Ivy's POV
Chapter 2
The shadow never really left me, It had slipped into my apartment one yesterday, silent as breath, and by the time I had realized it, the door had already clicked shut again. A long dark figure stretching across my wall, and then gone like it had stepped into my life only to remind me that I was never really safe.
Sometimes I wondered if I had imagined it, maybe it was just my exhaustion or maybe it was a trick of the light. Or I would catch myself staring at the door, expecting it to open again.
That thought lingered with me even now, in the middle of class, while Maya gushed about Paris.
“Ivy, can you believe this?”
Maya, the girl who sat beside me in class, leaned over with her glossy hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulder. She turned her laptop toward me. A picture of her and her friends standing in front of the Eiffel Tower filled the screen. “We just came back from Paris last week, It was amazing.”
I forced a smile. “Wow, that looks beautiful.”
“It was.” She sighed dramatically, then pushed the laptop back in front of her. “You have to travel someday, Ivy. You can’t just stay stuck here forever.”
Traveling, I could barely pay my rent. But I nodded anyway, hoping she wouldn’t see through my mask.
At school, I always felt like an outsider, most of my classmates wore designer sneakers and carried the latest laptops that never froze mid-assignment.
I had an old, secondhand computer that sometimes took ten minutes just to load a file. They talked about summer trips to Italy, shopping in Dubai, or skiing in Aspen. Me? I silently wondered if I had enough money to buy groceries that week.
Still, I held on to my dream of becoming a writer who told stories that mattered, stories about people like me who fought every day just to keep going.
The professor’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Please remember, your essays are due next Monday, no late submissions.”
I scribbled the deadline in my notebook. As soon as the lecture ended, I packed my things. Maya and a few others were already planning where to have lunch, tossing names of expensive restaurants around like it was nothing.
“Ivy, you coming?” Maya asked, sliding her designer bag over her shoulder.
“Can’t, I have work.”
She gave me a look half pity, half confusion
then shrugged and walked away with the others.
Another classmate blocked my path as I was about to leave.
“Do you ever think about the future, Ivy?” Jordan asked me.
“All the time,” I answered, hugging my notebook to my chest.
“Like, what kind of car you want, where you will live, who you will marry-”
I laughed softly. “I don’t even think about that. I just want to write, that’s all.”
He shook his head, grinning. “You are weird.”
Maybe I was, but writing was the only thing that made sense.
By the time I stepped out of campus, the sun was high, and the streets were crowded. My stomach growled, but I didn’t have time to stop. I had to make it to my shift at the diner.
The diner was small and smelled like coffee and fried food. I tied on my apron and got to work, refilling cups and delivering plates of burgers and fries. The regulars barely looked at me. I had gotten used to blending into the background, just another tired waitress trying to survive.
“Order up!” The cook yelled from the kitchen window, sliding plates onto the counter.
I rushed over, picked up two, and headed to a booth where a man sat scrolling through his phone. He didn’t even thank me when I set the food down.
Hours passed like that, back and forth, table to table. By the end of my shift, my feet ached. But I didn’t have time to rest. I checked the clock, tossed my apron aside, and hurried out.
My second job awaited.
The catering company had booked me for a charity gala that evening. When I arrived at the venue, my breath caught for a moment. The place was like a palace marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and guests in gowns and tuxedos. I stood there in my plain black uniform, holding a tray, invisible.
“Come on, Ivy, keep moving,” one of the supervisors whispered, handing me a stack of champagne glasses.
I nodded and passed through the crowd, carrying the tray as carefully as I could. Guests laughed and clinked glasses, their jewelry sparkling under the lights. To them, I was just a shadow.
“Excuse me, miss,” a man waved me over.
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed a glass from my tray without even looking at me. His hand brushed mine, then he turned back to his conversation about stocks and real estate. I was nothing but a server to him.
I moved from group to group, offering drinks, my smile fixed in place. The music played softly in the background, a live band filling the hall with elegant notes. My feet throbbed, but I kept walking.
Two hours in, I finally got a moment to breathe. I passed by the bar, setting my empty tray down for a refill. That’s when a large screen above the bar caught my attention.
The gala organizers had set it up to show the evening’s news. Most people weren’t watching; they were too busy mingling. But my eyes drifted to the screen anyway.
The broadcast was about business, the anchor’s voice echoing across the room. But it wasn’t her words that held me, it was the man whose face filled the screen.
Damian Blackthorn.
Even if you didn’t know much about the billionaire world, you knew his name. Everyone did, he was one of the youngest, richest CEOs alive, owner of Blackthorn Enterprises, and a man whispered about in both admiration and fear.
“Tonight,” the anchor said, “Damian Blackthorn is set to receive the award for the youngest top CEO of the year…”
I blinked at the screen, my tray still in my hands, my breath caught in my throat.
Now, standing at the gala, looking at Damian Blackthorn’s face on the screen, something stirred in me. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t look away.
The camera zoomed in on him walking across a stage, dark suit tailored perfectly, his expression unreadable. People clapped, flashes went off, and he didn’t smile. He looked cold, distant, like a man who carried the world but never let it touch him.
Around me, laughter and chatter filled the air. No one else seemed to care, but for me, time slowed.
It felt like the moment before a storm,.I tightened my grip on the tray. For reasons I couldn’t explain, my chest ached.
Damian Blackthorn’s life was galaxies away from mine. He was power, wealth, and mystery. I was a broke student in a thrift shop dress, waiting tables just to survive.
Still, something about him pulled me in.
“Ivy!” my supervisor’s voice snapped me out of it. “Don’t just stand there, keep moving.”
I tore my gaze from the screen, forcing my feet to move again, but my mind lingered on his face.
Damian Blackthorn.
