Chapter 4

It was late by the time I got home to pack.

I sat down on the couch and glanced over at the dining table. It was a mess. There were dishes everywhere, as well as a plate of braised short ribs Dexter was known for and a pasta bake Brianna had been perfecting since forever.

It wasn't hard to picture the two of them in the kitchen together while Brianna's ankle healed, cooking side by side, then sitting across from each other over drinks.

And the diary I'd filled to 100 pages was underneath one of the dishes, used as a trivet. It was covered in grease stains.

I let out a dry laugh and went to the bedroom to grab my suitcase. At least there was one upside to traveling all the time. I'd never unpacked, so there was nothing to pack anyway.

But I was so exhausted that I ended up falling asleep sitting on the floor of the closet.

My phone woke me up. It was Diana.

"Ivy, check the trending page right now. Dexter got caught cheating."

I opened the link, still half-asleep, and then shot upright.

In the video, Dexter was carrying Brianna into a hotel. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her heels dangling loosely off her feet.

He carried her all the way to the elevator and set her down. Meanwhile, she looked up at him with a lazy smile before reaching up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck.

The footage was blurry, but I could still make out the look on Dexter's face. It wasn't guilt. It was the tired, indulgent expression of someone who'd long since given up resisting.

The comments were already piling up. "I was literally just trying to get footage of my favorite singer and ended up catching a cheater instead."

"I knew something was off with those two at the concert. They were practically glued together, yet the guy had the nerve to say he had a girlfriend."

"Somebody please make sure his girlfriend sees this. She deserves to know."

Dexter's social media had already been torn apart. People tracked down his school and his research institute. The comments were full of people demanding the institute fire both of them.

I was still worrying about whether that might actually happen when the front door slammed open.

"Are you happy now, Ivy?"

Dexter's eyes were ice cold. "If you hadn't said what you said, Brianna never would've drunk that much, and I never would've had to take her to a hotel."

It took me a second to process. Then I laughed, out of sheer frustration. But before I could say a word, he snatched my phone out of my hand.

A sick feeling twisted through me. "Dexter, what are you doing?"

He didn't even look up. "Posting a statement from your account saying that the woman in the video was you. The footage didn't catch her face. People will believe it."

My stomach dropped. He was protecting Brianna and was going to use me as a shield to take the heat off her.

But his post didn't just claim the woman was me. It also said I'd been jealous of my own best friend and deliberately bought fake press coverage to smear her.

Within seconds, my inbox exploded.

"Jealous of your own best friend? What year is this? Grow up."

"Go to hell. Women like you are the reason we can't have nice things."

Diana texted too. "Ivy, what's going on? The orchestra's reputation is taking a hit."

I explained what actually happened and apologized. When I looked back up at Dexter, I couldn't hold it together anymore. The tears spilled over, one after another.

Dexter seemed to realize, belatedly, that he might have gone too far. "Alright, stop crying. It's not like you're really losing anything, right?"

He reached out to wipe the tears off my face. I turned away.

"We've already broken up, Mr. Carrington. I'd appreciate it if you kept your distance."

His hand hung in the air for a moment, then he noticed the suitcase beside me. "Quit the dramatics. You're going on another work trip, right? Let me drive you."

I pressed my lips together. "That's not necessary. The orchestra is sending a car."

Dexter frowned slightly but didn't push it. He didn't ask where I was going. He didn't ask when I'd be back.

He assumed I'd do what I always did. No matter how bad the fight was, I'd text him the minute I boarded the plane with my flight details, and then make a fuss about him picking me up when I got back. That was how nine out of ten of our fights ended.

But not this time.

By the time Dexter got off work that evening, he still hadn't received a single message from me.