The morning after their explosive argument, Ivy remained locked away in her room, unable to face Victor. The weight of his anger still lingered, her heart heavy with hurt.
Downstairs, Victor paced the penthouse, his regret growing with each passing hour. He knew he'd lashed out unfairly, his demons using Ivy as a scapegoat.
As the day dragged on, Victor's anxiety intensified. He waited, hoping Ivy would emerge from her self-imposed exile, giving him a chance to apologize.
He knew he'd hurt her, unjustly taking out his frustrations on the one person who loved him unconditionally. Ivy was innocent, her only crime being her love for him.
Victor's thoughts swirled with self-reproach. Why had he yelled at her? Why had he pushed her away?
The hours ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Victor's eyes remained fixed on the staircase, willing Ivy to appear.
But the door remained shut, a physical barrier between them.