LOVE'S LABYRINTH: A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

IVY GALANIS’ POV

Am I ready for this? To confront my greatest fear, to confirm my darkest suspicions. I don't want to believe Maya’s words, but she has provided proof. 

Evidence.

This moment—I have dreaded it. Not because I don't trust my husband; what comes after is where my distrust lies.

I tear at the plain brown envelope on my lap with shaky hands. Its content spills out, and the information it carries shatters my heart to bits. It is almost laughable how the envelope is too light to weigh this much, too cruel to even exist.

My breath hitches. My world seems to fold in on itself.

How could Julian do this to me?

Everything freezes. Even the clock on the wall seems to hold its breath.

Maybe she is wrong, I tell myself. Maybe it is a misunderstanding. But deep down, I know I am just making excuses to salvage what is left of my broken heart.

He once said control was a form of care. That keeping me sheltered was his way of keeping me safe. I believed him. I always believed him. Because people like me don’t recognize danger when it looks this calm, this composed, this certain.

The first photo cuts deeper than any blade ever could. His hand around her waist. His lips near her ear. That lazy smirk that once made my pulse race now makes me sick.

The second one is worse.

Skin. Movement. Sin captured in flesh.

It is strange how betrayal doesn’t sound like thunder. It is quiet. Cold. It creeps into your ribs and just settles there.

This marriage was supposed to be my safe haven, my lifeline. It was supposed to be a place I could finally breathe, a place to heal. I was not asking for much; I only needed an escape. I thought I had found this in Julian, but I could not have been more wrong. The man in these photos can't be the person I married, or maybe he was and I was too blind to notice it. I risked everything for this union. Everything.

I wipe a tear off my cheek angrily. I have tried to be strong. To accept whatever came with this life I stepped into. But strength means nothing when your heart is bleeding quietly beneath your ribs.

There were nights his words sank deeper than his touch ever could. The way he would say my name, soft but deliberate, like it belonged to him. And maybe it did. Maybe I gave it all away the moment I signed that contract, the one that turned my freedom into his property.

“Ivy.”

I tense up as his voice reaches my ears.

“What’s wrong?”

What isn’t?

I don’t turn. I hear a shift in his breath as the photos splayed before me catch his attention. He will try to explain. He will make it sound logical, forgivable because Julian Grant can make anything sound like reason.

I brace myself because I can't face him, not yet. Not while the image of him pressed against someone else is still burning into my mind.

My pulse races as my throat tightens. 

If this is the end, I need to understand the beginning because Julian Grant didn’t ruin my life. He just rearranged it until I couldn’t tell where mine ended and his began.

When I first saw him, I should have run. Every instinct in me screamed that he was not the kind of man who entered your life quietly or left without leaving marks. But I didn’t. I walked closer. Because he looked at me and saw something I didn’t know was visible. Something fragile. Something he could touch and I would shatter willingly just to feel seen again.

Julian didn’t protect me though. He consumed me. Gently, patiently, as though every piece he takes is a favor I should thank him for. He is the kind of man who can hand you a cage and make you thank him for the view.

Everyone thinks I am lucky—the girl who caught the billionaire, the fairytale bride. But no one talks about how suffocating fairytales can be once the story stops being told.

He stands behind me now, watching me. And I wonder if the woman in these pictures is luckier than I am. At least she still believes he can’t lie with his hands.

I wipe my tears again, breath trembling. Sometimes, I think about the version of me that didn’t take his card that night, that didn’t accept his twisted kind of protection, that didn’t learn to breathe his air. I wonder if she is happier.

Stupid, hopeful Ivy. I muted every warning, silenced every doubt, just to believe he was different. That I could be safe in his arms.

I need to remember what led me here—to this moment, this ache in my chest, this picture-perfect lie.

How did we get here?

Where did it all go wrong?

Maybe if I dig deep enough, I will find an answer. One thing is for sure: this pain, this betrayal, it is not new. It is just wearing a new face.

The truth remains that if I had been smarter, I would have run. 

I could have told the girl in black not to smile back, not to follow the man whose calm could drown her. Most importantly, not to believe that being seen is the same as being safe. But she would not have listened.

And that, right there, is her downfall. 

The beginning of her end.

IVY GALANIS' POV

Months Earlier

I push open the creaky front gate that never latches shut, and with my rotten luck, the rusty iron scrapes my arm. Wincing slightly, I apply pressure and continue on my way past the door, doing my best not to step on the guy passed out near the steps. 

The elevator is broken again, the third time this month. I stay on the fourth floor, so this is not a welcome situation. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that all I have had today is, the coffee I grabbed with my best friend during my lunch break. I really hate this place. 

The nasty smell of burnt fish and microwaved chorizo reaches my nostrils as I walk down the hallway. The way the lights flicker upsets me today more than usual, and don’t get me started on the dirty, chipped tiles.

My legs hurt as I drag myself up the final flight of stairs to the floor where I live. I pause at the door, my br