WRITER'S POV:
The jet touched down with all the smooth subtlety of a whisper, but Ivy's nerves were doing the electric slide.The moment they deplaned, Monday and Jason transformed from gremlins to ghosts. They breezed past her with zero ceremony."We'll be in the SUV," Jason called over his shoulder."Try not to get lost again," Monday added with a wink.Ivy blinked, surrounded by luggage. Their luggage."Right," she muttered. "I'll just teleport this with my spine."By the time she made it to the tinted SUV, her blazer was slipping, her arms were numb, and Cassius was already inside, typing something serious into his phone like international trade secrets couldn't wait for basic human decency.---The hotel was unnecessarily luxurious. The kind of place with chandeliers in the elevators and toilet paper folded by origami experts. Ivy followed the crew inside, rolling her carry-on like it was full of body parts. The receptionist glanced at her outfit, her disheveled hair, and then at the three extremely rich, extremely polished men she trailed behind.Ivy knew that look. She could hear the silent judgment: Ah. Groupie. Sugar baby. Emotional support concubine.She offered a thin smile. "I'm staff."The receptionist didn't blink.And then Jason, with the casual chaos of someone who sets things on fire just to watch them melt, leaned over the counter. "Did we book Ivy a room?"The receptionist tapped a few keys."No reservation under that name."Jason winced. "Oops."Monday, already halfway to the elevator, didn't even turn around. "Cassius, she can bunk with you."Cassius looked up from his phone. "Excuse me?""Your suite is basically a penthouse. Plenty of space.""I'll sleep in a utility closet," Ivy said quickly."You'll sleep in the room," Cassius said, already striding toward the elevator.---The suite was an apartment disguised as a hotel room. Two bedrooms, sure—but the second one was locked. Of course.Cassius dropped his coat over the arm of the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and claimed the larger bedroom like a king staking his claim."There's a couch," he said simply."Fantastic," Ivy mumbled.She set her things down in the TV area, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Cassius, predictably, was already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling them up with the kind of smoothness that should be regulated.Ivy turned the TV on.Loudly.Nature documentary. Narrated by some British guy talking about sea turtles and the fragility of marine life.She focused very hard on the screen. Because if she looked to her left, she might see shirtless again, and her uterus couldn't afford another Mad Max reboot.Cassius disappeared into the bathroom.Ivy exhaled.Maybe she'd survive this trip.Maybe she'd just glue her eyes to the television, keep to her side of the suite, and pretend like she wasn't bunking with a danger-sculpted man with the emotional range of a burnt espresso bean.How hard could it be?
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---When Cassius returned, freshly showered and unbothered, he said nothing. Just moved with the same quiet gravity he always carried, like thoughts were bullets and silence was armor.Ivy awkwardly grabbed her toiletries and bolted into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, exhaled, and started showering like it was a race for her life.It was only after she'd turned off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and reached for her bag that she realized a devastating truth.Her dress. Her change of clothes.Were in the TV room.With Cassius.She stood in the bathroom, towel-clad, dripping with the scent of betrayal and hotel soap. She considered sleeping in there. Starting a new life. Changing her name.Eventually, dignity lost to logic. She cracked the door open like she was peeking out at a war zone.No sign of him.Maybe he left? Mafia meeting? Plotting? World domination?She tiptoed out. The coast was clear.The TV was still playing soft ocean noises.Ivy made a break for it, crouching by her luggage, digging frantically for her dress, towel clutching precariously to her chest.And then.The door opened.Voices."—I told you the timing was too clean," Jason was saying."And I told you to keep your mouth shut," Cassius replied.They walked in mid-conversation.And saw her.Bent over. Half-dressed. Towel in crisis mode.Ivy froze.Her body locked. Her brain blue-screened.Then, very slowly, she sat on the floor with her back to them, curled her arms around her knees, and buried her face in her open suitcase like an emotionally damaged turtle.The room was dead silent."So... she's still alive," Jason said at last, somewhere between amusement and secondhand shame.Cassius sighed. Loudly."Don't talk," Ivy mumbled from her suitcase. "No one talk. Ever again."Jason coughed, clearly holding back a laugh.Cassius didn't say anything. Just walked past her like this was the most normal thing in the world.And Ivy, still clutching her dignity in threadbare towel form, considered hitchhiking into the nearest volcano.