Hot Driver - S01 E19

Story 5 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E19

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 19

—

Ivory’s Private Residence – Night

Duane looked at her like she’d finally, completely lost her mind.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice edged with disbelief. “I told you. I have somewhere to be.”

“I heard you,” Ivory said, arms crossed, chin lifted in that infuriating way that meant she had no intention of budging. “You’re going out with my employee. My driver. My worker. I overheard the two of you earlier, whispering like teenagers. And I’m not allowing it.”

Duane stared at her. Is she serious right now? Is she actually trying to control who I spend my personal time with?

“She’s my friend,” he said flatly. “Not everybody is like you, Ms. Bennett — incapable of being friends with someone poor. A driver, like me. I want to hang out with my friend tonight. That’s all this is.”

Something in Ivory’s chest twisted sharp and hot at the word friend,

She seethed, jaw tight, before finally hurling the key at him — not gently, not carefully, but with enough force that he had to catch it against his chest to avoid it hitting his face.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Go. Enjoy your little date.”

She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs without waiting for a response, her footsteps sharp and furious against the marble.

{Ivory’s Bathroom}

The water ran hot, almost scalding, and she let it hit her skin without flinching, standing there long after she’d finished actually washing, letting the heat sink into muscles she hadn’t realized were tense.
She caught her own reflection in the fogged mirror afterward — the smooth curve of her shoulders, the perkiness of her brèast , the flatness of her tummy, how small it is and her round curvy hips, the kind of hips men wrote poetry about back in college, back before she’d learned exactly how little that poetry had ever meant.

I’m beautiful, she thought, tracing a hand absently along her own arm. I know I am. So why does none of it matter to me anymore?

She dressed quickly in her nightie, ordered a meal from the small selection of restaurants that still delivered this late, and settled into the living room without fully understanding why she’d bothered locking him inside in the first place.
Whatever it is, she told herself firmly, I don’t want to know.

She flipped through the channels until she landed on something familiar — a Korean drama she’d started weeks ago and abandoned halfway through, the kind of glossy, aching romance she told everyone, loudly and often, that she despised.
She hated love. Hated relationships. Hated the entire concept of giving your heart to someone only to watch them crush it beneath their heel.

But movies aren’t real. there are fiction. Actors reading lines, cameras capturing moments that had never actually happened, feelings manufactured for an audience who needed somewhere safe to feel things they couldn’t afford to feel in real life.

It can only happen in movies, she reminded herself, settling deeper into the cushions. Not in real life. Never in real life.

By the second episode, her guard had softened completely, her eyes glued to the screen, her breath catching at every almost-touch, every lingering glance between the two leads.

The Cinema – Night
Beauty had been waiting nearly twenty minutes, checking her phone every few seconds, convinced with each passing minute that she’d been stood up entirely.

Then she saw him walking toward her, and relief flooded through her so fast it nearly made her dizzy.
“You came!” she said, unable to fully hide the surprise in her voice. “I really thought you weren’t going to show.”

“Something came up,” Duane said. “Sorry for the delay.”

“It’s nothing, honestly. At least you’re here now.”

She looped her arm through his without asking permission, and he let her, though something about it felt strange — too easy, too comfortable in a way he couldn’t quite place. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, deciding to just let the night happen.

Beauty was practically glowing beside him.

They grabbed a large popcorn to share, found their seats as the lights began to dim, and settled in just as the previews started rolling.

Beauty’s hand drifted toward his arm again, fingers grazing his sleeve. she wanted to hold his arm but Duane, with practiced, casual ease, dipped that same hand into the popcorn bucket instead, effectively redirecting her without a word.

She laughed softly, catching the move for exactly what it was, and he smiled back at her, warm and easy, before turning his attention to the screen as the movie began.

{Morales Mansion – Night}
Ron and Maeve pulled into the driveway, still riding high off the excitement of the evening, the certainty of an upcoming victory buzzing warm between them.

“Seven years,” Maeve said, practically giddy as they walked inside. “Seven years and we’re finally going to beat her.”

“I told you Dixon would come through,” Ron said, grinning.

They stepped further into the house, and the good mood curdled almost instantly.

The kitchen sat exactly as they’d left it that morning — dishes piled high in the sink, counters cluttered, laundry still sitting untouched in the hamper by the stairs.

“Where is that girl?” Maeve snapped, her voice climbing sharp and fast. “CELESTE!”

Silence answered her.

“She’s not even here,” Maeve continued, pacing now, agitation replacing whatever calm the evening had built. “She hasn’t been picking up my calls all day. Should I just go find her myself? Drag her back by her hair if I have to?”

“Maeve—”

“Who’s going to do these dishes, Ron? They’re all disgusting, sitting there rotting in the sink. Am I supposed to keep ordering food every single night? This house is falling apart without her and she thinks she can just — what, disappear?”

Ron crossed the room and pulled her into his arms before her spiral could go further.

“Don’t let it ruin the mood, baby. I’ll find her. I’ll drag her back myself if I have to. I’ll threaten her whole miserable existence if that’s what it takes.”

