I can protect you.
And I will.
As long as you keep needing me.
Her heart stumbles, not knowing whether to run from him... or run to him.
And Damian, with the faintest curve of his lips, made sure she didn't know the difference.
Soft laughter filled the room again
Not relief. Not warmth.
Laughter sharpened by champagne and convenience.
The Veiliths and the Scotts stood together near the centre, glasses raised, smiles easy, as if nothing uncomfortable had happened minutes ago. As if the image that had flickered across the massive screen hadn't sliced through the celebration like a blade.
"It's good that everything was cleared so quickly," someone said lightly.
"These kinds of misunderstandings happen at parties," another laughed. "Especially when big peoples are involved."
Ivy stood just outside the circle, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her glass. The crystal was cold against her skin, grounding her in a moment that felt unreal.
Cleared.
Misunderstanding.
Her humiliation had been neatly folded into a narrative everyone could live with.
Her father approached her then, his steps measured, his smile already in place. To anyone watching, it was a tender moment, a concerned father checking on his daughter.
He leaned in close, close enough that his cologne drowned out the scent of champagne. "That behavior," he whispered, his tone calm and controlled, "was unprofessional."
Ivy's throat tightened.
"You should have discussed this in the office." His smile didn't waver. "Still... I will excuse it. After all, it was done for the family. And for Blake."
He straightened and patted her arm once, firmly. Then he turned back to the guests as if nothing more needed to be said.
The music swelled again.
Ivy was immediately surrounded by her friends, pressing in with practiced concern, soft laughs, and carefully chosen words.
"That was so intense," one whispered.
"But honestly? You handled it well," another added.
"Your fiancé must appreciate your dedication."
She smiled when they smiled.
She nodded when they spoke.
She did what she had always done.
Across the room, Damian lifted a glass from a passing waiter. He watched Black Scott over the rim, then walked towards him slowly.
Blake noticed him at the last second. His jaw tightened, eyes flickering briefly toward Ivy before returning to Damian.
"Congratulations," Damian said smoothly, raising his glass.
Blake's response was clipped. "Thank you."
Damian tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. "Unexpected evening," he added lightly. "Though I must say, professional discussions are best kept separate from personal affairs, even though they are meant for a surprise in the future."
The words landed softly.
Too soft.
Blake's fingers curled tighter around his glass. Damian offered a faint smile and clinked his glass against Blake's. The sound was crisp.
He drained his drink in one controlled motion and handed the empty glass to a waiter without looking. Then he turned away.
No glance back.
No hesitation.
The night air outside was sharp, biting. Kairo was already by the car, phone in hand. He looked up when Damian approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Perfect timing, huh?"
Damian reached for the car door handle. But his fingers missed the handle. The lights started to blur at the edges, sounds folding inward as if being swallowed.
"...Damian?" Kairo's voice sharpened. Damian swayed once, and then his knees buckled.
Kairo moved fast, catching him before he hit the ground. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, gripping Damian's shoulders. He leaned in, frowned, then cursed under his breath. "One sip. One damn sip."
He hauled Damian upright with effort, half-dragging him toward the backseat.
"Seriously," Kairo muttered as he laid him down, slamming the door shut. "You're rare. You know that?"
The engine roared to life.
Behind them, the mansion continued to glow, music spilling out, laughter rising, celebration intact.
Meanwhile, back in the ballroom, the celebration hadn't thinned.
Blake Scott moved through the crowd with ease, and every inch says he is the perfect heir of the Scotts. His suit immaculate, his posture relaxed, and his practiced fake smile was enough to convince anyone watching that the night had gone exactly as planned. He stopped in front of Ivy and her friends.
"May I borrow her?" he asked lightly, with warm eyes and a little bit of teasing in his tone.
Her friends giggled instantly.
"Of course," one said.
"Don't steal her for too long," another added.
"Future husband privileges already?" someone teased.
Blake chuckled, extending his hand. Ivy hesitated for half a second so briefly that no one noticed, but then she placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm. Possessive. Sweet, if you didn't know better.
He guided her away through the glass doors, up the private staircase that led to the rooftop terrace. The music dulled behind them, replaced by the hush of open air and distant city lights.
Cold wind brushed her skin.
Ivy smiled up at him, soft and tentative. "Did you... visit my house often?" she asked gently, as if the question itself might please him. "You seemed to know your way around here."
Blake stopped walking. The warmth in his expression evaporated.
In one sharp motion, he turned, backing her against the stone wall. His arm came up beside her head, not touching her, but close enough to cage her in.
The sound of breath caught between them.
"You know," he said almost casually, "this wasn't how I imagined this day. You embarrassed me tonight."
Ivy blinked, confusion flickering across her face. "I-I didn't-"
His voice dropped, smooth but cutting. "In front of my family, the investors, and of people who matter."
Her back pressed harder into the wall as he leaned in, his presence suffocating.
"We grew up together," he continued. "Everyone decided for us before I even understood what choice meant. You were always there except last few years. Convenient. Familiar."
Her throat tightened.
"After all what ever you did earlier, I saved you," he continued with his cold eyes. "I smoothed it over, and that doesn't mean I wanted this."
"I am not in love with you," Blake said. "I accepted you. There's a difference."
Ivy felt something inside her crack quietly, so no one else could hear it. Her voice trembled, "I didn't mean to-"
"To what?" he snapped softly. "What and why were you proving yourself useful?"
The words landed like slaps.
"You forget your place far too easily," Blake said. "You're not some independent asset. You're a name. A bridge. A benefit."
Ivy's fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as her chest tightened painfully.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice, full of poison and intimate.
"I'm allowing you to work with that man," Blake said. "And don't ever stand beside another man like that again."
Her eyes widened, "Allowing?"
"Yes." A thin smile curved his lips. "If I see you laughing with another man," he whispered, "If I hear even a rumor-"
He paused deliberately.
"I won't be this patient."
Ivy's chest burned.
"You belong to this family," Blake finished. "And soon, to mine. Don't make me regret choosing you over a dozen better options."
He stepped back, straightening his cuffs, the perfect heir restored.
"That man?" he added coolly. "He's a tool. Don't mistake my permission for freedom."
Then he smiled, not sharply, but with a gentle one that everyone loved.
"Now, smile," he said softly.
Ivy's lips moved on instinct, her face obeying before her mind could catch up.
"Good girl."
He reached out, patting her head as if she were something he owned and trained. His fingers brushed a loose strand of her hair, twirling it once around his fingers with careless intimacy.
"By the way," he added lightly, already turning away, "you look beautiful tonight."
And just like that, he walked back toward the lights, laughter, and applause.
Leaving her behind.
The wind rushed past her ears, louder now that she was alone.
Then, thud!
Something small struck the stone floor near her feet.
Ivy startled, looking down.
A small stone.
Wrapped in folded paper.
Her heart stuttered. She picked it up slowly, fingers trembling as she unfolded the paper.
A number.
And beneath it, written in sharp, unfamiliar handwriting:
We couldn't share contacts.
Her breath caught. She spun around, eyes scanning the terrace, the stairwell, the shadows between pillars.
Nothing.
No footsteps or presence or trace of someone.
Only the night wind... and the paper crumpling in her fist. Ivy stared at the crumbled paper.
Controlled freedom?
Blake's voice echoes in her mind.
And for the first time, she wondered-
What is freedom?