Chapter 1:The proposal

Ivy stood frozen in the middle of the ballroom, the clink of champagne glasses and hum of expensive laughter fading into white noise. All eyes were on her, and not because of the diamond-studded gown that shimmered with every breath she took. No—every stare was locked on the man kneeling before her.

"Ivy Sinclair," he said, his voice rich, steady, practiced. "Will you marry me?"

The question should've made her heart race. It should've made her hands tremble with joy.

But it didn't.

Because standing just beyond the crowd, half in the shadows and wholly forbidden, was Marcus Blackwell—her father's best friend. His gaze met hers across the room. Dark. Intense. Burning with something that should never exist between a man like him and a girl like her.

She didn't even hear herself say, "No."

Gasps erupted around her like fireworks. The man on one knee blinked, disbelief washing over his face. Ivy didn't stay to explain. She turned and fled, stilettos echoing down the marble hallway, her heart racing not with fear or shame—but with freedom.

She didn't stop until she was outside, beneath the moonlight. The cool air stung her skin, but it was the heat of her thoughts that consumed her.

How had everything spiraled so fast? How had a weekend trip with her father's best friend turned into this… a tangled mess of forbidden emotions, desperate choices, and the kind of love that could ruin everything?

Her phone buzzed.

A message.

Marcus: Where are you?

Ivy's heels clicked sharply against the hotel lobby's marble floor, the sound echoing like a metronome to her fury. She stormed past the receptionist, ignoring the curious glances that followed her. Her heart thundered in her chest, not from fear, but from the reckless adrenaline of what she was about to do.

Room 1502.

Her hand shook slightly as she lifted it to knock. She didn't even know what she was going to say—only that she couldn't go another minute without confronting the man who had effortlessly turned her world inside out.

The door opened before she could knock.

Marcus stood there, in a white shirt with the first two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, and a familiar look of concern etched on his face.

"Ivy—"

"Don't," she interrupted, pushing past him into the room. "Don't say my name like that."

He closed the door gently. "Like what?"

"Like you didn't just leave me back there, in front of everyone. Like nothing happened."

Marcus exhaled slowly, as if weighing every word before releasing it. "You know why I did it."

"No, I don't," Ivy snapped, whirling around. "I really don't. Because last night, I thought—no, I felt—like you actually wanted me."

"I do," he said quietly. "I do want you."

The silence between them snapped taut like a violin string.

"Then why are you acting like we're some kind of mistake?"

"Because we are," Marcus said, his voice rough. "You're twenty years old, Ivy. You're my best friend's daughter. I've known you since you were a baby. I'm supposed to protect you—not ruin you."

She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if I don't feel ruined?"

He looked at her then—really looked at her. Not as the girl he'd known for years, but as a woman. A woman standing in front of him with fire in her eyes and heartbreak cracking through her chest.

Marcus cursed under his breath and took a step back, dragging a hand through his hair. "This isn't just about us. There are lines I can't cross. Your father—"

"My father isn't the one who kissed me last night," Ivy cut in. "You did."

"Ivy—"

"No," she said, taking a shaky breath. "You don't get to pretend anymore. I've lived in the shadow of everyone else's expectations for so long—being the good daughter, the perfect heiress. For once in my life, I did something reckless. I wanted you."

Marcus stared at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't solve. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I'm asking you not to lie. To yourself. To me."

A beat of silence. Then another.

And then, just as Ivy turned toward the door, tears threatening to spill, Marcus caught her wrist.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since the first night you walked into that gala in that green dress," he said hoarsely. "You were supposed to be off-limits. Untouchable. And I've been fighting every instinct in my body since then."

Ivy froze.

"I see you everywhere," he went on, his voice raw. "In every hotel corridor. In every boardroom. Every time I close my eyes."

"Then stop fighting it," she whispered.

Marcus looked at her like he was drowning. And then—just like that—he pulled her in.

The kiss wasn't soft or gentle. It was desperate. A war of longing and restraint finally lost. His arms wrapped around her waist as her fingers tangled in his shirt. The air was thick with emotion—grief, passion, forbidden desire.

