Sinner's Grace

Miss Me?

Today's the weirdest day of my life.

I gave a ride to a stranger who almost killed me and watched him violently threaten a man over money, and somehow, I'm still alive to tell the tale. Just a few days in New York, and I'm already entangled with dangerous men. What is happening to my life?

As I near my house, dread creeps in. My parents are going to kill me for being out so late. I park my car and take a deep breath before heading inside.

"And where are you coming from?" Dad demands the moment I step into the living room.

I shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, staring at my parents.

*What am I supposed to tell them?*

"Ivy," Mom glares at me, her tone sharp and cold.

"I took a ride around the city," I mumble.

"A stupid ride? Or have you finally gotten yourself a boyfriend, Ivy?" Dad yells.

"Dad, please, stop!"

"Did you just talk back to me? Did you just yell in my face?" His voice rises to an even louder pitch.

"What did we do to deserve you? You keep acting like we hate you, but look at your attitude. It's unbearable. Your bad decisions brought us to New York, or did you forget that?"

I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears.

*What's their problem? I took a ride around the city—it's not like I brought a boy home.*

"I'm sorry," I mutter, glancing at Alina, who's sitting in the dining room. She doesn't look concerned.

"You're sorry? For what—lying? Where did you really go?" Mom snaps, her glare intensifying.

"I took a ride."

"You're still lying? Ivy, I'm going to hit you right now if you don't tell the truth," she threatens, pointing a finger at me.

*Hit me? For what, exactly?*

I glance at Alina again, silently begging for help. She rolls her eyes and looks away, clearly enjoying my misery.

"I..." I stutter, the tears I've been holding back now spilling over. "I took a ride because I was tired of being treated like s**t. You don't even trust me!"

"Why should we trust you?" Mom fires back. "You aren't supposed to be in this house—you're supposed to be at Nun School, serving as a sister. But you ruined that, didn't you? You disgraced us!"

"Really? This has always been about you two. You don't care about me at all. The only reason you were ever nice to me was because I chose to go to Nun School. Your pressure made me make that decision, not because I wanted it but because you wanted something to brag about!"

I don't even know where the courage comes from, but the words tumble out before I can stop them.

Mom's hand flies across my face.

I freeze.

*She just slapped me.*

I bring my hand to my cheek, staring at them in disbelief. My tears flow faster, but I don't say anything. I wipe my face and turn on my heel to leave.

"Ivy, come back here!" Mom yells after me.

I ignore her, storming up to my room. I lock the door, collapse onto my bed, and cry until my chest aches.

*I hate my life. I hate this house. Why can't I be like Alina? Mom would never lay a hand on her.*

My head pounds as I sit up and reach for a bottle of water and my pills. I swallow them down, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. My broken, exhausted reflection stares back.

Even if my life was never perfect, it was better before Marcus ruined me.

I undress and sink into a warm bath, letting my thoughts drift. I run my fingers along my wrist, remembering the day I almost ended it all. The pain had been too much, but I didn't go through with it. A part of me is glad I didn't. There's no coming back from that.

I rest my head on the edge of the tub, thinking about college. What's it going to be like? I hated bullies, and they were one of the reasons I chose Nun School in the first place. I was scared of judgment, of loneliness. Alina never had to deal with that—she's perfect in everyone's eyes, and sometimes, I hate how easy her life seems.

My thoughts wander to the tattooed, gray-eyed stranger.

I don't want to admit it, but he made me forget, if only for a moment, that my life is falling apart. Men like him are dangerous, and I'll never see him again. That's for the best.

I leave the tub and dry off. My phone rings, and when I see "Private Number" on the screen, my stomach twists. I answer hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Ivy," says a voice that makes my blood run cold.

*Marcus.*

"What do you want?" I whisper, my voice shaking.

"I'm sorry, Ivy," he says, his tone dripping with false remorse. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I've always liked you. Forget about Bianca—I was blind back then. I've always wanted you..."

