No sooner had Ivy stepped out of the hotel than her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Clara’s voice, filled with fury, crackled through the line as she answered the call.
"Ivy, what on earth did you do last night? Why is Vincent giving me the cold shoulder now? He won't even answer my calls!" Clara's accusation was sharp, as if Ivy had committed some unforgivable sin against her.
Ivy, recalling the previous evening's debacle, felt a chill settle in her gaze. "Do you really want to know?"
"Of course, I do! Why else would I be calling you?" Clara snapped back, her tone aggressive and demanding.
Balling her hand into a tight fist, Ivy replied with a steely resolve, "Fine. If you're so desperate to know, I'll tell you myself. I'm on my way home now!"
Before Clara could utter another word, Ivy ended the call.
She hailed a cab and headed straight for the Dunhills' residence.
...
Twenty minutes later, Ivy had barely set foot in the Dunhills' abode when Clara charged at her, delivering a stinging slap across her face. "Ivy, what did you do? Why is Vincent ignoring me? Are you only happy when you ruin my career in showbiz?"
Rubbing her reddened cheek, Ivy retorted with a slap of her own, "What right do you have to hit me, Clara? I owe you nothing!"
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