-missax-ivy Wolfe- Scarlett Sage - In Love With... -

“You ran,” Scarlett said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a key, turning in a lock Ivy didn’t know she had.

But standing here, with the scent of Scarlett’s jasmine perfume cutting through the stale air, Ivy realized the tragedy wasn't fiction.

The rain was a persistent whisper against the studio window. Ivy Wolfe stood backstage, the velvet curtain a cool weight against her bare shoulder. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this. The after-party was in full swing on the main floor—clinking glasses, the hollow laughter of industry praise—but she had slipped away, seeking the quiet dark. -MissaX-Ivy Wolfe- Scarlett Sage - In Love with...

They had shared a scene that afternoon. A rehearsal for a film about two women who loved a man, but whose real love story was the one happening in the margins—the stolen glances, the way their fingers brushed when passing a cup of tea. The director, Missa, had called it “a quiet tragedy of denial.”

Scarlett’s breath hitched. “Then we’re in trouble.” “You ran,” Scarlett said

“I know,” Ivy whispered.

The rain filled the silence. Ivy reached out, her fingers trembling, and traced the edge of a sequin on Scarlett’s sleeve. “What if I’m not acting, Scarlett? What if I’m just… in love with the way you breathe before you speak? In love with the way you say my name like it’s a secret?” But standing here, with the scent of Scarlett’s

Ivy’s heart hammered against her ribs. So did I. She took a step closer. “What line was it?”

They had just fallen in love in a place where nothing was supposed to be real.

Scarlett stood. They were inches apart now. “You were supposed to tell him you loved him. But you were looking at me.”

“So did you,” Ivy replied, her voice softer than she intended.