Chapter 4 Seattle
She stood frozen, her breath catching, until Christian took her hand and gently pulled her forward.
“Come on.”
She hesitated but followed him inside. The moment they reached the hall, she yanked her hand out of his grasp.
“Where are we?” she demanded.
Christian turned to her, his gaze flickering down to the hand she had just pulled away. A brief frown crossed his face, and his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to take her hand again.
“My house,” he answered simply.
Ivy’s patience snapped. “Why would you bring me here? Did you really think I’d stay with you?” She turned sharply, heading straight for the door.
But Christian was faster. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him.
“I just want to have dinner with you.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. “Just dinner. I promise.”
Her eyes darted to his hand gripping hers, then to the door.
“Fine,” she muttered. “One hour. Then I’m leaving.”
His lips curled into a small smile. He followed happily, and just as quickly, he reached for her hand again, leading her toward the plush couches. Gently, he nudged her down.
“You can sit here,” he told her. “Or roam around. The entire house is yours.” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her cheek before pulling away. “I’ll go cook for you.”
With that, he turned and headed toward the open kitchen across the hall.
Ivy remained seated, unmoving. But her gaze wandered—to the house, to the furniture, to the man in the kitchen.
Christian had removed his coat, leaving him in just his dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms lined with veins as he rinsed ingredients, stirred—his movements smooth and precise. Her eyes lingered on his hands for too long.
Then, suddenly, his gaze lifted. Their eyes met.
Ivy quickly turned away, her pulse skipping a beat.
Half an hour later, Christian returned with dishes, setting them neatly on a small dining table. Then he walked over and took her hand once again.
“Come. Dinner is ready.”
She followed, mostly to get it over with as quickly as possible. Taking a seat, she watched as he served her steak, soup, and a few side dishes.
“Here,” he said, sliding the soup toward her. “Taste it. I made the one you like.”
Ivy glanced at the bowl, untouched. “It has coriander.” She set her spoon down. “I don’t like coriander.”
Without a word, Christian nodded, set his utensils down, and pulled the bowl toward him. Without a hint of irritation, he grabbed a fresh spoon and, with meticulous precision, began picking out every single piece of coriander.
Ivy watched in surprise.
He wasn’t annoyed. He didn’t sigh in frustration.
He just did it. Patiently. Carefully.
Only when he was certain there wasn’t a single trace of coriander left did he slide the bowl back to her.
“Here,” he murmured.
She bit her lip, hesitated for a moment—then picked up her spoon and started eating.
Seeing Ivy eat, Christian finally sighed in relief and picked up his utensils again, resuming his meal. His gaze kept drifting to her, checking on her between bites. Whenever her plate had less food, he silently served her more. If he spotted coriander in her dish—he meticulously removed it for her without a word.
As they neared the end of dinner, a maid appeared to pour water into their glasses. She smiled politely at Ivy before speaking.
“You’re very special, Miss,” the older woman said, her voice warm. “I’ve never seen Mr. Evans give such deep attention or care to any woman before.”
Ivy didn’t respond. She simply lowered her gaze, pretending not to hear. The maid, sensing her silence, quickly excused herself.
Once she finished eating, Ivy stood up and headed toward the couch to grab her purse. Just then, a doctor appeared at the door. Her eyes flickered between him and Christian, who was already walking toward her.
“Take a seat,” he said.
Her brows furrowed. "What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing?" A hint of anger edged her voice.
“He’s just here to check on you,” Christian replied calmly as he reached her. “ You have low blood pressure," he explained, stepping closer. "Let him examine you to make sure you're alright."
"I don’t need a check-up!" she snapped, spinning on her heel to storm past him.
But Christian was faster. He reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back against him. Her body collided with his chest, and before she could protest, he dipped his head, his warm breath brushing against her ear.
"Ivy," he murmured, his voice low, coaxing. "Please, be good. If you sit through the check-up nicely, I’ll take you home."
Ivy pulled back sharply, turning to glare at him. Then, through gritted teeth, she spat, "I’m going home right after this."
Without waiting for his response, she marched toward the couch and sat down, letting the doctor examine her.
The doctor took her blood pressure and asked her a few health-related questions. Meanwhile, Christian stepped away, heading upstairs to fetch his jacket for her since the evening had turned colder. But when he returned a few minutes later, she was gone.
His eyes scanned the house, his jaw tightening. “Where is Ivy?” he asked the maid, his voice sharp.
The maid hesitated before giving a guilty smile. “She left already, sir. Just a few minutes ago.”
Christian’s fingers curled tightly around the jacket, his expression darkening for a fleeting moment. Then, with measured control, he neatly placed the jacket on the couch.
Turning to the doctor, he asked, “How is she?”
“She’s fine,” the doctor assured him. “Just a little weakness, but nothing concerning.”
Christian gave a stiff nod. Once the doctor left, he pulled out his phone and dialed Sawyer, one of his close friends, as he made his way to his bedroom.
The call connected.
"How can you pacify a girl who’s angry at you?" Christian asked without preamble.
There was a beat of silence before Sawyer’s amused voice responded, "Who are you pacifying?"
