Clara slammed the car door shut with a triumphant smirk. âDonât you worry about how I pulled it off. You just snap a few pictures and shoot a video for me when the time comes. As for this woman, sheâs all yours. We had a deal, remember?â
The thug who had been boasting online about wanting to date Ivy, using crude language to appease his own desires, was suddenly at a loss for words in the presence of the celebrity.
âMan, I was just running my mouth online. Who would have thought youâd actually deliver a star like Ivy on a silver platter? How the heck did you manage that? Who are you?â
A flicker of awkwardness crossed Claraâs face. Even now, she was just a nobody, a D-list actress at best.
Even this lowlife knew Ivy, not her.
Hmph! Last time, she failed to ruin Ivy, but this time, she was determined to succeed.
âDonât worry about who I am. Just carry her inside, and donât you dare touch her until I say so!â
The guy chortled with glee. Today was his lucky day, and heâd do anything Clara asked.
As he hoisted Ivy over his shoulder, he couldnât resist stroking her face.
These big-time celebs really were different â their skin was so smooth and soft! His own rough hands felt like sandpaper by comparison. He was almost afraid heâd scratch her perfect complexion.
âNever thought Iâd see the day,â he mused to himself. This was like winning the lottery.
From now on, when he bragged to his buddies, heâd be the one with the real swagger. He was the guy who had touched a real-life star. How could they even compete?
Once Ivy was inside, Clara roughly grabbed a coil of twine and tied up her hands and feet with no finesse whatsoever.
Even the thug winced at her brutality, telling her to take it easy.
Clara sneered. âYou think sheâs your girlfriend or something?â
âHey, you said youâd hand her over to me later. Whatâs wrong with being a little tender now?â
Clara sized up the thug; his hair was a botched dye job, a patchy mess of yellow and red, and he wore a tight shirt with equally snug pants, a gaudy cross dangling from his neck.
He was clearly not the kind of guy youâd bring home to Mom, and Clara couldnât hide her disdain.
But the thought of him with Ivy set a thrill through her.
What would Ivy do when she woke up?
The real show hadnât even started. She wanted Ivy on her knees, begging for mercy.
Give her a glimmer of hope, then plunge her into despair.
The thug was sent to another room to wait, leaving Clara alone with Ivy.
She had been moping at home lately, too distraught to eat, and had lost a lot of weight.
But suddenly, she felt a pang of hunger and ripped open a pack of instant noodles, slurping them down noisily across from Ivy without care for appearances.
Ivyâs eyes fluttered open amid the racket. âWhere am I?â
She tried to get up but found herself bound and immobile. That familiar feeling of dread washed over her. What was this place?
âOh, look whoâs awake,â Clara said, sitting down next to Ivy with her bowl of noodles.
âClara? What are you up to this time?â
Clara rolled her eyes. âI thought I made my intentions pretty clear. Youâve been through this before, havenât you? Or did you think we were just playing house?â
Ivyâs forehead creased with worry. She had thought their encounter at the hospital was a coincidence, but it seemed it was all premeditated.
âWhat do you want from me? Money? Something else? Iâll give you whatever I can.â