Chapter 5 Shattered Like Glass

Sunlight filtered softly through the glass walls of the penthouse bedroom, casting golden rays across the silk sheets that tangled around Ivy's bare legs. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The warmth of the morning, the scent of his cologne lingering on the pillows, the soreness between her thighs-it all felt like a dream.

Then she turned over and found Adrian already dressed.

He stood at the edge of the room, his back to her, buttoning the cuffs of a crisp white shirt. He didn't look at her. Didn't smile. Didn't speak.

"Good morning," she said, sitting up and pulling the sheet over her chest.

Her voice was shy. Hopeful.

Adrian turned at the sound-but his eyes were ice cold.

"We need to talk," he said, like it was a business meeting.

Ivy's smile faltered. Her heart skipped a beat.

"What is it?"

He exhaled, walked over to the edge of the bed, and sat-but not close. Not like a man who'd made love to her all night. Like a stranger. Like a boss about to fire his employee.

"I think we made a mistake," he said flatly.

A silence fell between them.

Ivy blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Last night," Adrian said, avoiding her eyes, "shouldn't have happened."

Her heart began to pound.

"Why are you saying this now?" she asked, her voice shaking. "You didn't seem to think it was a mistake when you were touching me... when you were inside me."

Adrian finally looked at her-and that was worse.

His expression was blank. Not a trace of emotion.

"That was sex, Ivy," he said bluntly. "Nothing more."

The words sliced through her like broken glass.

She stared at him, lips parted, breath caught in her throat. "Are you serious?"

He stood, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves again, as if talking about the weather.

"I'm not interested in a relationship," he continued. "I thought I was clear from the beginning."

"You said you didn't want the night to end," she whispered. "You kissed me like I meant something."

"You're reading too much into it," he said, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt. "It's better if we end whatever... this was. Before it gets messy."

Ivy felt the room spinning.

Her cheeks flushed red-not from passion, but from shame.

"So, that's it?" she asked, eyes glistening. "You use me and toss me aside like I'm nothing?"

Adrian didn't respond.

He didn't need to.

His silence screamed louder than any insult ever could.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of him. She climbed out of bed, clutching the sheet to her body, trembling from more than just the cold.

"Was I just another conquest?" she demanded. "Another girl you could check off your list?"

Still nothing.

Adrian turned his back again and picked up his watch, slipping it on like this conversation meant nothing.

That was her answer.

He wasn't going to fight for her. He wasn't even going to apologize.

Ivy's voice cracked as she said, "I hate you."

He flinched-barely.

"Good," he muttered. "Makes things easier."

That was the last straw.

She dressed quickly, fighting back sobs as she shoved her shoes on and grabbed her purse. She didn't say goodbye. She didn't need to.

She slammed the door behind her, and with it, closed the chapter of the night she gave her everything to a man who gave nothing back.

---

The cab ride home was a blur of tears.

Ivy sat in the backseat, arms wrapped around her knees, mascara running down her cheeks. She didn't care what the driver thought. Let them see her broken. Let the whole city see.

Her phone buzzed once.

It was a message from Adrian.

> "Let's keep things professional from now on."

Professional.

The word felt like poison in her mouth.

She threw her phone into her bag and let out a choked sob. Her chest ached, not from heartbreak-but from humiliation.

She had given him her first time. Her trust. Her heart.

And he discarded her like she was trash.

---

Ivy didn't go to work the next day.

Or the day after.

She sat on her couch, staring at the ceiling, numb. Her tiny apartment felt colder than usual, the silence pressing in like a suffocating blanket. The memory of Adrian's hands, his voice, his betrayal-it all looped in her mind like a bad movie.

Then came the rage.

She tore the framed photo of the company gala off her shelf and smashed it against the wall.

Shards of glass scattered across the floor-just like her heart.

"Never again," she whispered, breathless. "I will never let a man have that kind of power over me."

She reached for her laptop.

And typed a letter of resignation.

---

Dear Mr. Blackwood,

Effective immediately, I resign from my position at Blackwood Enterprises. Thank you for the opportunity.

I will not be returning.

Sincerely,

Ivy Winters

She clicked send. No regrets. No explanations.

Let him wonder. Let him choke on her silence the way she choked on his.

She shut the laptop and stood up, tears drying on her cheeks.

It was time to start over.

---

Three weeks later, Ivy stood in front of a small, vacant shop space in Brooklyn.

It wasn't much. The paint was chipped, the windows dusty. But she saw more than a rundown store.

She saw freedom.

She saw the life she once dreamed about before she got tangled in a billionaire's games.

Sweet Ivy Bakery.

She'd been baking since she was fifteen-learning from a neighbor who owned a small cake business. When her mom died, baking became therapy. She had nearly forgotten that joy.

But now, it was all coming back.

She used her small savings and quit crying over luxury penthouses and men with cold eyes.

The first week, she painted the walls a warm peach color. She scrubbed the counters, fixed the lights, and set up her old mixer.

The second week, she opened the doors.

And people came.

Her cupcakes were soft and sweet. Her cookies melted in mouths. Her lemon tarts got featured on a local foodie blog.

For the first time in weeks, Ivy smiled-not because of a man, not because of a kiss-but because of herself.

---

But late at night... the scars lingered.

She would lie in bed and remember the way Adrian looked at her before everything fell apart. She'd remember his hands, his lips, the promises he didn't make, and the ones she imagined.

She hated herself for missing him.

But she hated him even more for making her feel like she was disposable.

Sometimes she wondered if he ever thought about her.

If he regretted anything.

But she never reached out.

And he never did either.

Good.

Let him live in his glass tower of money and lies.

Ivy had something better now-peace.

---

One rainy afternoon, as she arranged pastries in her display case, a customer walked in.

"Is this the Sweet Ivy everyone's been raving about?" the woman asked.

"That's me," Ivy said with a proud smile.

The woman looked around the cozy space, smiling at the warm scent of sugar and spice. "It's beautiful in here. You can feel the love."

Ivy's eyes softened. "Thank you."

Because that's what she had learned.

Love wasn't about diamonds and private jets.

It wasn't about charm or power or sex.

Love was in the things you built with your own hands.

Love was warm bread and a heart that refused to stay broken.

---

That night, she wrote in her journal:

> I lost him... but I found myself. And she's worth far more than any billionaire.