The door shut behind me with a softness that did not match the force moving through the room I had left.
For three steps, I heard nothing.
Then I heard him.
"Ivy."
Not the low, private version this time.
My name hit the hallway sharp enough to bounce.
I did not stop.
The private corridor leading back to the elevator was absurdly quiet, all cream stone, dark metal, and money polished into submission. It felt designed to carry good news and discreet affairs, not the sound of a marriage breaking in real time.
Behind me, a door opened hard enough to make the wall answer.
"Ivy, stop."
I kept walking.
Not quickly. That was the important part.
Panic rushes. Fear rushes. Women being chased through bad choices rush.
I pressed the elevator call button once and stood there with my good s
