Updated Oct 4, 2025 • ~14 min read
The invitation arrived on heavy cardstock, embossed with gold lettering that probably cost more per square inch than Ivy’s coffee budget: The Harrington Foundation Annual Gala. Black Tie. The Metropolitan Club.
“You’re expected to attend,” Claire said over brunch at the penthouse, her tone carefully neutral in that way that meant the request was actually a demand. “It’s important to Richard that we present a united family front.”
Ivy pushed her eggs benedict around her plate. Two weeks into living at the penthouse, and Sunday brunches had become a routine—Claire’s attempt to manufacture family bonding through catered meals and forced proximity. Theo sat across from her, scrolling through his phone with the expression of someone enduring a necessary evil.
“A united family front,” Ivy repeated. “At a corporate gala.”
“The Harrington Foundation does important work,” Richard said from the head of the table, his tone holding the edge of warning. “Scholarships, community development, arts programs. The gala is our primary fundraising event. Your presence demonstrates solidarity.”
What he meant was: Your presence demonstrates that you’ve accepted your place in this family. That you’re not going to cause problems.
“I’ll be there,” Ivy said, because refusing would hurt her mother more than Richard, and she’d learned to pick her battles carefully.
“Wonderful.” Claire’s relief was palpable. “Theo, you’ll escort Ivy, won’t you? Since she doesn’t have a date.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut. Theo looked up from his phone, gray eyes meeting Ivy’s across the table with an expression that suggested he found this as appealing as she did.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “It would be my pleasure.”
The lie was so polished it almost sounded sincere.
The Metropolitan Club was the kind of place that whispered old money in every marble column and crystal chandelier. Ivy had chosen her dress carefully: black silk that hugged her curves without being overtly sexy, elegant without trying too hard. She’d swept her dark hair into a low chignon and kept her jewelry minimal—diamond studs that had been her grandmother’s, a delicate bracelet Naomi had given her for luck.
She looked like she belonged here. It was the performance she’d been perfecting since clawing her way back from her father’s disgrace.
Theo knocked on her suite door at precisely seven, and when she opened it, the sharp intake of his breath was gratifying.
“You look…” He paused, something flickering in his expression before the mask of cool politeness slid back. “Ready.”
“So do you.”
It was an understatement. Theo in a tuxedo was devastating in a way that should be illegal. The classic lines emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame, the white shirt crisp against his tanned skin. He’d styled his dark hair with just enough product to look effortlessly perfect, and when he offered her his arm, she caught the scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive that made her want to lean closer.
The sting of a love-hate stepbrother relationship sharpened every interaction, made every casual touch feel loaded with meaning.
“Ground rules for tonight,” Theo said in the elevator down. “Smile. Be charming. Don’t mention your father’s company or any conspiracy theories about mine. Can you manage that?”
Ivy’s jaw tightened. “I know how to behave at a gala, Theo.”
“Do you? Because the last time we were at a formal event together, you called me entitled and insufferable within the first five minutes.”
“You were being entitled and insufferable.”
“See, that.” He gestured at her, exasperated. “That attitude. Save it for when we’re home. Tonight, we’re the perfect blended family. Supportive. Harmonious. Not constantly at each other’s throats.”
“Fine,” Ivy bit out. “I’ll be the perfect stepsister. Supportive and harmonious and completely fake.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
The car service delivered them to the club, where a red carpet and photography line awaited. Ivy had been to events like this before—back when her father’s company was still thriving, when their family name opened doors instead of closing them. But walking in on Theo’s arm, feeling the weight of curious stares and knowing whispers, was different.
That’s Ivy Blake. The daughter. Poor thing, after everything that happened.
She landed on her feet, though. Quite the upgrade, marrying into the Harrington family.
Well, her mother married in. She’s just… what, the stepdaughter? Stepsister to Theo?
Hmm. They look rather cozy together, don’t they?
Ivy kept her smile fixed and her spine straight, playing the role required of her. Theo’s hand at the small of her back was warm through the silk of her dress, proprietary in a way that made her skin tingle with awareness she didn’t want to feel.
Inside, the ballroom was a masterpiece of understated elegance. Round tables draped in champagne linens, centerpieces of white roses and orchids, a string quartet playing something classical and soothing. The crowd was Manhattan’s elite: old money and new, corporate titans and socialites, the kind of people who shaped the city’s future over cocktails and carefully negotiated conversations.
Richard and Claire held court near the bar, already surrounded by admirers and supplicants. Claire looked radiant in ivory, every inch the society wife she’d become. Richard looked satisfied, like a king surveying his kingdom.