"What do you want?" I yell, cutting him off.

"I want you, Ivy."

"I hate you," I spit, my voice cracking with tears. "I trusted you, and you destroyed me. Don't ever call me again. You're a monster, Marcus. Go to hell."

"Ivy, please—"

I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed.

*How dare he call me?*

His voice echoes in my head, stirring up the pain I've worked so hard to bury.

I stayed in my bedroom until midnight, and, unsurprisingly, nobody called me for dinner. With the book the therapist gave me to read resting on my lap, my mind keeps wandering to the dangerous man I gave a ride to earlier. I can't seem to shake the memory of him—the way he smirked, the intensity in his gray eyes, and the strange way he made me forget, for just a moment, how much I hate my life.

I toss the book aside and close my eyes, but it's almost 1:00 a.m. before I finally fall asleep. When I wake up the next morning, it's 8:00 a.m., and the familiar heaviness settles over me. My life is boring. Every day feels like a loop I can't escape from. Maybe I'm the boring one since there's never much to do here.

*I need a job,* I think suddenly. *Yeah, I should get a job.*

"Ivy!"

*Oh God. Not her.*

"Ivy..." Nadia's singsong voice floats through the door, accompanied by relentless knocking.

I groan, forcing myself out of bed. As I shuffle toward the door, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

"Jesus," I mutter. My voice sounds hoarse, and I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. There are bags under my eyes, and my hair looks like a bird's nest.

I sigh, smoothing my hair down a bit before unlocking the door.

"Guess who?" Nadia chirps when I open it, grinning like she's just won a prize.

"It's Nadia," she announces as if I don't already know.

I step aside to let her in, leaving the door open.

"Have you been crying?" she asks, stepping further into the room, her eyes scanning my face.

"I'm fine," I say quickly. "When did you get here?" I move to tidy up my bed, avoiding her gaze.

"This morning," she replies, watching me closely. "I'm here to spend the weekend. You look pale."

She reaches out to touch my hair, but I dodge her hand politely.

"Thanks, Nadia," I mutter.

Alina waltzes in a moment later, singing along to a song with an AirPod in one ear. "What's up, sis?" she says, her tone almost casual.

I blink in surprise. *That's weird.*

Alina doesn't care about me—or anything to do with me. She's never come into my room without a reason, let alone greeted me like this. Normally, she doesn't hide her loathing, and, honestly, I've learned to expect it.

But Nadia? She's different. She doesn't hide who she is, and she doesn't care what people think of her. My parents despise her, and she knows it. Nadia believes my parents use religion as an excuse to justify their controlling behavior, and, honestly, she's not wrong.

Nadia is beautiful—her dark skin is flawless, and her long black hair is naturally straight. She's confident, bold, and completely unapologetic. She has a nose piercing and a tattoo on her waist, which probably makes my parents lose sleep.

"We're partying tonight," Nadia announces, clapping her hands.

"Party?" I echo, glancing at her like she's just suggested robbing a bank.

"Yes, party!" Nadia squeals.

I turn to Alina, who shrugs, clearly uninterested in voicing an opinion.

"What about Mom and Dad? You know they hate parties," I point out.

"What are you, fourteen?" Nadia scoffs. "They need to stop treating you girls like kids. What's their problem, anyway?"

"What are we going to tell them?" Alina finally speaks up, raising a brow.

"That I have this church thing, and I invited you guys," Nadia says smoothly.

I snort. "Mass doesn't take place at night."

Nadia shrugs, unbothered.

"And Mom and Dad know you don't go to church. No offense," Alina says, smirking.

"None taken," Nadia replies. "But who cares what they think? They need to understand you're not kids anymore. Whether they like it or not, they can't control your lives forever. Come on, Ivy, live a little. It's not like you have anything to lose. Have you ever partied? Drank? Of course not. Loosen up that good girl act—just for tonight."

