Chapter 2:Love on Trial

The morning sun should have cast peace over the Bennett estate. Instead, it bled tension into every marble corner. Ivy sat frozen on the edge of her bed, phone clutched tightly in her hands as if letting go might destroy her.

The screen blazed with headlines.

Billionaire's Daughter in Secret Affair with Father's Best Friend?

Exclusive: Ivy Bennett and Marcus Hale Spotted in Late-Night Rendezvous Abroad

Is the Bennett Empire Cracking Under Scandal?

It wasn't just the press anymore. It was war. Ivy felt stripped bare—her private moments dissected, her name dragged through every tabloid, her image devoured by hungry commenters online.

She barely noticed the knock on her bedroom door until Eliza pushed it open, her face pale with disbelief. "It's everywhere, Ivy. Social media, business channels, even the international networks."

"How?" Ivy whispered, throat dry. "No one followed us. No one knew."

"Someone did," Eliza said grimly. "And they wanted this to explode."

Ivy stood, her movements mechanical. "Where's my father?"

"In the study. He locked the door. He hasn't come out since the story broke."

Fear gripped her chest like a vice. She didn't even change out of her silk pajamas as she rushed down the stairs, nearly slipping on the polished floors. She stopped outside the study and knocked.

No answer.

"Dad? It's me. Please... open the door."

The lock clicked, slowly. The door opened just enough to reveal her father's drawn face, weary and strained. Graham Bennett looked like a man not just betrayed by the world, but by something closer.

"Ivy," he said quietly. "Is it true?"

Her lips parted. "Dad..."

"Is it true?"

She couldn't lie. Not to him. Not now.

"Yes."

A long silence followed. Her father turned away, walking slowly to the bar across the room. He poured a glass of scotch but didn't drink. His hand trembled.

"Do you have any idea what this means?" he said, voice low. "To the board? To the investors? To my name? To you?"

Ivy stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I never meant for this to happen."

"You think that matters?" he snapped, spinning to face her. "You could have been with any man, Ivy. Any! But you chose him."

"I didn't choose to feel this way," she said, her voice rising. "It happened. And I tried to fight it. We both did."

Her father turned away again, exhaling a long, ragged breath. "They think I've lost control of my life. Of my family."

"You haven't. You still have me."

He said nothing.

Outside the study, the storm intensified. News vans arrived. Reporters yelled Ivy's name through the iron gates. Stock prices fluttered as uncertainty gripped the company.

And then came Marcus.

He arrived in a black SUV, stepping out in a crisp suit, surrounded by his personal security. Cameras surged. His calm, commanding presence was a stark contrast to the chaos.

He entered the mansion without a word, striding through the chaos to the study where Graham Bennett still stood, broken.

Marcus opened the door without knocking. Ivy turned sharply at the sound. Graham looked up slowly.

"You," he said. One word, heavy with history and hurt.

"Let me explain," Marcus said, stepping inside.

"Explain?" Graham laughed bitterly. "You were my brother in arms. You carried my secrets. You watched my daughter grow up. And this is how you repay me?"

Marcus didn't flinch. "It started with a text. I should have stopped. I didn't. And now I'm standing in front of you because I still believe in this family. In her."

Ivy stood silently between them, heart hammering in her chest.

Graham turned to her. "Go upstairs."

"Dad—"

"Now."

She hesitated, then left, her legs weak. Behind her, the door shut. Muffled voices exploded into shouting.

Minutes turned to an hour.

When the study door opened again, Marcus emerged alone. His jaw was clenched. His eyes found hers briefly, regret flashing through them like lightning.

"What did he say?" Ivy asked.

"He doesn't want to see either of us right now," Marcus replied. "He needs time."

"What do we do now?"

He looked out the window, where drones hovered and the press salivated.

"Now? We survive. Together. Or not at all."

As he turned and walked away, Ivy felt the full weight of their situation press onto her shoulders.

The moment Ivy stepped out of the black SUV, a wall of flashing lights and shouting voices slammed into her like a tidal wave.

"Ivy! Ivy Bennett! Is it true you're Marcus Hale's lover?"

"What does your father think about your affair with his best friend?"

"Did Marcus groom you since you were a teenager?"

The barrage of questions clawed at her ears. She blinked, dazed, half-blinded by camera flashes that lit up the night like lightning. Her heels clicked against the marble pavement as she tried to move forward, flanked by two stunned security guards clearly unprepared for the media ambush.