“Champagne?” Theo asked, already signaling a server.
“God, yes.”
He procured two flutes and handed her one, and they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the performance unfold. Ivy recognized faces from business magazines, from charity pages, from the society columns she’d studied like battle plans. These were the people who mattered in Manhattan, the ones who could make or break careers with a word.
The ones who’d watched her father fall and done nothing to help.
“You’re grinding your teeth,” Theo murmured. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“You’re thinking about how many of these people abandoned your father when he needed them most.” He sipped his champagne, eyes scanning the room. “And you’re wondering which ones Richard turned against him.”
The accuracy of his observation was startling. Ivy looked at him sharply. “How did you—”
“Because I’d be thinking the same thing if I were you.” Something in his tone was different, less polished. “The thing about old money, Ivy, is that loyalty only extends as far as profit. When your father’s company started struggling, these people cut their losses. It’s not personal. It’s just business.”
“That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No. It’s supposed to make you understand the game you’re playing.” Theo turned to face her fully, and in the soft lighting of the ballroom, his gray eyes looked almost silver. “These people will smile at you tonight. They’ll compliment your dress and ask about your work and pretend they care. But the moment you’re no longer useful, they’ll drop you just as fast. Don’t mistake performance for friendship.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Ivy asked quietly. “Performing?”
His gaze held hers for a beat too long, something complicated flickering in his expression. “What else would we be doing?”
Before she could answer, Richard appeared with a silver-haired man in tow, all booming voice and aggressive handshakes.
“Theo, Ivy, I want you to meet Harrison Welch. Harrison, my son Theo, and my new stepdaughter, Ivy Blake.”
Harrison Welch. CEO of Meridian Capital, one of the investment firms that had pulled funding from her father’s company right before the collapse. Ivy’s smile felt like it might crack her face.
“Blake,” Harrison said, his handshake firm but his eyes assessing. “Any relation to Marcus Blake?”
The question hung in the air like a grenade. Ivy felt Theo tense beside her, felt Richard’s attention sharpen with predatory focus. This was a test. A very public test of whether she could be trusted to play her role.
“My father,” Ivy said evenly. “Though I’m sure you remember him. Didn’t Meridian Capital have a stake in Blake Industries?”
Harrison’s expression flickered with something that might have been discomfort. “We did, yes. Unfortunately, the company’s trajectory became… unsustainable. We had to protect our investors.”
“Of course,” Ivy said, sweetness laced with poison. “Profit over loyalty. It’s just business, after all.”
The temperature dropped ten degrees. Harrison’s smile became strained. Richard’s expression darkened. Claire looked horrified from across the room.
“Ivy—” Theo started, warning in his tone.
But Ivy was done pretending. Done smiling while men like Harrison Welch justified their abandonment of her father. Done performing for people who’d watched her family burn and roasted marshmallows over the flames.
“I’m curious, Mr. Welch,” she continued, voice bright and cutting. “When you pulled Meridian’s funding three weeks before Blake Industries’ acquisition deal closed, did you know it would trigger the other investors to back out? Or was destroying my father’s company just a happy accident?”
Harrison’s face flushed red. “Now see here—”
“That’s enough, Ivy.” Richard’s voice was quiet but absolute, the tone of a man who did not expect to be disobeyed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Am I?” Ivy turned to face her stepfather, and something reckless and furious burned in her chest. “Or am I just asking questions that make you uncomfortable?”
The dangerous chemistry of a forbidden love crackled between her and Theo as he stepped closer, his hand finding her elbow. To anyone watching, it looked supportive. But his grip was firm, almost restraining.
“Let’s get some air,” Theo said, already steering her toward the terrace doors.
Ivy wanted to fight him, wanted to stay and watch Richard squirm under accusations he couldn’t refute in public. But Theo’s grip was unyielding, and causing an even bigger scene would only hurt her mother. So she let him guide her outside into the cool October night, away from the party and the stares and her own spectacular self-destruction.
The terrace was empty, overlooking the city lights that glittered like fallen stars. Ivy pulled free from Theo’s grip and stalked to the railing, fury and humiliation warring in her chest.
“What the hell was that?” Theo demanded, his careful composure finally cracking. “You had one job tonight, Ivy. One. Don’t make a scene. And what do you do? You all but accuse Harrison Welch of conspiracy in front of half of Manhattan’s business elite.”
“He did conspire,” Ivy shot back. “He and your father and everyone else who decided my father was more useful destroyed than saved.”
