Chapter 2 — Picking Up the Pieces

Ivy

The cab ride to Laurent Atelier was a blur. Ivy sat stiffly in the backseat, her fingers clutching the edge of her crimson dress, the fabric crumpling under her grip. The city lights smeared across the window as she stared out, her mind replaying the confrontation at the Veronique Gala in cruel, vivid detail. Alexander’s smug face, the gasps of the crowd, the sting of his words—*emotional, reckless.* The cab’s faint pine air freshener did little to mask the phantom scent of champagne and Alexander’s cologne, which clung to her like a ghost.

When the cab pulled to a stop, Ivy shoved a crumpled bill into the driver’s hand and stepped onto the cobblestone street. Her heels clicked against the stones as she approached the Atelier, her sanctuary in the storm. The door creaked open, its familiar sound echoing through the silent studio, and Ivy stepped inside. She paused, breathing in the scent of fabric dye and faintly lingering jasmine from the bouquet Sophia had brought the week before. It should have been comforting, but tonight it felt oppressive.

The Atelier looked the same as always—bolts of vibrant fabrics stacked against the walls, sketches pinned haphazardly in a patchwork of ideas—but it felt different. Hollow. As if the energy that usually buzzed within its walls had been pulled out with her unraveling at the gala. Her heels clicked softly against the wooden floor as she crossed the room, but the usual hum of the sewing machine was absent, replaced by the weighty silence of her own thoughts. Ivy locked the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, her breath hitching as she closed her eyes.

The memory of Alexander’s voice played like a cruel loop in her mind. “You’re just emotional,” he’d sneered. “Reckless.” His tone had been so patronizing, so unrepentant, that it had ignited something in her—a mix of humiliation, anger, and something deeper, something harder to face. She raised her hand to her neck, her trembling fingers instinctively clutching the Phoenix Pendant. The cool metal pressed into her skin, grounding her for a moment. *Rebirth. Resilience.* Her mother’s words echoed faintly, but tonight, they felt like an impossible dream.

Her eyes opened, sweeping over the chaos of the Atelier. This was supposed to be her battlefield, her refuge. But tonight, she felt like an intruder in her own world. Her hand hesitated before yanking the pendant from her neck, the chain catching briefly on her auburn waves. She placed it carefully on the worktable, her hand lingering on it longer than she intended. The gemstones glimmered faintly in the dim light, like embers waiting to ignite, but Ivy didn’t feel strong enough to fan the flames.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs jolted her from her trance. A moment later, the door burst open, and Sophia swept in like a gust of fresh air, her dark curls bouncing with her quick movements. The scent of jasmine accompanied her, filling the room with a warmth Ivy hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

“Ivy,” Sophia said, her voice soft but urgent. She stopped short, taking in Ivy’s tear-streaked cheeks, the red-rimmed eyes, and the way her usually graceful posture sagged against the worktable. Without hesitation, Sophia crossed the room and wrapped Ivy in a tight hug, her arms exuding a strength that contradicted her petite frame.

For a long moment, Ivy resisted, her body stiff and unyielding. But as Sophia’s warmth enveloped her, the walls she’d fought so hard to hold up began to crack. A choked sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in Sophia’s shoulder, the tears she’d held back spilling out in uneven gasps.

“I can’t believe him,” Ivy whispered, her voice breaking. “He humiliated me. Mocked me. And he was so—he was so smug about it.” Her breath hitched, and she gripped Sophia’s sleeve like a lifeline.

Sophia ran a soothing hand over Ivy’s hair, her voice low but edged with fury. “He’s a bastard, plain and simple. But Ivy, listen to me—you’re not going to let him win. You’re Ivy Laurent. You’re stronger than he’ll ever be.”

Ivy pulled back, brushing the tears from her cheeks with quick, almost impatient movements. She hated crying. It felt like giving Alexander power he no longer deserved. “I don’t feel strong, Soph. Not tonight. Right now, I feel like... like one gust of wind could knock me over.”

Sophia’s gaze softened, but her determination was unshaken. “Then lean on me. You don’t have to do this on your own, you know. That’s what friends are for.”

Ivy’s eyes flicked to the Phoenix Pendant on the table, its tiny gemstones catching the light like smoldering coals. It was a reminder—a gift from her mother, passed down like a talisman of strength. But tonight, it felt like a weight, dragging her down rather than lifting her up.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Sophia’s lips curved into a small, encouraging smile. “You start with what you do best. You create. You move forward. Forget Alexander and his poisonous words. Focus on what makes you unstoppable.”

Ivy let out a bitter laugh, though it held a faint note of gratitude. “He sent flowers, you know. They were waiting outside when I got back.”

Sophia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Flowers? Are you serious? Please tell me you set them on fire.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Ivy’s lips. “Didn’t have the energy. They’re in the trash outside. Along with the note that said, ‘Sorry for any misunderstandings.’”

Sophia’s jaw dropped, her outrage palpable. “Misunderstandings? Did I miss the part where sleeping with another woman was somehow unclear? That man has *nerve.* Honestly, if you hadn’t already humiliated him tonight, I’d march over there and do it myself.”

Ivy’s smirk grew sharper, and for the first time in hours, a flicker of determination lit her hazel eyes. “He’s going to regret underestimating me.”

Sophia studied her closely, her expression softening into something almost conspiratorial. “You’re plotting something, aren’t you?”

Ivy shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she turned toward the worktable. But the quiet fire in her gaze betrayed her. “Nothing concrete yet. But I’m not going to let him walk away from this. Not unscathed.”

Sophia tilted her head, her voice dropping to something gentler. “This isn’t just about revenge, though, is it?”

Ivy hesitated, her hand brushing over a scattered sketch on the table. The bold lines of the design, unapologetic and fierce, caught her attention. “No. This is about me. I’m tired of holding back. Tired of trusting people like Alexander who only tear me down. I want to remind everyone—including myself—of who I really am.”

Sophia’s smile returned, this time wide and proud. “There’s the Ivy I know. So, what’s the plan?”

Ivy’s fingers smoothed the edges of the sketch, her touch growing steadier with each pass. The chaos of the Atelier began to feel less suffocating, its disarray less like a wound and more like a beginning. “I don’t have one yet,” she said honestly. “But I will. For now, I need to focus on my next pitch. Rebuild the trust and reputation Alexander tried to destroy tonight.”

Sophia nodded firmly, her eyes glinting with encouragement. “And while you’re doing that, don’t forget to remind him of what he lost. He’s going to regret ever crossing Ivy Laurent.”

After Sophia left, the Atelier grew quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn’t oppressive. Ivy stood alone in the space, her gaze drifting to the sketches pinned to the walls. Some were old, forgotten ideas, but as her fingers brushed over their edges, she felt a spark—small, but real. She picked up her pencil and began to sketch, the lines bold and sure. The weight in her chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted, as if making room for something new.

*Rebirth. Resilience.* The words replayed in her mind, and this time, they didn’t feel so far out of reach.