CHAPTER 129: LET’S GO PACK SOME CLOTHES

"Good girl," the man purred mockingly, pulling the phone from her hands and pocketing it. His grin was pure venom. "Now, honey, let’s go pack some clothes. We’re going on a little trip."

"Let Trish and my mother go," Ivy said.

"You don’t give any demands, love," the man said smoothly, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face with a mockery of tenderness. "I’m not done with you tonight." His hand trailed to her cheek, and she jerked away. He laughed at her resistance. "Still got fight, huh? That’ll make it fun."

She felt sick. Every nerve in her body screamed for Winn—to feel his arms around her, to hear his deep voice cutting through the chaos. But all she had was this nightmare, these four walls, and the echo of her own breaking heart.

*****

When Evans entered Mary’s hospital room, it felt like stepping into a dream that had waited twenty-five years to wake. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the silence. His sister—his big sister—lay still on the bed. Her once fiery spirit was now reduced to pale, fragile breaths. Evans froze at the door, his throat thick with emotion.

He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing by her bedside. His fingers trembled as they brushed a lock of gray hair away from her forehead. "Mary..." he whispered breaking. "It’s me. It’s Evans. I’m here now, sis. I’m never leaving you again."

He pulled a chair close and sank into it, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving her face. "You’d probably yell at me for how long it took," he said with a faint, broken chuckle. "But I found you. Finally."

He leaned back, exhaling shakily. "You know, I met Ivy." His lips curved into a sad smile. "She looks exactly like you when you were her age. Same eyes. Even that same way of talking. It’s uncanny. She’s how I found you, actually."

His gaze softened. "She’s marrying an idiot, though." A quiet laugh slipped out of him. "God help her, she seems to be in love with him. I can see it in her eyes. You’d probably love him too, the fool’s got charm."

The humor faded as quickly as it came. He rubbed his face, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. "You missed so much, Mary. The family’s... different now. Dad’s not the same since you left. He pretends he doesn’t care, but I know he’s been waiting for this—for you."

He looked at her hand and gently took it in his, warming it between his palms. "You just rest, okay? I’ll handle everything else. You’ve done enough hiding."

Evans’s gaze wandered absently across the room. His mind was running through every possible scenario of how to help her when his eyes caught something—a folded piece of paper on the bedside table. It was resting beside a half-empty water cup.

He frowned, curiosity prickling his chest, and reached for it. The handwriting on the front made his pulse stutter. "Mum." It was written in a hurried scrawl. He unfolded it.

’Hey Mum. I have to go for a while. I’m sorry. I have to go for a while and reevaluate my life. See you soon. Your little girl, Ivy.’

Evans’s blood ran cold. "What the fuck," he hissed. His heart thudded in his chest. Reevaluating her life? Bullshit. Every instinct screamed at him that this wasn’t right.

He shot to his feet, the chair screeching backward across the tiled floor, and stormed out into the corridor where Mike was leaning casually against the wall. The younger man straightened instantly when he saw Evans’s expression — a storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Where is she?" Evans barked, striding up to him.

"Where is who, sir?" Mike asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Ivy! Goddammit, Ivy!" Evans snapped.

Mike blinked, taken aback. "She left. You told me to stay with Mary and give you updates."

Evans dragged a hand down his face, trying to keep his composure. "Something must’ve happened." He thrust the note at Mike.

Mike read the note quickly, his face tightening. "What do you want me to do?"

"Find her," Evans said. "Now. She’s rethinking her wedding to Winn—something happened to trigger that."

"Yes, sir!" Mike replied, already dialing someone on his earpiece as he moved quickly down the hall.

Evans turned back toward the hospital room, his hands balling into fists. He looked at his sister lying there, unaware of the storm unfolding outside.

*****

The next morning, chaos had a name — Trish Whyte.

Trish was practically running on fumes, her hair a messy halo, her mascara smudged from stress. She had spent the last four hours hunting for Ivy, zigzagging through the city with the determination of a woman possessed. Her car was littered with coffee cups.

She slammed her car door shut outside Commissioned.

"Trish!" The receptionist perked up. "What are you doing here? Its morning."

"Have you seen Beyonce?"

The lady blinked. "No, sweetie. Its been ages I last saw her."

Trish’s stomach sank. "Thanks." She spun around and stomped back out, fishing her phone out of her bag to call Ivy for the twentieth time. Straight to voicemail again.

"Where the hell are you, girl?" she whispered, hitting the steering wheel.

She wasn’t giving up. Next call was Steve. Ivy’s stupid, lying, cheating ex-boyfriend. He hadn’t seen her either.

Her hands were shaking. She opened her messages one more time, praying for a reply from Ivy. Nothing.

The only thing Trish had to go on was the note. Just one piece of paper that sat on Ivy’s coffee table. Next to the note lay the engagement ring. Winn’s ring.

Trish read the note again. ’Trish, I can’t marry Winn. Please return the ring to him. I need to figure some things out. I’ll reach out when I’m ready. Love you.’

"Damn it, Ivy..." she whispered.

She tried calling again. Once, twice, ten times. The number you are trying to reach is not available at the moment... The robotic voice grated against her nerves until she hurled the phone onto the seat beside her. Cold feet? Sure. It happened. But it wasn’t something the bridesmaid couldn’t fix right? All she had to do now was find her.