Chapter 2

Ivy Laurent POV

The meeting with Ethan went surprisingly smoothly.

Ethan wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a refined, scholarly air. He spoke softly and politely.

He didn't have Lucas's aggressive presence. He was like a glass of warm water.

Good for quenching thirst. Good for living a stable life.

"Miss Laurent, the matchmaker should have told you about my situation."

Ethan refilled my water glass.

"Next month I'll be going to New York. I'll probably settle there permanently. If you're willing, we can get married first, and you can join me after you've settled things here."

The pace was absurdly fast, like completing a task.

But I only thought for three seconds.

"Okay."

Ethan looked up, somewhat surprised.

"Don't you want to think about it more? After all, marriage is a big decision."

"No need to think about it."

I looked down, stirring the water in my glass.

"I want a change of environment. A fresh start."

Ethan smiled, genuinely pleased.

"What a coincidence. So do I."

We hit it off immediately.

Though the meal lacked passion, it was remarkably relaxed.

No one needed to look up to anyone. No one needed to force themselves to read obscure philosophy books or learn difficult video games just to cater to the other person.

Since I'd decided to leave, the first thing I did when I returned to the office was submit my resignation.

The editor-in-chief Mr. Evans looked at my resignation letter, frowning.

"It's not that I won't let you go. You're one of the pillars here. Losing you would be a real loss. Plus, you haven't finished that London's New Elite feature yet."

He tapped the desk, offering a deal.

"Here's what we'll do. The first subject is Lucas Brooks. Everyone in London knows he never gives interviews, but you know him. As long as you can get his exclusive, even just ten minutes, I'll sign off immediately and double your bonus for the month."

My fingers holding the resignation letter went pale.

Lucas Brooks.

Lucas Brooks again.

I couldn't shake his name no matter how hard I tried.

"Mr. Evans, could we get someone else?"

"No."

Mr. Evans's tone was firm.

"Only you can do this. If this article doesn't get done, your resignation process could take three months."

I stood at the end of the hallway, looking out at the gray sky, silent for a long time.

To leave London cleanly. To completely sever the past.

One last meeting.

After seeing him this one time, never again.

I pulled out my phone and found the number I'd kept at the top of my contacts for eight years but never dared to call.

My fingertip hovered over the screen, trembling, then finally pressed down.

It rang once before being answered.

The background was noisy, like people playing cards, then footsteps, and the surroundings quieted.

Lucas's voice came through the receiver, carrying a careless, teasing quality.

"You've been avoiding me for three days. Finally willing to call?"

So he knew I'd been avoiding him.

I took a deep breath and spoke in a businesslike tone.

"Mr. Brooks, our magazine would like to do an interview with you. When would you be available?"

Two seconds of silence on the other end, then a soft scoff.

"Ivy Laurent, since when did you learn to be so formal with me?"

Lucas seemed to be in a good mood. He wasn't angry about the distant form of address.

"I'm at the club. Come now."

"It's working hours..."

"Then forget the interview."

Lucas cut me off, his tone carrying its usual arrogance and control.

"If I don't see you within half an hour, the interview's cancelled."

He hung up without waiting for a response.

I looked at the darkened screen and put my phone away.

I turned and called to the photographer.

"Let's go. To the club."

The photographer looked shocked.

"That place? He's there? My god, you're amazing. You actually got him to agree!"

I said nothing.

Amazing?

This was a "privilege" I'd bought with eight years of blood and tears.

And today, I was going to tear that privilege to shreds and throw it in the trash.