Hot Driver - S01 E24

Story 4 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E24

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 24

Ivory’s Room

Ivory sat on the edge of her bed, freshly showered, staring at the phone in her hand — the one Duane had borrowed weeks ago, the one he apparently hadn’t bothered returning.

So he doesn’t have a girlfriend, she thought, turning the device over in her hands, tracing her thumb absently along the edge of the case. Then who exactly has he been calling with my phone this entire time? Who was that warm, familiar voice on the other end that day in my office?

The question nagged at her more than she wanted to admit.

He’s claimed one of it now, she thought, setting it down on her nightstand with more force than necessary. Not that I need it. I have plenty of others sitting in that drawer, untouched, expensive, meaningless.

She told herself that firmly, repeatedly, and still found herself glancing at the empty spot on the nightstand more than once, some small, irrational part of her wishing she’d asked him more questions instead of accusing him of things she had absolutely no proof of.

She thought about the photo again. The wrongness of it, now that the initial shock had faded. His hand had looked strange. His posture too stiff.

What if it wasn’t even real? she wondered, frowning at the ceiling. What if I just made a complete fool of myself over nothing?
She pushed the thought away, unwilling to examine it further, and eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Prestige High School – Next Day – Cafeteria

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise, trays clattering, voices overlapping in a constant hum.

Hazel sat with Penelope and Mitchell at their regular table, deep in conversation about something entirely unimportant, when Mitchell reached over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture easy and unthinking, barely interrupting his own sentence.

“You had something in your hair,” he said simply, already turning back to his lunch like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Hazel’s cheeks warmed slightly, though she covered it with a shrug and a quick sip of her drink. “Thanks.”

Penelope glanced between the two of them, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, though she wisely said nothing.

Across the cafeteria, Emilia had seen the whole thing, and her face twisted with barely contained fury, her grip tightening around her phone until her knuckles went pale, the livestream she’d been filming completely forgotten.

“Did you see that?” she hissed to Sadie, the only friend who’d bothered sitting with her since the semester started. “Did you SEE that?”

“I saw it,” Sadie said carefully, glancing between Emilia and the table across the room.

“He’s supposed to be MINE. I picked him first. I wanted him for my content first, before she even knew he existed.”

“Emilia, calm down. It was just hair.”

“It’s never just hair with people like her,” Emilia snapped, eyes narrowing across the room toward Hazel’s table. “She takes everything. My views, my audience, and now him too. She doesn’t even want him, not really, she just can’t stand the idea of me having something she doesn’t.”

Sadie hesitated, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “I have an idea. A plan. If you’re actually serious about fixing this.”

Emilia’s eyes lit up with dark interest, her earlier fury cooling into something colder, more calculated. “I’m listening.”

A Street – Downtown Creston City

Celeste and Luis stood outside the small storefront she’d secured for her restaurant, brooms and cleaning supplies in hand, ready to spend the afternoon scrubbing away years of accumulated grime from the previous tenant.

“It’s small,” Luis said, glancing around at the modest space, dust motes drifting through the sunlight streaming in from the front window, “but it has good bones. I think this could really be something, Mama.”

“It will be,” Celeste said firmly, already sweeping the entryway with determined strokes, sending up small clouds of dust. “We’ll open soon. I can feel it in my bones.”

Her phone buzzed against the counter. She glanced at it, expression souring immediately.

Another call from the Morales household. She let it ring out, the way she had every single time since she’d made the decision to leave that job behind entirely.

Minutes later, a message came through — sharp, threatening, demanding she return immediately or face consequences she didn’t fully want to imagine, the words laced with the particular cruelty she’d learned to expect from that house.

She deleted it without responding and went back to scrubbing, her jaw set.

“They’re not going to stop calling, are they?” Luis asked, watching her carefully.

“No,” Celeste admitted, pausing her sweeping. “But I’m not going back. Not for anything. Not for any amount of money they think they can threaten me with.”

“Good,” Luis said simply, and went back to wiping down the counter, a small, proud smile on his face.

Ivy Fashion Empire – Design Studio – Afternoon

The studio buzzed with focused, tense energy, fabric samples scattered across every surface, sketches pinned to boards, a small army of designers working around the clock on the dress that would represent Ivy Fashion Empire at the upcoming award ceremony.

Ivory moved through the space slowly, inspecting each piece with a critical eye, occasionally offering sharp corrections that sent designers scrambling.

“The bodice needs to be tighter here,” she said, gesturing toward one of the sketches. “And this fabric — no.

Absolutely not. Find something with more movement. I want it to look alive when she walks, not stiff like a mannequin.”

The team nodded, already adjusting, though beneath the surface professionalism, more than a few glances slid toward Ivory with quiet, simmering resentment. The pressure of the upcoming award had everyone on edge, and Ivory’s exacting standards weren’t making it any easier.

She caught a few of those glances and ignored them entirely, focused instead on the dress that would need to be flawless, that would need to secure this win the old-fashioned way — through genuine talent, not whatever underhanded tactics MBS was undoubtedly employing behind closed doors.

