Suddenly, I was no longer shaking with anger.
I was fighting a smile.
That clause, and that clause alone, was the only reason I signed the new contract. It would have to do, and it was my only way out. It would make me perform the lowest of all lows, but I would have to use it. At that point I was willing to do anything to rid myself of Lola. Anything.
I willingly signed the NDA because I knew I’d no longer need it. She could have the wreck. Several ideas had hatched in my mind, and now they were sprouting wings, and they were much, much worse than blackmail.
Lola thought she’d won by getting me to sign both contracts. She’d put on a superior grin as she looped the ls of her last name. She thought she’d conquered her troubles and put me back in my place.
But the truth was, Ivy, she had no fucking idea what was coming to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
IVY
I hated Lola Maxwell with a passion.
My hatred for her was one of the main reasons I’d agreed to meet Corey in Destin for a getaway. Just us two, one-on-one. He’d found my number in Lola’s phone and sent me a text after I stormed out, asking me what had happened. I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t need him looking at me differently, and Lola had been vague with him.
According to him, Lola had no idea about our getaway. He had told her he was going golfing with some buddies. Lola also hadn’t told Corey who I really was, but she had mentioned that she was heartbroken over finding out some horrible things about me.
She was trying to make me seem like the bad guy while she played the victim. Fortunately, Corey hadn’t fallen for it, nor did he care what I’d done to Lola that broke her heart. He was glad that we were no longer friends. It meant he could have an affair without more guilt than necessary, and that it would stay out of the house.
My time spent with Corey was great, though. What, Marriott? Don’t think of me like that, okay? I’m not weak. This wasn’t just for his benefit.
Anyway, he’d had his boat taken down to Destin, and we spent many special moments on it, having sex in every place we could, sipping mimosas in the morning and guzzling hard liquor at night. His favorite was scotch on the rocks with a lemon peel. I made it for him every night, and he thanked me and gave me a deep kiss.
I could overlook the way he had choked me the night of the gala and the pretending-to-be-Lola shit. After all, no one is perfect. Corey was still ten times the man Xavier was. Plus, I could tell he really wanted more with me, that he wanted to take our relationship to the next level.
“I think I’m going to take my chances and divorce Lola,” Corey said one night. We were at our hotel, seated on the oceanfront balcony. It was our third night there.
The moon was the only thing in the midnight sky, with just a smattering of stars. No clouds were in sight. He was sitting in one of the cushioned chair and I was on his lap, stroking the stubble on his chin. I loved when he let his beard grow. Lola loved his face bare. The moon shone down on us like a beacon, as if revealing to the whole world that we were together and having an illicit affair.
“Really?” I asked him.
“Yes. I think we’ve run our course. She’d be better off single.”
“But if you leave her, what does that mean for us?”
“What do you mean? We’ll still be together. I want you.”
I beamed. “I want you too.”
“So, it’s settled then. I’ve looked into a divorce lawyer already. I’ll do what needs to be done, and then it’ll just be you and me.”
I giggled like a schoolgirl and then we made love on the balcony. I wish I could say things were great after that, Marriot, but they weren’t.
Our trip was over two days later, and we went our separate ways—me back to my run-down studio apartment in Liberty City and Corey back to Lola. I hated the idea of him being around her, kissing her, pretending to love her. He loved me now, and I’d worked hard for that love. Lola didn’t deserve his affection or his attention. He was a good man and she didn’t appreciate it.
To my utter surprise, though, Lola sent me a text the Sunday after our trip. Apparently, she wanted to have dinner at seven and make up for what she’d said to me.
I found that bizarre, but then again, it was just like Lola to try to mend things with me so she wouldn’t feel guilty for covering up what she’d done. She was lucky I hadn’t run off with the information I had to The Breakfast Club on the radio, or to Good Morning America. But that wouldn’t have done me any good.
Corey wouldn’t have forgiven me for it, even if he didn’t know the truth about his wife or me. He would have hated finding out about me that way anyway. There was no point in telling him about it. Lola did what she did, and she’d confessed to it. Now I had Corey and he was going to divorce her to be with me. That was all I needed.
I figured why not go and meet her? She’d offered money before, and though Corey would have enough for both of us, I knew once he was done with the divorce, it would suck him dry, emotionally and financially.
I would ask her for money now—as much as I wanted. She’d pretty much given me a blank check after dumping her wine in my face. It was time to put that to use, but if that wasn’t what she was offering, I’d need a new plan. I needed some way to shut Lola down to soften the blow for Corey after the divorce. My man wasn’t about to suffer because of her too.
I dressed well but kept it subtle—a short, floral sundress and sandals. I brushed half of my hair up into a ponytail and then grabbed my keys, heading to Biscayne Bay.
I parked in the driveaway, spotting Corey’s car there too. My heart did somersaults at the sight of it. My future husband was around, and that made me one happy girl.
I picked up my purse from the passenger seat, the five-thousand-dollar Prada bag Lola had handed down to me because she never used it, slinging the strap over my shoulder and marching to the front door.