“Even if that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—what did you think would happen? That Welch would confess? That people would suddenly see the truth and rush to your defense?” Theo laughed, sharp and humorless. “All you did was prove to everyone in that room that you’re unstable. Bitter. Someone who can’t let go of the past.”
The words hit like slaps, each one landing with precision because they were partially true. Ivy’s hands trembled on the railing, adrenaline and anger making her shake.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I can’t let go. Because my father didn’t deserve what happened to him, and pretending otherwise—smiling and playing happy family with the man who orchestrated it—makes me complicit.”
“So what’s your plan?” Theo moved closer, and she could feel the heat of him at her back. “Burn every bridge? Alienate everyone who could help you? Destroy your own career and your mother’s happiness because you can’t accept that sometimes life isn’t fair?”
Ivy spun to face him, and they were suddenly too close, close enough that she could see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes, close enough to feel his breath on her face.
“At least I’m not a coward,” she said, voice low and vicious. “At least I’m not hiding behind my father’s money and pretending everything is fine when it’s all built on lies and corruption and other people’s suffering.”
Something dangerous flashed in Theo’s expression. “You think I’m a coward?”
“I think you’re too comfortable to risk anything. Too pampered to understand what it’s like to fight for something that matters.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” His voice was rough, almost raw. “You don’t know what I’ve risked or what I’ve lost or what it costs to survive in Richard Harrington’s world. You see the penthouse and the money and the name, and you think you understand. But you don’t.”
They stood locked in their silent battle, anger and something else—something electric and dangerous—crackling between them. The sting of a love-hate stepbrother relationship had never felt sharper, more volatile, like they were both standing at the edge of something that could either destroy them or consume them entirely.
“Then tell me,” Ivy whispered. “Make me understand.”
For a moment, she thought he might. Thought he might drop the mask of cool control and let her see whatever was burning beneath. But then footsteps sounded on the terrace, and they sprang apart like guilty teenagers as Claire emerged from the ballroom.
“Ivy.” Her mother’s voice was tight with disappointment and anger. “Richard wants you to apologize to Mr. Welch.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
“You will apologize, or you will leave.” Claire’s expression was harder than Ivy had ever seen it. “You’re embarrassing this family, and I won’t allow it.”
The ultimatum hung in the air between them, and Ivy realized with cold clarity that this was the choice: submit to Richard’s control, or lose her mother’s support entirely.
She looked at Theo, expecting triumph or satisfaction. Instead, she found something that looked almost like regret.
“I’ll take her home,” Theo said quietly. “Make our excuses.”
Claire nodded stiffly and disappeared back inside, leaving them alone on the terrace with the ruins of the evening scattered around them like broken glass.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ivy said.
“Yes, I did.” Theo’s expression was unreadable. “Come on. Let’s go before Richard decides to make an example of you.”
They left through a side exit, avoiding the main ballroom and the curious stares. The car service was summoned, and they rode back to the penthouse in silence, the city lights blurring past the windows like streaks of gold.
Ivy felt hollowed out, the adrenaline crash leaving her shaky and exhausted. She’d meant to be careful, to play the long game. Instead, she’d let her anger control her, and now Richard knew exactly what threat she posed.
“For what it’s worth,” Theo said as the elevator rose toward the penthouse, “Harrison Welch is an asshole, and you weren’t wrong about his role in your father’s collapse.”
Ivy looked at him sharply. “What?”
“I’m not saying my father orchestrated anything. But Welch has a reputation for vulture capitalism—buying low when companies are struggling, then stripping them for parts. If he pulled funding from Blake Industries, it was because he saw more profit in the collapse than the recovery.” Theo met her gaze, something complicated in his expression. “That doesn’t make it a conspiracy. But it doesn’t make it ethical either.”
It was the closest thing to validation she’d gotten from anyone in the Harrington family, and it made her throat tight with unexpected emotion.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For getting me out of there. You didn’t have to protect me.”
“I wasn’t protecting you.” But the denial lacked conviction. “I was protecting my father from whatever else you were about to say.”
“Sure.” Ivy smiled faintly. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The elevator opened to the penthouse, and they stepped into the quiet darkness, the city glittering beyond the windows like a promise or a threat. Theo loosened his bow tie, the gesture somehow more intimate than it should be.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, not looking at her, “you looked beautiful tonight. Before you decided to commit social suicide.”
He disappeared into his room before she could respond, leaving Ivy alone with the compliment echoing in her ears and the dangerous realization that hating Theo Harrington was becoming more complicated by the day.
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