Undressed By His Arrogance

His hand found hers instinctively, their fingers intertwining between them. Within seconds, they both drifted into sleep, still touching.

*****

By Monday morning, Lydia appeared at Joey’s door. "Mr Winsford, Sylvia is here to see you."

Joey exhaled a long, world-weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Send her in, Lydia," he said, straightening in his chair.

Moments later, Sylvia swept in.

"Syl. You good?"

"Uh...I will be," she answered. She held her bag against her chest.

"Come on, sit down," he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

"No." She shook her head, her hair falling forward. "I want to do this standing."

Joey blinked at her, raising a curious brow. "Syl, what’s going on?" He leaned his elbows on the desk, studying her. Sylvia had never been like this with him. She would always seize every opportunity to sit close, to lean in, to brush his sleeve with her hand.

She drew in a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the view beyond the glass. "You do not want to hear this, I know," she said, "but I am saying it to give myself closure."

His stomach tightened. "Saying what?" he asked slowly.

"I love you," she began, her eyes meeting his at last. "But I cannot love you anymore."

"Okaaay..." Joey let the word stretch out.

"Don’t speak. Just listen. I am not a bad person, but my love for you has clouded my judgment. I have erased a few moral boundaries in the hopes that I could still one day be yours."

"Sylvia..." Joey pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure why — maybe instinct, maybe guilt. But she flinched at the movement.

"Please don’t come close," she said quickly, lifting a hand. "You are my one big weakness. It’s not the alcohol. The alcohol is just there to dull the pain I feel. You are my addiction."

She laughed bitterly. "And you know what? I am angry also. I thought you loved me, Joey. I thought you cared about me. We were together for years...And it took you — what — two minutes after you broke up with me to get married?"

Joey felt the punch of guilt hit his gut.

"I know I failed you," she said. "But still...you shouldn’t have made it hurt even more than it already did." She looked away, out at the city again, her shoulders squared.

Despite her warnings, Joey took a step forward. "Syl—" he began. But the moment he moved closer, she stumbled a step backward, her hand flying up defensively, tears spilling freely down her face. It stopped him cold. He froze there — one arm half-raised, unsure whether to reach for her or let her go.

His heart clenched. He told himself he should be happy for her — proud, even. She was finally growing into her age, taking charge of her own story instead of clinging to the one they’d written together years ago. But the words in his head didn’t match the ache in his chest.

Because in truth, despite his marriage, his attempts to move on, Sylvia had always been his relapse. His quiet ruin. His addiction. She knew the parts of him no one else did — the wild, impulsive boy behind the calm, well behaved good boy.

"I blamed myself," she said softly, interrupting the thoughts he couldn’t voice. Her eyes flicked up to his one last time, glistening but resolute. "But now I’m letting you go. Because it’s the right thing to do." Joey felt a hollow sting in his gut. The right thing rarely felt this wrong.

She clutched her bag tighter. The click of her heels echoed. "And what will you do to numb the pain this time?" he asked.

Sylvia paused by the door, her hand trembling on the handle. Then, without turning around, she said, "Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill myself, and you won’t find me at the bottom of a bottle." She squared her shoulders, lifted her head high, and walked out.

The door closed softly behind her.

Outside, Sylvia’s pace quickened. The lobby’s floor blurred beneath her eyes as she blinked back more tears. The doorman gave her a polite nod, but she barely saw him.

Her eyes burned as Reese stepped out of the car immediately and opened the door for her.

"Are you okay, Miss Kane?" Reese asked gently.

"Yes, yes. Please take me home," Sylvia murmured, clutching her phone. She unlocked the screen—and there they were. Winn and Ivy. Smiling. Every major media outlet had plastered their engagement photos across feeds, their perfectly posed faces beaming.

She scrolled through the pictures again, unable to stop herself. The ring on Ivy’s finger was exquisite. "At least one Kane deserves happiness," she whispered to herself. A sad smile tugged at her lips. She did hope he’d be happy. He’d always been the better one—the more grounded, the less self-destructive sibling.

*****

Winn had done everything he could to keep Ivy distracted that day. Anything to keep her from checking her phone, from seeing the way the tabloids would dissect their relationship.

He knew the media. He knew they’d dig. They always did. And Ivy’s past, the masked life she’d lived in Commissioned, would be irresistible to them once someone whispered.

Hence why they had spent half the day shopping at the farmers’ market. She had laughed when he helped select vegetables. He told her Sylvia used to cook and she used to drag him along to the market.

They shared ice cream that melted faster than they could eat it, and spent hours sunbathing on the private beach with the house in the background.

Now, as twilight deepened outside and the air smelled faintly of sea breeze, Winn opened his laptop and set it on the low coffee table. The screen illuminated his face in a soft blue glow. He sighed, straightened his shirt, and prepared himself to switch from lover to leader.

He placed the call to Joey, who was overseeing operations at House of Kane in his absence. Winn leaned back on the couch, waiting for the connection to go through.