But when they finally broke apart, reality returned like a slap.

Ivy stepped back. "I can't give you what you want, Marcus , Not yet."

She didn't cry this time. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm not asking you to," He said coldly, . "Just don't come running when someone else does."

The early morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Bennett estate like a revelation—sharp, unwavering, and unwelcome. The living room was already crowded with hushed voices and tense footsteps. Security personnel flanked the perimeter while staff rushed between calls, newspapers, and television broadcasts.

Ivy descended the stairs slowly, a frown etched into her face. The air was heavy, as though the walls themselves braced for impact. Her father's trusted assistant, Eliza, met her at the base of the staircase with a tablet in hand and eyes wide with anxiety.

"It's all over the media," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Ivy took the tablet and scrolled through the headlines, her breath catching as she read:

IVY BENNETT CAUGHT IN SECRET AFFAIR WITH MARCUS HALE!SCANDAL ROCKS BILLIONAIRE CIRCLE – BENNETT HEIR IN ROMANTIC ENTANGLEMENT WITH FATHER'S BEST FRIENDIS GRAHAM BENNETT LOSING CONTROL OF HIS BUSINESS AND FAMILY?

Photos of Ivy and Marcus at the airport, in restaurants, and even candid moments inside cars flashed across the screen. One particularly damning photo showed them in a tight, private embrace on the balcony of a luxury suite in Paris.

Eliza's voice shook. "Someone sold this story to the press. These weren't taken by accident. This was planned."

Ivy's heart thundered. The memories came in sharp fragments—brief stolen moments, words whispered between meetings, the warmth of Marcus's hand on hers. But it was supposed to be discreet. Hidden.

She looked past Eliza, through the wide glass doors that opened to the courtyard. Reporters already crowded outside the estate gates. Cameras flashed. Drones hovered.

She turned sharply. "Where's my father?"

"In his study. He saw it all. He's... not taking it well."

Ivy handed the tablet back and walked with purpose. She stopped before the study door, braced herself, and knocked.

No response.

She pushed the door open. Her father sat at his desk, the curtains drawn, casting the room into dim shadow. His face was pale, eyes sunken with disappointment and exhaustion. A newspaper lay open in front of him, the headlines screaming betrayal.

"Dad..."

Graham looked up slowly. "How could you do this to me?"

Her voice faltered. "I didn't mean—"

"To humiliate me? To make our name a mockery?" he snapped. "Marcus Hale? My best friend? Do you know what this looks like to the world?"

Ivy stepped forward. "We didn't plan for this to happen. It just did. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't mean to? Ivy, I'm fighting for control of my company, for my health, and now this scandal? They're saying I can't lead because I've lost control of my own daughter!"

Tears welled in Ivy's eyes, but she held them back. "I'll fix this."

"You won't. This is beyond fixing." His voice dropped. "You need to stay out of sight for a while. No press, no interviews. Let Marcus handle the damage."

Her heart stung, but she nodded. "Okay."

As if summoned by fate, Eliza stepped into the room. "Marcus Hale is on the line, sir. He's calling from New York."

Graham's jaw clenched. "Patch him through."

The speaker buzzed.

"Graham."

"Marcus," Graham's voice was cold. "We've got a mess."

"I know. I'm doing damage control. I've spoken to my PR team, and I'm flying back tonight. I'll face this head-on."

"You better. The board's asking if I've lost my grip—not just on the company, but on my family. You need to distance yourself, Marcus."

There was silence. Then Marcus spoke. "I care about Ivy. I won't hide from this."

Graham's tone hardened. "Then you've chosen your side."

The line went dead.

Ivy stood frozen.

"I said go to your room," her father said without looking at her.

As she walked out, her steps hollow and slow, she could feel the walls closing in. Everything was unraveling faster than she could control. But one thing was clear—this wasn't just about a scandal.

It was war.

And Ivy Bennett wasn't backing down.