CHAPTER 112: LET’S GET OUT OF HERE

Across the room, Evans caught the motion instantly. His brows lifted, shook his head and then, he laughed of sheer amusement, You really couldn’t help yourself, could you? Evans thought.

Irene stepped away, completely oblivious to the invisible tug-of-war between the men behind her. Winn’s smirk still lingered on his lips and Evans’ eyes were dancing with victorious glee. But Irene, simply crossed the room to where her husband stood waiting.

She slipped her hand into his, and Evans’ fingers instinctively threaded through hers.

She leaned into him as they walked out of the house together, her laughter ringing as Evans whispered in her ear. From behind, Winn watched the pair, jaw set.

The night had settled deep by then, the scent of rain teasing the edges of the breeze. Ivy stood at the door with Anna, who was still talking about wedding plans.

The older woman’s excitement was infectious, but Ivy’s mind had already wandered a hundred miles away — to her bed, her bathtub, anywhere that didn’t include Winn’s face or the scrutiny of his father.

"Come on, let’s get out of here," Winn said behind her.

"Hmm," Ivy hummed noncommittally without turning.

She turned back to Anna with an apologetic smile, hugging her tightly.

"Let me know when you pick a dress, okay? Every other detail depends on the dress. I can’t start until you decide."

Ivy chuckled softly, her hand lingering on Anna’s arm.

"You’ll make everything beautiful, Anna."

"Goodnight, Mr. Kane," she said.

Tom Kane merely gave her a stiff nod, his face unreadable — but his eyes lingered on her in quiet evaluation, as if he were measuring her worth against his son’s.

Ivy turned sharply. She stepped out into the night.

If she had her driver’s license, she’d have been gone already. She could practically see herself speeding away while Winn stood there, watching her go.

Winn opened the door to the Escalade — the one he’d gotten her weeks ago. She slipped inside without a word, her movements graceful but tight with quiet fury. The soft slam of the door was final, a line drawn.

He walked around to the driver’s side. Winn climbed in, started the engine, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the low hum of the car filled the space between them.

"I’m sorry if my dad’s words hurt you," Winn said finally. He kept his eyes on the driveway ahead, but his peripheral vision was full of her — the way her arms were folded tightly across her chest, the reflection of her jaw clenching in the glass.

Ivy didn’t answer. She turned her face toward the window. His father’s words hadn’t hurt her; she was long past letting Tom Kane define her worth. What hurt was watching Winn — her Winn — turn into someone she barely recognized the moment his ex walked into the room.

Winn’s hand flexed on the steering wheel. "We don’t have to come to these things anymore if you’re uncomfortable with it," he said. His gaze flicked to her briefly — her profile, the delicate tension in her jaw, the way she stared into the night as if it offered more comfort than he could.

"I have a headache," she said finally. "I’d really like some quiet."

"Oookay," he said, drawing the word out. He glanced sideways at her again, trying to read between her silences. "Are you mad at me?"

"You heard me say I want some quiet."

He pressed his lips together and kept driving, the low thrum of the tires on the asphalt filling the silence.

He snuck another look at her. She’d unpinned her hair, and it spilled over her shoulders. Her lips were slightly parted, but her expression remained unreadable. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful — and completely untouchable.

Winn sighed. It had been a long night — one filled with forced smiles, and now a woman who wouldn’t even look at him. As if on cue, the skies opened up. A low rumble of thunder cracked across the heavens and the first heavy drops splattered against the windshield.

Then came the downpour — a furious, unrelenting rain that drummed on the roof. "Great," he muttered bitterly, leaning back against the seat as the wipers fought uselessly against the torrent.

The rest of the ride played out like a silent film — only the sound of the storm and the hum of the engine filling the tension between them. Ivy’s reflection in the window was unreadable, her expression carved in stone, the occasional flash of lightning catching her profile. He glanced at her several times, his mind trying to rewind the night.

By the time he turned into her driveway, the rain had turned savage — an angry, drumming roar that blurred the world outside. The headlights cut across the wet pavement, illuminating her small house, a sharp contrast to his family’s looming mansion. The rain made everything shimmer.

Before he could even put the car in park, Ivy had unbuckled her seatbelt, swung open the door, and stepped out into the night.

"What the fuck, Ivy?!" Winn shouted, fumbling with his own door. The moment he stepped out, the rain assaulted him — cold, merciless, soaking him to the skin within seconds. His shirt clung to his body, water dripping down his hair, into his eyes.

He slammed the door behind him and jogged toward the porch, where Ivy now stood with her arms folded, her wet hair sticking to her face like strands of fire. Her dress, damp from the rain, hugged her body in a way that would have tempted him under different circumstances. But not tonight. Not with the storm in her eyes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snapped, water running down his face.

"Me?!" Ivy shouted back. "What is wrong with me? Are you crazy? Are you so self-absorbed that you can’t see when it’s you who hurt me — not your father!"

He blinked, confused, drenched, and completely off-balance. "What did I do?" he demanded. The rain didn’t seem to care; it fell harder, as if siding with her, pounding against the roof, echoing her fury.