"Jesus," I mutter, shaking my head. "Why aren't you in marketing? You could convince anyone to drink poison."

Nadia laughs. "Come on, what do you say?" She looks at me and then Alina. "There will be boys."

Alina perks up slightly, a grin tugging at her lips. She's clearly intrigued.

I sigh. Even if I go, I know I'll end up being the scapegoat. My parents take joy in controlling me and making my life miserable. But... I've been stuck indoors for so long, doing nothing, living the same dull loop. Maybe this is exactly what I need to remind myself that I'm still alive.

"Okay. Fine."

"That's my girl!" Nadia squeals. "We'll be back before 11:00 p.m."

"Don't you think 11:00 p.m. is too late?" I ask hesitantly.

"Ivy, live a little," Nadia says with a smirk, snapping her fingers.

"First, we're going shopping. You're not going to dress like you're attending a funeral," she declares.

"What about Mom?" I ask nervously.

"They're not home, dummy," Alina says, rolling her eyes.

I shrug, taking a deep breath. This is definitely a bad idea, but at least I'm not the only one risking it.

"Go brush your teeth and shower," Nadia orders. "And please, for the love of God, dress normal."

She and Alina leave the room, giggling over something on Nadia's phone.

I sigh and rush to the en-suite bathroom to shower. After getting dressed in simple black jeans and a T-shirt, I look at myself in the mirror. It's not much, but at least I look presentable. When I step out of my room, I find Alina and Nadia giggling over something on Nadia's phone.

Nadia, as always, looks perfect. She's wearing a short brown leather skirt with a beige strapless bodysuit tucked in, paired with a brown leather jacket casually draped over her shoulders. Her stilettos click against the floorboards as she moves with the confidence of someone who knows they look good.

Alina, on the other hand, keeps it casual yet trendy with denim boyfriend jeans, a crop top, and a matching denim jacket.

"Let's go," Nadia says, flashing a dazzling smile as she leads the way.

I feel like I'm sixteen again, tagging along reluctantly. Nadia drives a sleek Tesla that gleams like it's fresh off the lot, a far cry from my old beat-up car—the one now tarnished by that stranger. I slide into the back seat, feeling out of place while Alina and Nadia dance and sing along to the rap music blasting from the stereo. I don't even recognize the artist, but they're clearly enjoying themselves.

When we arrive at the boutique, my stomach twists. Even from the outside, this place is out of my league. The polished glass doors and elegant displays scream luxury I can't afford.

Nadia strides in confidently, Alina close behind her, and I reluctantly follow.

Inside, the store is even more intimidating. Designer dresses hang neatly on racks, and every item looks like it costs more than my car.

"Nadia, these are expensive," I mutter, staring at a price tag that makes my heart drop.

"I told you, I'm paying," Nadia says, brushing me off with a wave of her hand. "Go on, Alina. You too, Ivy."

"How can you even afford this?" I ask, lowering my voice once Alina disappears into the dressing room.

Nadia smirks, grabbing a lace dress from the rack. "Modeling gigs, honey. And I've got a rich boyfriend. Now, stop overthinking and pick something hot."

She holds up a black dress with spaghetti straps and a thigh-high slit, practically shoving it into my hands.

"You should try this. It's hot," she says with a grin.

I hold the dress up to my body and frown. It's short—too short. The kind of dress designed to hug every curve and leave nothing to the imagination. Definitely not my style.

"Check me out, boo," Alina calls, stepping out of the dressing room in a sleeveless blue dress that clings to her perfectly.

"You're hot," Nadia says, clapping her hands.

"I'm keeping it," Alina says, spinning in front of the mirror.

Nadia turns her attention back to me. "Ivy, you're keeping that," she insists, pointing at the dress I'm still holding. She barely spares me a chance to protest before grabbing a purple lace dress for herself—a dress so sheer I can't believe she'd actually wear it.

After far too much convincing, I agree to keep the black dress. Nadia promises me it's "just for tonight."