Georgia answered, and I scowled at her. It was her fault that things blew up with Lola in the first place. All her suspiciousness and nosiness and watching me at night. If she hadn’t opened her big mouth, Lola and I would still be fine and I still would be living the best of both worlds, sleeping with Corey and spoiled with riches by Lola.
I started to walk in, but before I went too far, I turned back to Georgia just as she closed the door. “You’re the one who told my therapist Lola’s name, aren’t you?”
Georgia placed her hands behind her back. “I did, but only because it seemed like it was what Lola wanted at the time. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why?” I demanded. “What are you not sure about?”
“You’re trying to ruin Mrs. Maxwell’s life. I suppose feeding that information to Dr. Harold wasn’t wise.”
“How do you even know about me? About Dr. Harold?”
“I knew about the accident the day after it happened.”
“The accident?” I snapped. “What makes you think it was an accident?” I said through clenched teeth.
“Because Mrs. Maxwell didn’t intentionally try to kill your parents, Miss Hill. She was under distress. It was a mistake.”
Miss Hill. I hated that she was now using that name, like she couldn’t wait to use it—like she’d known it since the day she met me. “A mistake that cost my parents their lives,” I grumbled.
Georgia sighed. “Perhaps you should take this up with her. Mrs. Maxwell is waiting for you by the pool. Would you like me to take your purse? Get you something to drink?”
I looked her over in her uniform and then shook my head. “Whatever.” I tossed my purse at her and she caught it with a small grunt. Then I went through the house and into the kitchen to get to the pool. Georgia knew nothing about my past. She had no idea what I’d been through, so she could shut the fuck up. Why she defended Lola so much, I had no clue. Lola treated her like shit.
As mentioned, Lola was standing in front of the pool. Her arms were crossed, her feet wide apart, and her hip cocked. She was wear
ing a white gown with a gold belt at the waist. There was a cocktail glass in her hand with pink liquid, half empty.
I took a step out and, to my surprise, Corey was also standing out by the pool. I hadn’t noticed him from where I was standing by the door. A pillar was in the way, blocking my view of him.
I remained still as Lola turned and faced him. It seemed they were in the middle of a heated conversation.
“I just don’t understand why now,” said Lola. “Of all the times, and all the years, you want a divorce now? There is someone else, isn’t there? Someone you’ve fallen for?”
Corey turned to face Lola, preparing his lips to speak, but when he did, he caught me standing behind her and clamped his mouth shut.
Lola spun around and caught me behind her, and her frown deepened. “What the hell are you doing here?” Lola snapped, clutching her glass tighter.
“What do you mean? You sent me a text asking me to meet you for dinner at seven.”
Lola’s expression morphed to one of confusion. “I never sent you any sort of text,” she spat back. “Why would I want to meet you for dinner? Why are you still lying?”
“You said you wanted to mend things, Lola. I have the message on my phone.”
What a cunt. Because Corey was here, she wanted to act like she didn’t want me around? I could see I was getting nowhere with her.
Lola wobbled a bit on her heels and then she sighed, walking to an empty chair under the umbrella. “I don’t have time for this shit.” She groaned, lowering her head and rubbing her forehead with the pads of her fingers.
“How much have you had to drink?” Corey demanded, moving toward her. He had his signature drink in hand, but polished it off. Nothing remained but ice and lemon peel.
“Why do you care?” Lola barked at him, picking up her head. “You don’t want to be my husband anymore, right? I’ll drink however much I fucking want!”
I remained perfectly still.
“You’re angry and you’re drunk, just like your father. You knew this divorce was coming one day, Lola. We haven’t been happy since that damn wreck.”
“What? Why are we even continuing this discussion, Corey?” she shrieked. “Why are we talking about this in front of—”
And just like that, Lola knew. She knew exactly why Corey was continuing this discussion with her in front of me.
She shot off the chair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she screeched. “With her, Corey? The fucking foster girl? Wow, and I thought finding out about the stripper you fucked in Vegas was bad, but this? This is an all-time low for you, honey! I mean, really!”
Lola stumbled sideways. What? What did she mean, the stripper in Vegas? I was Corey’s first affair. And what did he know about the wreck? Did Lola tell him about it? Had he always known she’d done that?
“Lola—” Corey reached for her hand, but she jerked away from him and shook her head.
“Fuck both of you,” she seethed, and then she stomped to me. “Especially you, Ivy. You low-down, dirty slut. Keke was right about you. You’re a psychotic, thirsty bitch.”
Lola stormed away, rushing into the house and through the kitchen. “Georgia, get me another drink!” Lola shouted. “Now!”
When she was gone, I turned my attention on Corey. “What did she mean about the stripper in Vegas?” I asked. “And the—the wreck? What did you mean, the wreck?”
“Not now, Ivy,” Corey muttered, putting down his glass on a nearby table and rubbing his forehead.
“Yes, now, Corey! How many people have you slept with? You told me I was your first affair!”
“Well, I fucking lied, Ivy! You aren’t my first fucking affair!” he bellowed. “I mean, did you really think I would risk my entire marriage over a girl like you? You have nothing to offer me but your body! I was fine with that before, but seeing how naïve you are now is making me reconsider a lot of shit!”