We’re going to win this fair and square, she thought, running her fingers over a swatch of deep emerald silk. Even if it kills me.

MBS – Ron’s Office – Same Afternoon

The atmosphere in Ron’s office was considerably more relaxed.

Their design team worked at a fraction of the intensity Ivory’s studio demanded, largely because everyone already understood the outcome was essentially decided. With Dixon secured, with the judging panel effectively in their pocket, there was little urgency left in the preparation.

“We could show up with a potato sack and still win,” Ron said, lounging on the couch, watching Maeve inspect a sketch with only mild interest.

“Don’t get complacent,” Maeve said, though she didn’t sound particularly worried either, setting the sketch aside.

He crossed the room and pulled her against him, kissing her slow and deep, and whatever remained of their professional focus dissolved entirely into something far less businesslike, the sketches forgotten on the table beside them, the design team quietly filing out to give them privacy.

Ivy Fashion Empire – Lobby – Two Minutes Later

Duane sat alone in the lobby, scrolling idly through his phone, feeling the particular kind of loneliness that came from sitting in a crowded building where nobody actually wanted his company, everyone rushing past him with places to be.

Beauty appeared and settled into the seat beside him without asking, launching immediately into a stream of conversation about nothing in particular — her weekend plans, a coworker’s drama, some new skincare routine she’d started that promised results in seven days or your money back.

“I have the worst cramps today,” she said eventually, wincing slightly and pressing a hand to her stomach. “Like, genuinely the worst. I think I’m dying.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Duane asked, more out of politeness than genuine investment.

“Actually,” Beauty said, brightening considerably, “if you could just press on my stomach a little, right here — it usually helps. My roommate does it for me all the time.”

Before he could fully process the request, Ivory’s voice cut sharply through the lobby.

“Beauty,” she said, tone icy, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Don’t you have actual work to do? Or does the marketing department run itself these days?”

Beauty scrambled upright, cheeks flushing. “Sorry, Ms. Bennett, I was just—”

“I don’t care what you were just. Get back to your desk.”

Beauty hurried off without another word, practically tripping over her own heels in her haste.

Ivory’s gaze shifted to Duane, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked — something charged and unreadable passing between them before Ivory rolled her eyes dramatically and turned away, heels clicking sharply as she stalked back toward the elevator.

Duane watched her go, equally unreadable, and said nothing at all, though a small, knowing smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before he schooled his expression back into neutral.

Abigail’s Mansion – Night

The mansion sat quiet and elegant against the darkening sky — moderate in size compared to the sprawling Bennett estate, but no less beautiful, all clean lines and warm lighting, the kind of place designed for exactly one person to feel comfortably, quietly alone.

Abigail lay curled on her bed, stomach pressed against the mattress, cramps twisting sharper with every passing hour despite the medication she’d taken earlier.

She drifted in and out of restless sleep, the pain pulling her under and yanking her back awake in uneven cycles, until exhaustion finally won out and she slipped fully under, her breathing evening out into something deep and unguarded.

Minutes later, the door to her room creaked open.

SOMEONE STEPPED INSIDE.

Bennett’s Mansion – Late Night

Ivory couldn’t sleep.

The memories had returned the moment the lights went out — Ron’s face, Maeve’s laughter, the courtyard, the rose, all of it looping mercilessly behind her closed eyes until sleep became impossible, no matter how many times she rearranged her pillows or counted her own breaths in the dark.

Suddenly, her breaths became high and unsteady, tears forced it self out of her eyes

“Not now, please not today”. She thought, gripping her hands tight

“ahh” her groan came out low, very low

Her head felt strangely empty and full all at once, pounding with a dull, persistent ache that no amount of shifting seemed to ease.

Her vision blurred, It looked like she wants to die. She nedd help.

She got up, opened her door, and stepped out into the hallway without fully deciding to, her bare feet silent against the cool floor.

Her feet carried her toward Duane’s room almost on their own, her head still pounding, her vision blurred completely. The memories haunted her and whatever fragile thread of control she’d been holding onto all evening.

His door was unlocked. She pushed it open.

He was already lying in bed, not yet asleep, and he sat up slightly when he heard the door, watching her stumble across the room with visible confusion.

She staggered the last few steps and collapsed onto the bed beside him.

Duane gasped, eyes going wide with shock. “Ivory, what are you—”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself close, pressing her face against his chest like she was trying to disappear into it entirely.

“Please,” she murmured, voice thin and unsteady. “Stay still.”

Her eyes fluttered shut before he could respond, her breathing evening out almost instantly, whether from exhaustion or something closer to fainting, he couldn’t quite tell.

Duane lay frozen beneath her, heart hammering, staring down at her sleeping face in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, utterly unsure of what to do with any of this. She was only in her nightie, nothing else apart from that, not under. Her bôóbs pressed on his tummy and her nipplès poking teasingly at his chest.

He looked at the ceiling

“Holy Jesus”

TBC