It's 8 p.m., and Nadia takes it upon herself to make me look good. Alina is already ready, sitting in front of the mirror, busy perfecting her eyeliner and lipstick.

Nadia stretches my hair to make it look longer, her hands working quickly as she hums to herself. She tries to convince me to wear makeup, but I refuse.

I already feel uncomfortable enough in this dress. It's short, it's tight, and the slit exposes my thighs to the world. I can't even look at myself in the mirror without cringing.

Some people might call this normal, but nothing about tonight feels normal to me.

Mom and Dad are visiting their new church friend, Janell. I wonder how they'll react when they come home and realize their daughters aren't where they're supposed to be.

Sitting in the back seat of Nadia's Tesla, I watch Alina and Nadia sing along to the music playing on the stereo. This time, I recognize the artist—Rihanna. Alina is a die-hard fan, constantly talking about her.

We arrive at the club, and my stomach churns. I've never been to a club before. The pounding music, flashing lights, and throngs of people feel overwhelming.

"Let's get wasted, ladies!" Nadia cheers, leading the way.

I follow them in, my soul practically screaming at me to turn around. But I force myself to keep going, telling myself to at least try to have fun.

Nadia and Alina order drinks and head to a table in the corner. I sit back, taking in the scene around me.

"Whoa," I mutter, watching as Nadia and Alina drink like seasoned pros.

I cautiously take a sip of the liquor in front of me, only to immediately spit it back out. It's bitter and awful.

*How do they drink this stuff and make it look cool?* I whisper to myself.

"Nadia," a male voice calls out, pulling my attention.

I look up to see a tall, blonde man approaching our table. He's attractive in a rugged way, but there's something off about his demeanor.

"What the f**k do you want?" Nadia snaps, glaring at him.

"Come on, babe, don't be like that," the man says, flashing a grin. "I missed you. I've been calling, but your number isn't going through."

"That's because I blocked you, dude," Nadia says, crossing her arms. "We had s*x. It was nothing special. Move on."

The man's grin falters, his expression darkening. "b***h, you're gonna miss this d**k," he sneers.

Nadia laughs, unfazed. "In your dreams. And just so you know, it's tiny, and it couldn't even get the job done. Why don't you go sit on that, asshole?"

The man glares at her, his face turning red.

"Go f**k yourself, slut," he spits before storming off.

"That's what's up!" Alina squeals, raising her glass in triumph.

I excuse myself from the table, the tension leaving me unsettled.

"I'm going to grab something to drink," I say, but neither Nadia nor Alina pays me any attention.

At the bar, I wait for the bartender to notice me. The club feels suffocating, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat.

"Hey, pretty," a slurred voice says behind me.

I turn to see a man, clearly drunk, staggering toward me.

"You scared of me, sweetheart?" he asks, his tone sickly sweet.

"Stay away from me," I say, backing up a step.

He smirks, reaching out to grab my wrist. "Come on, I just want to talk."

"Little Saint..." the sound of the voice sends a chill down my spine. *What is he doing here?*

"What do you want with my girl?" he growls at the drunk man.

"Nothing, man. I didn't know she's yours," the drunk stammers, his voice shaking as he quickly lets go of my wrist.

"Good. Now, why don't you get the f**k out of here before you regret ever touching what's mine?" the gray-eyed stranger growls, his voice sharp and commanding.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," the drunk mutters, stumbling backward before scurrying off into the crowd.

I blink, my heart pounding.

*Okay, what just happened? And did this infuriatingly hot stranger just claim me as his?*

I look up at him, my wide eyes meeting his intense gray ones. He's already staring at me, that signature smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze steady and confident—like he knows exactly how much he's affecting me.

"Miss me?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

I swallow hard, unable to form words. My mind is racing, torn between irritation and a strange, inexplicable relief.

*Why does he keep showing up in my life? And why does my pulse quicken every time he's near?*