother’s bedside. The only person in that room who had ever loved me unconditionally. I took her hand in mine, kissed her fingers, and didn’t look up again. Because some heartbreaks don’t need a goodbye. Just a closed door. And I slammed it shut.