He kissed her, slow and deliberate, and for a moment his mind drifted, unbidden, to a courtyard years ago, to a rose, to a girl who used to laugh easily and trust completely.

He shoved the thought away violently, deepening the kiss instead, letting Maeve’s response chase the memory out entirely.

She melted against him, and he lifted her easily, carrying her toward the dining table, plates and cutlery scattering and shattering against the floor as he set her down among the mess.

Fabric tore. Neither of them cared.

He squeezed her boôbs in his hands before thrústing deep into her

“ohh baby”

{Ivory’s Private Residence – 9:00 PM}

Duane returned home to find the house quiet, the television still glowing faintly in the otherwise dark living room.
Ivory was asleep on the sofa, head tilted sideways, brown hair spilled loose across the cushion, faint tear tracks still visible on her cheeks in the flickering light.

On screen, a couple kíssed slowly beneath a street lamp, rain falling softly around them, violins swelling in the background.

Duane stared at the scene for a moment, then at her, then shook his head and huffed out a quiet laugh.

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

He started toward the stairs, fully intending to leave her there for the night — she’d deserve the stiff neck in the morning, honestly, after locking him in earlier — but something made him turn back.

He crossed the room, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, and lifted her carefully off the couch, carrying her up the stairs and into her room.

She didn’t stir, murmuring something incoherent against his shoulder as he laid her gently onto the bed and pulled the duvet up over her, tucking it around her the way he might have tucked in Luis years ago, back when his brother was small enough to still need it.

She’s going to wake up tomorrow and find some new reason to yell at me for this, he thought, glancing at her peaceful, tear-streaked face one last time before flicking off the lamp. Let her. I don’t care.

He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

{Beauty’s Residence – Night}

The apartment was small, cluttered, but warm — the kind of space that felt lived-in and loved despite its modest size.

Beauty floated through the front door, practically glowing, and found her roommate Gemma sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone.

Gemma took one look at Beauty’s face and sat up immediately. “Okay. That’s a good-news smile. Spill.”

“It was amazing,” Beauty said, dropping onto the couch beside her, hugging a pillow to her chest. “He’s so handsome, Gemma. And his smile — God, his smile just makes everything better. He let me hold his arm the whole way in. It was so warm.”

“Did you kiss?”

“No, not yet. We’re taking it step by step. But we’re progressing, I can feel it. I swear I can’t wait to have his lips on mine. His hands on me. his tóuch”

Gemma squealed, grabbing her arm. “Duane’s girlfriend! Look at you!”

Beauty laughed, cheeks flushing pink, entirely too pleased with herself to correct the title.

Moments later, the front door opened again — Gemma’s boyfriend, letting himself in with his own key, greeting them both with a grin before pulling Gemma off toward the stairs.

Within minutes, sounds and móans began filtering down from Gemma’s bedroom, loud and unmistakable.

Beauty sighed, flopping back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling.

Show-offs, she thought, though a small, hopeful smile lingered on her lips regardless, her mind still replaying the warmth of Duane’s arm beneath her fingers.

{Bennett’s Mansion – The Next Morning}

Breakfast was in full swing when Arthur set down his newspaper with the particular deliberateness that always preceded trouble.

“Hazel,” he said, “I heard something rather concerning yesterday. That you’ve been making friends with some poor scholarship child. A charity case, from what I understand.”

Hazel’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “His name is Mitchell, Dad. And he’s not a ‘charity case.’ He’s smarter than half the people at that school.”

“I can’t believe a Bennett would associate herself with someone so far beneath our station.”

“Arthur,” Diana cut in sharply. “Poor people are still people. Stop talking like they’re a different species.”

“The people I choose as friends,” Hazel said, jaw tight, “are none of your business. Stay out of my school life.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue further, but the doorbell rang, cutting the tension neatly in half.

A maid hurried to answer it, and a moment later, Abigail stepped through, a scarf wrapped loosely around her head, looking pale but present.

“Sis!” Hazel shot up from her chair, beaming, rushing to hug her.

Abigail settled into a seat at the table, and Diana immediately pulled her into a fierce embrace, tears of relief pricking at the corner of her eyes.

“You’re really here,” Diana whispered. “You’re really okay.”
Even Arthur exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders for the first time in days.

Then his expression shifted, and Abigail’s stomach dropped before he even said a word.

“There’s something you should know,” Arthur said carefully. “I’ve filed for divorce. And I’ve already spoken with the elder Rodriguezes. The business contract between our families has been formally canceled.”

Abigail’s face went white. “WHAT?!”

She shot up from her chair so fast it nearly toppled backward. “You could have told me before filing anything! He’s my husband! I never asked you to do that!”

“Abigail—”

“I didn’t ask for this!”
She fled toward the nearest bathroom, hands trembling as she pulled out her phone and dialed Tyler’s number, listening to it ring, and ring, and ring, he didn’t pick any of her calls.

She hung up and smashed the phone against the sink counter, the screen cracking on impact, her chest heaving.

Then, without warning, a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, sudden and sharp.

She gripped the edge of the sink, breathing through it, confused.