She scrolled through his profile pictures until she found an image of him in front of a building with his hands in the air, as if he were proud.
Maxwell’s Aesthetics. It was a #throwbackthursday photo, to when he first opened his company in 2003.
Ivy quickly left the Instagram app and went to Google to search for the company.
So, Corey Maxwell was a plastic surgeon? He was the best in South Beach, Florida, according to several articles. He even performed surgery on celebrities. Now that was interesting. No wonder Mrs. Maxwell was so well off.
Ivy was filled with so much knowledge now about the infamous Lola. With a smile on her face, she walked to the kitchen with her phone, going back and forth between Lola’s profile and Corey’s.
Her phone rang. She rolled her eyes and ignored the call.
She prepared a hot turkey sandwich with potato chips and then sat down on her patio to eat it all, letting the seed of an idea plant itself in her mind.
She didn’t have a great view from her studio apartment, and it always smelled like fast food, thanks to the McDonald’s across the street. Music was blasting in the apartment downstairs from Streeter, the punk weed dealer who loved having parties every weekend and playing loud hip-hop music all day long, but she didn’t mind the noise today, or the smell of the greasy burgers.
Normally, she’d go downstairs and bang on Streeter’s door and demand that he cut the music off, but not today. Streeter could have his stupid music because she had something much better to deal with.
A plan.
Ivy munched on a potato chip. Scrolled through her phone.
There was one thing Ivy knew for certain: Lola Maxwell would not live a picture-perfect life for much longer. Ivy would tear it down bit by bit, but she’d have to be patient, make sure it worked in her favor.
She wanted to ruin this woman’s life, just as she’d ruined hers . . . but first she had to sit, think, and devise a plan. Despite the delay it would cause, she was very much looking forward to witnessing Lola Maxwell’s ruin from a front-row seat.
PART ONE
BEFORE THE RUIN
CHAPTER THREE
IVY
Hey, Marriott.
You told me to write to you when I needed someone to talk to, even if I decided never to share what I had to say.
Get the words out, you’d always tell me. Express the way you feel on paper if you don’t want to talk about it out loud. Thoughts come out way clearer when they’re written on paper, Ivy.
Well, I’m taking your advice for once. I’m writing it out. After all, I have nothing but time on my hands.
As you know, I don’t have any friends—at least not many I can confide in. There was Alexa. Remember her? But I can’t trust her with my secrets.
She did more judging than accepting, and there was something off about her. She started asking too many questions and was always popping up when I didn’t even invite her over. So, that leaves me with you.
After all I’ve been through, you will probably never acknowledge these words, but it feels good to know I’m telling this story to you. Someone needs to know my side of things.
When you told me the name of the person who’d ruined my life, I think something inside me snapped. I lost all sense of self-control and became obsessed—way too obsessed for my own good. Maybe you were right about my obsessive behavior before.
If you’re blaming yourself right now for anything, stop. You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. Really, you shouldn’t. None of this was your fault. You tried to do the right thing with me, but I just didn’t want to listen. Now look at me.
Still, I suppose I needed to know who the person was. I wouldn’t have lived in peace if I never knew, and you know that.
I quickly learned things about Lola Maxwell. I knew things about her husband too. I’d come up with plan after plan, making sure each one had a plan Z. I was finally ready to take the risk—ready to face this woman and see if she’d recognize me as the girl whose life she ruined.
But before I did that, I had to do some legwork. Pay some expenses. Get in good and make my mark. It was cool. It needed to be done to create the outcome I’d originally wanted.
That’s why I started with her handsome husband, Mr. Corey Maxwell. Or Dr. Corey Maxwell, I should say.
I want you to read this slowly. No, really. Digest it all, and then when it’s done, you can form your own opinions of me. I want you to understand my every angle because at the end of the day, you know my mind better than anyone else does. You studied it for over a decade, inhaled my habits, and continuously diagnosed me with disorders I never even knew I had.