IVY POV
The weekend came faster than I expected, mostly thanks to Ronan canceling all their tutor plans for the past three days. Finally, I had some time to rest. No calls. No messages. Well… except for the text three days ago..
RH: I won't be available for now.
That was it. No explanation. Nothing.
I sat on the couch, half-watching Single Inferno, when Max left for some date. Honestly, I still didn't get how so many girls chased after him. He was… a Man-whore.
Then my phone buzzed.
RH: How good are your baking skills?
I stared at the screen, confused. What? He was probably drunk-texting or something.
Seconds later, my phone rang. I froze, staring at it. For a moment, I didn't know if I should answer. My thumb hovered… then I pressed it.
"Answer me," his deep voice said immediately.
"What?" I mumbled, still trying to process.
"You got my text. How good are your baking skills?"
I hesitated, then lied. "Hmm… bad."
I couldn't let him know I actually knew how to bake. There was no way he could know that.
He paused.
"I didn't take you as a liar, Ivy Cross," he said.
My chest froze. My breath hitched.
He just said my full name.
The way he said it… the slow roll of it off his tongue… it made my stomach flip in a way I didn't like… and somehow liked at the same time.
"Are you there, tutor girl?" he called again.
"Y-yeah… what?" I stammered, my heart hammering.
"I know you're good at baking. I need your help. Walter will pick you up in an hour."
Before I could even respond, he hung up.
I stared at the phone, completely dumbfounded.
What the… why does he have to hang up like that?
An hour later, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: I'm waiting downstairs, Miss Ivy… Walter
I stared at the screen, my stomach tightening.
Of course he's already here.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. My hands were shaking just a little as I grabbed my jacket and slipped on some sneakers. My heart was hammering—not just from nerves, but from… him.
I left a note for Max on the counter. Back in a bit. Don't you dare bring anybody up here.
I hurried downstairs, every step feeling heavier than the last. And there he was… the sleek black car parked in front of the building, looking impossibly perfect and intimidating under the streetlight. Walter stood beside it, hands clasped, expression calm as always.
I froze for a second, taking in the car, the crisp evening air, the quiet hum of the city around me. My chest felt tight.
Walter noticed my hesitation and gave me a reassuring nod. "Shall we?"
I nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. Sliding into the back seat, I gripped the door handle a little too tightly, my thoughts racing.
Okay, Ivy. Focus. Baking. That's it. Nothing else. Don't think about him.
But even as I tried, I couldn't stop my eyes from flicking to the empty passenger seat, imagining him there, smirking like he always did.
The drive to the mansion took fifty-five minutes, and I barely spoke a word, my mind racing with everything that could go wrong. When we finally pulled up, Walter stepped out and hurriedly opened the car door.
"Hurry inside," he said, his calm tone making me feel slightly more grounded.
I nodded and walked toward the grand double doors. My hand trembled slightly as I pushed them open.
The foyer was massive, every inch screaming wealth and power, but I barely registered it. My eyes were drawn straight to the kitchen.
Walter's voice came behind me. "This way…"
I followed him, my stomach tightening.
And then I heard it.
"Finally, you're here."
Ronan's voice… relief, almost impatient, threaded through it.
I stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Flour. Everywhere. It was on the counters, the floor, and somehow… all over his hair. And there was Vienna, standing neatly by his side, looking annoyingly perfectly clean.
"What the hell happened?" I asked, my voice a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"Umm… he tried to bake," Vienna said in a tiny, irritating voice. "It… it became messy."
I couldn't help it. My eyes flicked back to Ronan. He looked ridiculous… flour in his hair, a streak across his cheek.
I tried to hold it in. I tried.
"Don't you dare laugh!" he barked, and I nearly choked on my own giggle.
But I couldn't stop. A laugh bubbled up from my chest, uncontrollable, loud, and messy.
Ronan's eyes narrowed, his jaw tight, but I just laughed harder.
God, he looked so ridiculous. And I couldn't help thinking… I might actually enjoy seeing him fail at something not algebra or Spanish
Even if it meant cleaning up this flour tornado afterward.
"So get down to business," he said, his tone sharp and commanding.
"What?" I asked, still trying to process the flour disaster in front of me.
"I need you to bake a strawberry pie for me."
I stared at him. Then I slowly folded my arms over my chest.
"Come on. Get to it," he added, like he was ordering room service.
I looked at him, really looked at him, and felt something hot spark in my chest. Anger. Pure, sharp anger.
"For someone who needs help," I said slowly, "you're incredibly rude."
His gaze locked onto mine, cold and intense, like he was daring me to flinch.
"What do you want?" he asked flatly. "Money? Designer bags? Name it."
I laughed once, humorless. "Ask nicely. You don't need to be a scumbag all the time."
"In your dreams," he shot back, already turning away as he walked out of the kitchen.
"Well then, you obviously don't need my help," I called after him, my voice louder than I meant it to be.
He stopped.
Then he turned.
His eyes met mine, sharp and unreadable, and my body reacted before my brain could stop it. A shiver ran through me, straight down my spine. My heart started pounding, fast and hard.
Still, I didn't look away.
I wasn't about to back down.