Ivy clicked through more of Lola’s profile photos, and there were images of her in her kitchen, and her office, and even in her pool. Every image seemed like one out of a magazine. So, this woman was pretty and rich? That pissed Ivy off even more.
To her surprise, Ivy got a notification that her friend request had been accepted. She grinned and refreshed the page to look through Lola’s profile.
Ivy scrolled down until she caught a photo of Lola arm in arm with a man. He was a very handsome man, with perfect teeth too, and a faded, wavy haircut. This woman was married! Happily married too, from the looks of it. How was it that she got to be pretty, happy, and in love, while Ivy suffered for years because of her?
Ivy didn’t trust being in relationships. She was in one before and it didn’t end well, and now she blamed Lola for it. The relationship only ended badly because Ivy’s ex couldn’t accept the fact that she needed to see a therapist every week. He didn’t want to have a “crazy girlfriend,” so she made it easy for him and dumped his ass. He called her names, told her she was no good. Used and abused her.
Ivy gritted her teeth as she pressed down harder on her mouse pad, clicking through Lola’s photos.
How could Lola just live like she’d done nothing wrong in her life? Lola had a big, fancy home with a handsome husband and wore expensive clothes and jewelry. She didn’t deserve any of what she had.
Ivy continued scrolling, but couldn’t help noticing that even though Lola smiled brightly in every photo, there was something about her eyes. Her eyes told Ivy everything she needed to know. She’d gone through something tragic. Lola was definitely responsible for destroying her life.
Ivy saw an Instagram post on Lola’s page. She clicked it, and it took her to the photo. It was a blue-and-white graphic for a charity named Ladies with Passion. It was for volunteer jobs for a charity Lola had founded in 2008. A year after the incident. Yeah, that wasn’t a coincidence at all. Put up a charity to cover up the guilt.
Lola had just posted the graphic two days before. Everyone was welcome to apply for the charity if they wanted to work as a volunteer, but background checks were required and spaces were limited, which meant they would be picky about who became one. There was a link to apply in her biography on Instagram.
Ivy stared at the link for a fleeting moment, tapping the pad of her finger on the edge of her laptop. The last thing she wanted was for the perfect Mrs. Maxwell to run a background check on her; then again, she could always use her mother’s maiden name on the application and have Alexa’s boyfriend make her a fake ID.
She clicked the link to apply, filled it out diligently, and sent it off. With all Lola had going on, she figured the woman wouldn’t even know who she was or give her first name a second thought, if she was aware of it.
It seemed she’d already forgotten about the incident, with her handsome husband, fancy home, and amazing life. For all Ivy knew, she didn’t even exist to the rich bitch.
But who’d given her therapist the name? Why would Lola jeopardize all she had just to feed her name to Ivy now? Did she know Ivy? Know what she looked like? How did she even find Marriott?
Lola would know who Ivy was . . . right? She would be waiting for Ivy to come to her someday, confront her about the past. All of it could backfire or even be a trap. Ivy had to be careful, plan her approach wisely.
Ivy sighed as she looked at the confirmation email that let her know her application had been received, then she took a look around her cramped, one-bedroom apartment. The leaky faucet was dripping. The brown stain on her floor was getting darker instead of lighter, no matter how much she scrubbed at it. The AC never worked properly and caused her to break out in a sweat every hot night.
Fury blinded Ivy.
It wasn’t fair that Lola got to live in luxury and style while Ivy struggled day in, day out just to pay her bills. Ivy worked retail and faked smiles all day. She never quite had enough money to buy a new outfit for herself, or new shoes, because all her money went to her rent or recurring bills. Her life would have been so different if it weren’t for Lola Maxwell.
After shutting the lid of the laptop, Ivy poured herself a glass of the red wine she got from a coworker, sat on her dingy brown couch with her iPhone, and scrolled through Lola’s Instagram account, absorbing everything she could about the woman who’d ruined everything good in her life.