Ivy’s heels clicked softly against the cracked pavement as she neared his apartment, her steps sharper than her thoughts were clear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to matter. He was supposed to be another distraction, a fleeting body to drown out the noise of the world’s filth. Admittedly, the most plesant and capable ever, but a distraction nonetheless. Her palms damp, stomach twisted—because now a new life was growing inside.

She clenched her jaw. Anger came easiest. At herself for letting her guard down, at him for slipping past her walls without even trying. He’d been different—not sleazy and submissive, not terrified, not manipulative. Just… there. Honest, kind in ways she never asked for, irritatingly steady when she tried to push him off balance. It infuriated her how much she’d enjoyed him, how good it had felt to give in.

But enjoyment wasn’t supposed to have consequences. She hadn’t planned for this—never wanted it. And yet, the thought of simply walking away gnawed at her in a way she despised. She hated confusion, hated weakness, and hated the way she almost wished he might care if she told him.

She stood at his door, fingers hovering over the frame, debating between knocking and turning back. For once, Poison Ivy didn’t feel in control—just scared, pregnant, and about to hand him a truth that could unravel everything. With a bitter breath, she rapped her knuckles against the wood, the sound echoing her dread.