Ivory came home just after dawn.
“Belated Valentine’s,” she said.
I stared at the water droplets on the petals, then at the card tucked between them. A memory flashed—the guy I saw walking out of the apartment complex yesterday. He was holding flowers.
Roses.
“Didn’t sleep all night?” I asked.
“Too much stuff to revise, no time for sleep.” She rubbed her temples and gave me a tired smile.
“Pack up, we’ve got to head to the train station. After breakfast, you should get some rest too—those dark circles are showing.”
“Put the roses in a glass vase or something, I don’t have time to do that.”
She ordered a rideshare, and when she left, I went downstairs to pick up my voice recorder—and tossed the roses in the trash on the way.
A cleaning lady fished them out and called after me, “They’re still so fresh. You sure you don’t want them?”
I turned and saw her holding the bouquet in one hand, the card in the other.
It read [I’ll love you forever].
I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Back upstairs, I clicked play.
Ivory’s voice filled the room; she called her other guy.
“Wait for me at the front entrance.”
Later, she asked, “You miss me?”
She had it on speaker. I heard the guy chuckle softly.
“What, you don’t miss me?” she teased. “Should I just go back and keep Usher company instead?”
“Don’t you dare,” the man warned quickly.
Ivory let out a playful huff.
“I thought we weren’t seeing each other today?” he asked. “Why the sudden change?”
“It’s Valentine’s. I couldn’t stand the idea of you spending it alone.”
The guy sounded touched.
“Baby, drive safe. I’m coming down now—I’ll bring you the flowers I got.”
“You got me flowers? I didn’t even tell you I was coming.”
“I was betting you wouldn’t be able to resist coming. Guess I was right, huh?”
Ivory laughed, clearly happy.
“I’m almost there. It’s raining. Grab an umbrella.”
A few minutes later, there was the sound of knocking on a car window.
“Get in from the back,” Ivory said.
The guy got in.
“Man, I still don’t get to sit up front, huh?” he joked, chuckling at himself.
“Usher’s got friends in traffic enforcement. Better safe than sorry,” she explained.
“So we’re still keeping secrets from him.”
“Oh, come on, Dimon, you’re not a kid. Don’t act so jealous.”
My mind went blank.
I knew that guy.
When Ivory and I first started dating, she’d casually told me she had an old flame—some doomed, mismatched relationship from back in the day.
A notorious rich-kid troublemaker from college.
Dimon Cavanagh.
Reckless, arrogant, immature. He broke her heart.
Later, his family went bankrupt, and he came crawling back. But by then, she said, she was already over him.
‘So when did Dimon show up again? How long has Ivory been lying to me?’
My head was a mess, but the recorder kept playing.
Dimon’s voice came through again, low and suggestive.
“You owe me for tonight.”
“Oh god, what now?”
Then—soft rustling. Hands brushing against fabric.
“Come here.”
“Are you crazy? We’re parked right outside the building!” Ivory whispered.
“Come on.”
“Fine! God… You’re impossible.”
She sighed and climbed into the backseat.
In the middle of it all, I heard him ask, “Do you love me, Ivory?”
“If I didn’t, why would I sneak out in the middle of the night to see you?”
“I love you too. Have a baby with me. Then nothing else will matter.”
“You always say that, but it never happens.”
“You know I can.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I sat in the living room, listening to that recording over and over.
The recorder had run out of battery a long time ago, but I kept pressing the button anyway.
The soft, mechanical tick, barely louder than my breath, sounded again and again… all the way until night fell.