“None of your business,” Christian replied flatly. “Just tell me how to do it.”
Sawyer chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "The first thing you should do is treat her right and win her over properly. Date her, pacify her, and chase her like a normal man instead of being… well, you. Angry, broody faces don’t work on women these days. Don’t scare her with your attitude."
Christian scowled, tapping a pen against the table with increasing intensity. "I’ve already tried treating her properly, but it doesn’t work on her. She barely even talks to me—like I’m not worth her time."
Sawyer suppressed another laugh. Considering Christian’s silent, brooding, and almost overbearing presence, it was a miracle he even liked a woman—let alone pursued one. It was no surprise that he was more likely to intimidate her than charm her.
Sitting up straight, Sawyer set his glass of water down. "By the way, where are you right now? I heard from your dad that your psychosomatic paralysis has been getting worse lately."
Christian’s grip on the pen tightened for a second before he dropped it onto the desk. “It’s better now,” he muttered. “Ever since I met Ivy again, it's been more under control.”
“Good. Tell me if it surfaces again. I will help you. Day and night, it doesn't matter.”
Christian grumbled in acknowledgment before hanging up.
A few minutes later, Christian’s phone buzzed again. This time, it was Samuel, his secretary.
"Mr. Evans, there’s a meeting with a client in Seattle tomorrow. Should I arrange your flight for the morning?"
Christian glanced out the window. Snow blanketed the city, and a sudden thought crossed his mind—had Ivy made it home safely? Was she caught in the snowfall?
His grip on the pen tightened, then relaxed as he made his decision.
"No," he said. "I’m not going. Arrange a video conference or make other arrangements."
“Understood, sir.”
Christian was about to hang up when he paused. "Samuel?"
"Yes, Mr. Evans?"
"Where is Ivy tomorrow? Is she going to the office as usual?"
There was a brief pause before Samuel answered, “I just double-checked, Mr. Evans. Ms. Watson is leaving for a business trip to Seattle early tomorrow morning. I’m not sure how many days she’ll be staying. There’s no return ticket booked yet.”
Christian’s fingers curled into a fist, his grip on the pen tightening until his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he flicked the pen onto the table with a careless motion, his expression unreadable.
"Book my meeting in Seattle for tomorrow morning," he ordered coldly. "And reserve a room for me in the same hotel where Ivy is staying."
***
Jenna yawned loudly as she and Ivy stepped out of the hotel lobby and onto the bustling street of Seattle. Ivy walked beside her, scanning her surroundings as they made their way forward.
"Damn, I'm so fucking hungry," Jenna grumbled. "What’s with this hotel not delivering food to the rooms? I was already late, couldn't go downstairs for the buffet, and now I’m starving."
Ivy frowned, glancing at her in confusion. "What are you talking about? My breakfast was delivered to my room at nine—and I didn’t even ask for it."
Jenna stopped, turning to her with a frown. "That’s not possible. I specifically called and asked, and they told me they don’t deliver to rooms."
Ivy was taken aback for a moment, but before she could say anything, Jenna checked the time and sighed. "I gotta go, I’m already late. See you in the evening."
Ivy nodded. "Grab something to eat on the way."
"I will." Jenna flashed a quick smile before hurrying off to work.
Ivy watched her disappear into the crowd, a nagging thought forming in her mind. Had Christian arranged for her breakfast? There was no one else who would do something like that.
But why would he? And how would he even know where she was staying?
This hotel was much smaller than what someone like him would consider staying in.
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. Maybe she was just overthinking.
With a sigh, she turned and attempted to book a cab, but the heavy traffic made it impossible to get one. After several failed attempts, she decided to walk for a while and try her luck from another location.
As she moved, the bustling streets gradually gave way to emptier ones. A few minutes later, she entered a quiet alley to take a shortcut to the main road.
Just then, a strange sensation crawled up her spine—she wasn’t alone.
Her heartbeat quickened. She picked up her pace, hoping it was just her imagination. But the footsteps behind her quickened too.
Glancing back, she spotted two men following her. They looked unkempt, sleazy—probably homeless, but the way their eyes roamed over her sent alarm bells ringing in her head.
Ivy’s pulse spiked.
She tried to run.
The men ran too.
Before she could react, one of them grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She stumbled, crashing onto the hard ground. Pain shot through her.
The other man stepped in front of her, blocking her escape. She was trapped between them, the desolate alley offering no witnesses, no help. The alley was empty—no houses, no passersby. Just her and them.
A sickening smile twisted on their faces. They stepped closer, eyes dark with intentions that made her stomach churn.
Ivy scrambled to her feet, desperate to make a run for it, but before she could take another step, both men grabbed her, shoving her back down. Rough hands tore at her clothes, their grip bruising.
"Help!" she screamed, her voice desperate. "Someone, help!"
But her cries were swallowed by the distant blare of music from the main road.
Hands fumbled at her clothes. A filthy stench filled her nose as she struggled.
Then—
Just as terror took hold, one of the men was suddenly yanked back by his collar and thrown to the ground with brutal force.
Ivy looked up, her breath hitching.