She'd only planned to attend the Blackwood Foundation's annual charity auction—a quiet, elegant affair meant to distract from the chaos surrounding her father's health. But the moment she arrived, it was clear her world had shifted.

Somebody had leaked it.

The rumors weren't just whispered in boardrooms anymore. They were splashed across headlines, shouted by paparazzi, and dissected by gossip blogs.

A grainy photo had started it all—her leaning into Marcus at the airport. His hand on the small of her back. Her soft smile. A moment so intimate, so telling, that no statement could undo it.

She shoved past the cameras, ignoring the sea of questions. Her chest tightened as she climbed the steps into the hall, where the glow of chandeliers and soft jazz provided a false sense of calm. But inside, Ivy's pulse thundered.

She found a side room and locked herself in. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone.

Trending: #MarcusAndIvy, #BennettScandal, #DaddyIssues

She scrolled until her thumb ached. The photos were everywhere. Screenshots of her and Marcus in hotel lobbies. Tweets speculating about when the affair began. Her name was on fire.

Later that night, she sat curled on the velvet chaise in her bedroom, heart pounding, scrolling through hate-filled messages and disapproving articles. Every buzz of her phone was another headline, another knife.

Eliza appeared at the door with hollow eyes. "The board is threatening to push your father into early retirement if the PR disaster isn't contained."

Ivy didn't respond.

Eliza sighed. "He hasn't spoken all day. I think he's waiting to see what you'll do."

"Tell him I'm not going to grovel for loving someone," she whispered, throat tight.

"You loved him?"

Ivy didn't answer. Eliza closed the door silently behind her.

Thousands of miles away, in his Manhattan penthouse, Marcus Hale leaned over the glass conference table, surrounded by his PR team. Screens flashed with Ivy's photos. The room buzzed with tension.

"You need to publicly deny the relationship," his lead publicist said. "Say it's a fabrication."

Marcus didn't look up. "It's not."

"It doesn't matter. The narrative is spiraling. Investors are getting cold feet. Your company is tied to the Bennetts—"

"I don't care what they think."

Another advisor chimed in. "Then at least distance yourself from Ivy. Say she's young. Confused."

Marcus's gaze turned ice cold. "Get out. All of you."

The room emptied in nervous silence.

As the door shut, he pulled out his phone and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.

"Ivy—"

"You saw?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Yes. I'm fixing it."

"You can't fix the truth."

He paused. "Then let's own it. Together."

"They want me to leave the estate. My father's furious."

"I'll come get you. Tonight."

"No," she whispered. "I don't want you involved. I don't want you hurt."

He exhaled heavily. "Too late for that. I've never wanted anything like I want you. If we burn, we burn."

The line went quiet. Then: "I miss you."

"I miss you more," she said.

The next morning, the silence at the Bennett estate was louder than any tabloid headline. Ivy came downstairs to find her father seated at the dining table, untouched coffee in front of him.

He looked up, dark eyes weary. "Sit."

She obeyed.

"I trusted him," he said slowly. "Like a brother. I let him into our home, our lives."

"He didn't betray you," she said. "We didn't plan this."

"You think I care if it was planned?" he snapped. "What do you think the board is saying right now? That I can't manage my company—or my daughter."

Ivy flinched. "I'm sorry."

"You say you love him?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll make a choice. Him—or this family."

She felt her chest crack. "You'd really make me choose?"

"I already have."

Tears stung her eyes. She stood slowly. "Then I'll go."

His silence was answer enough.

That night, Ivy arrived at a penthouse overlooking Central Park. The doorman had her name. The keys were waiting.

Inside, the space was warm, modern—Marcus's touch in every line.

In her suitcase, she found an envelope with her name in delicate handwriting. It wasn't Marcus's.

She opened it. A letter from her late mother.

"If you're reading this, it means you're grown. I always feared the day you'd have to choose between love and loyalty. There are people in your father's world who wear masks—even those closest to him. Be careful who you trust, my love. Not every kind smile is a safe one. And if Marcus Hale is still around… remember what I told you about wolves in silk suits."

Her hands trembled.

A wolf in a silk suit.

Marcus had been her escape. Her desire. Her sanctuary.

But what if he was also her undoing?

She stared out at the glowing skyline, heart racing.

"What if I was just a piece on the board…?" she whispered.