Chapter 32: Paris & Ireland

Ivey's Pov

The hotel room was beautiful—soft white sheets, balcony doors that opened to the sounds of the city, and everything smelled of lavender and luxury. We had just dropped our bags when I collapsed onto the bed.

"This is heaven," I mumbled into the pillow.

Kayla laughed. "No, Paris is heaven. And you're not about to waste your first night here sleeping."

I groaned dramatically. "We've been on a plane forever. My soul is tired."

"Your soul can recharge while looking at the Eiffel Tower," she said, tugging at my arm.

Somehow, she won—she always did. Thirty minutes later, we were dressed in cute but comfy outfits and out on the cobblestone streets, lit by golden lamps and the buzz of a city that never really sleeps.

Seeing the Eiffel Tower lit up for the first time was… something I'll never forget. It shimmered like magic, tall and elegant against the deep blue sky. We took a ton of pictures, laughed at tourists trying to get the "perfect angle," and then settled at a cozy little restaurant just down the street.

The food was incredible—some kind of creamy pasta dish I couldn't pronounce but devoured like I hadn't eaten in weeks. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Lucas with a quick message:

To Lucas: 

"France might steal my heart with this food"

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

From Lucas: 

"Not if I can help it. Enjoy it, you deserve it."

From Lucas:

"Also, I'm kinda jealous. Irish food isn't nearly as charming."

We went back and forth a bit—nothing too deep, just easy, flirty banter. But it still made my chest feel warm.

Back at the hotel, Kayla and I grabbed some ice cream from the lobby freezer, curled up under the blankets, and binge-watched a random French rom-com series with subtitles. We made it to episode four before both of us passed out, still in our clothes, ice cream containers on the nightstand.

Lucas's Pov

I'd arrived in Dublin early that morning, and the second I stepped off the plane, everything felt familiar in a way that made me both nostalgic and on edge. The accents, the grey skies, the streets I knew by heart—it was all home, and it wasn't.

I met up with my old friends around noon. We grabbed lunch, walked along the canal, and joked like nothing had changed. It felt good to be around them again. Easy.

Until she showed up.

Emma.

We ran into each other at a small bookstore—of all places. She froze, I froze. Then she gave that smile. The one I used to fall for. The one that now just made me feel uneasy.

"Lucas," she said like my name still belonged to her.

"Emma," I replied, flatly.

At first we were good together, but it never stayed that way with us. She brought up the past like it was yesterday. I kept my voice steady, but my jaw was tight the entire time.

"You moved on fast, didn't you?" she said bitterly. "Is she another girl who doesn't know the full story yet?"

That hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

"I've changed, and she's not like you" I said quietly. "She doesn't pretend."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You think you're so different now. But secrets always have a way of coming out. Just remember what happened last time."

That stung. Not because she was right—but because I was scared she might be.

I left without looking back.

Later that night, alone in my room, I kept staring at Ivey's texts. The pictures. Her smile. Her excitement. The way she made me feel safe just by talking to me.

But under all of it was this voice, whispering: What if it all falls apart again? What if I lose her the way I lost everything before?

I wanted to be better. For her. For myself. But I couldn't shake the fear.

I couldn't sleep.

My old room in Ireland hadn't changed much — same posters, same photos, same ceiling cracks I used to count when I couldn't shut my brain off. The only thing that felt different was me. And I wasn't even sure how different I really was.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

From Ivey: 

"Pretty sure we found heaven in croissant form. Miss annoying you in person tho."

The picture was of her and Kayla at a café, Ivey mid-bite, grinning. Her face looked happy — truly happy. It made something in my chest ache.

Because she doesn't know.

Not really.

She doesn't know that the reason I left Ireland wasn't just "a fresh start." It was damage control.

Back then, I ran with the wrong people — the kind of kids who saw rules as suggestions and fights as entertainment. But none of it really mattered. My family had money. My father had power. Everything bad could be swept away, hidden beneath the surface like dirt under a rug.

Until the rug got pulled.

My father's company started falling apart — fast. Layoffs. Lawsuits. Threats. The empire cracked, and we went from penthouse living to scraping by in a smaller house, in a different part of the city.

I had to transfer to a cheaper school. And surprisingly, things got better — at first. My new friends were different. Fierce, loyal, and messy in a way that felt real. They didn't start fights for status — they fought to protect one another. I stopped getting into as much trouble. I started breathing again.

And then came Emma.

She was bright and warm in all the right ways. And she listened. I told her about everything — the bankruptcy, the anxiety, how I hated watching my father break a little more every day. She never judged. She held me when I couldn't hold myself.

We were perfect.

Until the truth ripped that illusion apart.

Flashback

It was after school — cold air, empty halls. I walked in on Emma laughing with someone I hadn't seen in months. One of my enemies from my old life — the kind who smiled when they cut you down.

They both looked up when they saw me. Emma didn't flinch.

"Lucas," she said sweetly, almost too sweet. "You made it just in time."

I asked what was going on.

And that's when she told me.

She never loved me.

It was all a game. A setup. Her part in some long revenge plan made by the people who hated me — people I thought I'd escaped. She had been gathering information, feeding it back to them. And now she was done.

"You really thought someone like me would love someone like you?" she laughed. "You're not special, Lucas. You're just a charity case with a pretty face and a ruined family name."

And then she said it.

Loud. Cruel. In front of everyone who was just beginning to walk past.

"Lucas isn't rich anymore. He's broke. His dad lost everything."

It spread like wildfire. By the next day, everyone knew. I became the punchline to every whisper in the hallway. People treated me like I was contagious — like being poor was a disease they didn't want to catch.

And the fights started again. But this time, it wasn't pride. It was survival.

My friends stood with me at first. But nothing was the same. The world had changed. I had changed.

Then came the day that really ended everything.

It was my father's birthday.

He had been working non-stop for months, trying to salvage what was left of the company. That night, I went to check on him — maybe wish him a happy birthday, maybe just… sit with him in the quiet.

But when I opened the office door, my world stopped.

There was a man standing over my father. A gun in his hand. My father's hands were up, trembling.

I froze.

"Lucas," my dad said, eyes wide. "Go. Now."

But I didn't move. I stepped forward. I shouted. I tried to stop it.

The man didn't hesitate.

One shot.

Just one.

The sound still rings in my ears.

I lunged at the guy. Everything went red. I don't even remember how many times I hit him — only that, when I stopped, he was on the floor and not moving.

I crawled to my dad, begging him to wake up. To hold on.

But it was too late.

The door burst open behind me. Voices. Sirens. Hands pulling me back. Everything blurred, like I was underwater and couldn't breathe.

The last thing I remember was my father being wheeled away on a stretcher.

And me screaming until I couldn't anymore.

End of flashback

That's the truth.

That's what I left behind.

Not just a ruined family. Not just betrayal. Not just poverty.

I left behind blood.

And now, when I see Ivey smiling like I'm something good — something safe — I want to believe her. I want to believe I can be that version of myself again.

But deep down, I wonder…

If she knew everything…

Would she still want me?

1 New message - Ivey

From Ivey: 

"Promise me you won't forget to text me tomorrow. You're not escaping me that easily"

To Ivey : 

"Promise. Every day. Until we're back."

I hit send. Then put my phone face-down.

And stared at the ceiling, wondering how long I could keep pretending to be someone worthy of her trust, but also if I should trust her in the first place.