I felt like I’d been shot in the heart. He’d lied to me. I’d forgiven him for what he’d done before. He’d snaked his hands around my throat and choked me, tried to get me to be a woman I hated, and I forgave him, but this lie was much worse.
He made me feel special. He made me think I was important to him, but what was this? I was just a pawn in his game—his way out of a bad marriage. He . . . used me, just like everyone else in my life.
“The wreck,” I said. “You knew Lola did that? That she killed the Hills?”
“What? What the hell do you know about that?” he asked, glaring.
“Those people were my fucking parents!” I screamed. “And she killed them! She ruined my life and you went along with it! You’re just as bad as she is!”
Corey seemed confused. I didn’t care. I was pissed. I saw red, Marriot. Red. I couldn’t think straight. Could hardly breathe. The sun felt too bright and my belly was in knots. I wanted to vomit. Then I wanted to kill him.
I charged toward him with a foreign scream leaving my lungs, slapping him right on the face and then shoving him into the pool. When he was in the water, I jumped in too and pounced on top of him, forcing his head down in the water.
I refused to let up, blinded by rage. I wanted to kill Corey for breaking my goddamn heart. For staying with Lola even after knowing she’d covered up a bloody trail.
And then I heard a scream—a scream so loud it pierced my eardrums.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I looked to my left, noticing Georgia standing in the kitchen. One of her hands was cupping her mouth, the other trembling as she reached for something on the floor. She was petrified.
I released Corey and stared down at him. He was still facedown in the water.
“Corey! Get up!” I snapped.
But he didn’t get up. I tugged on his arm, but he didn’t budge. “Corey!” I screamed, panicking now. Why wasn’t he getting up?
I panicked.
I flipped him over and his lips were blue, his eyes closed. Blood was trickling from his nose. “Oh!” I screamed. “Oh fuck!” My heart was practically beating out of my chest. I splashed away from him and ran to the steps to get out of the pool. Water dripped from me as I ran for the house, my throat thick and my vision blurry.
What the hell was going on? What had I done?
I ran hard and fast in my sandals, but I didn’t make it far into the kitchen. I slipped on something wet—the water from the pool on my feet, I assumed—but when I hit the floor with a heavy smack, I realized it wasn’t water I’d fallen into at all.
Crimson liquid stained my palms, my clothes.
It was blood.
And not just any blood. Lola’s blood.
She was belly down on the floor, her head turned sideways. Blood was oozing out of her nose, her mouth parted, blood trickling over her pale blue lips. Her skin was blue too, just like Corey’s. Her dress was stained in dark, dark red.
Her blood.
Her body.
Her white dress.
Broken glass close to her thin fingers. A single raspberry on top of one of the shards, blending in with the blood. Her blood.
Georgia screamed again, backing away into a corner to get away from me, her eyes wide and her hand pressed to her mouth. Never had I seen Georgia so afraid.
“Ivy!” she screamed hysterically. “What did you do? Oh my God! Please! Please don’t kill me!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
GEORGIA
I have to admit it, Ivy. You were hard to track down on my own.
It took me a lot of digging to find the name of the Hills—surprisingly, not many people wrote about the wreck and two people dying; it was almost like no one cared that your parents had died except for that one conspiracy theory journalist—but fortunately, I discovered their names, and your mother had a Facebook page she didn’t keep very private.
I had done a quick search about the crash around the time I thought to make Lola rewrite my contract and discovered the couples’ name. I had no luck finding your father—I assume he was a pretty private man�
��but I found your mother with ease.
I discovered then that she had a fourteen-year-old daughter at the time of the crash—a daughter she was very proud of and loved with her whole heart.
She’d named you in one of her public posts, and from the moment I found your name, I knew I needed to find the real you. I knew you could help me in ways I couldn’t help myself, so long as you had the right information and so long as you were smart.
So, with the check I received from Lola every month and the money I had been saving for the baby prior to my miscarriage, I hired a private investigator. He found you in a matter of three days and filled me in on all the details about you. You were seventeen at that point.
According to him, you were a rebel. You’d gotten into many fights at school and you were bounced around from foster home to foster home. When I found you, you were living with a woman named Miss Cathy. Remember her? Boy, she wasn’t good to you, was she?
I can recall the times I drove by Miss Cathy’s house and saw you sitting on her rickety wooden stoop. She’d always be yelling at you about something. I guess I can understand why you ran away from her to live with that older guy. Miss Cathy’s house was no home for you. You were lost. Sad. Broken. That was a good thing for me.
My investigator informed me that you were seeing a therapist named Marriott Harold. Marriot seemed like a lovely woman, like she had your best interests in mind. As much as you pretended to hate her, I think you rather enjoyed your visits with Marriott. Though she was a strange bird, she was protective of you, and she showed that she cared and you secretly loved that.
You loved when anyone cared about you. That’s why you moved in with your now ex-boyfriend, right? Because he showed you a little attention, told you that you were pretty? He was no fool. He took advantage of a young girl, and you were desperate enough to stick around for two years and endure his sick ways.
When I found out you were seeing a therapist, I needed to know why. The government had covered your trips to see Marriot which meant your mental condition had to be serious.
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