Chapter 13 I’m saying yes
“Brush your teeth and come eat,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a quiet warmth. “I’ll set everything up.”
Ivy’s eyes swept over the spread on the table. It wasn’t just a simple breakfast of eggs and toast—he had made sandwiches, cut up fresh fruit, cooked bacon—an entire spread, as if he had carefully planned it. The sight of it momentarily stunned her.
She quietly returned to the bedroom, freshened up, and came back to the table.
Christian was already seated, waiting for her in silence like a well-behaved child. When she took her seat, he served her breakfast, sliding the plate toward her.
"Eat," he instructed.
She picked up her fork and started eating.
A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He served himself as well. But every now and then, his gaze flickered toward her between bites.
Midway through the meal, Ivy suddenly spoke.
"Is tomorrow alright for getting married?"
Christian’s hand froze mid-air, his spoon hovering just above his plate. His eyes snapped to her face, searching for any sign that she was joking. But when she met his gaze without hesitation, he realized he hadn’t misheard.
“Why did you agree?” His voice was quiet, almost cautious. “Do you really want to marry me?”
Ivy took another bite of her eggs. “Does it matter?” she asked casually.
Christian dropped his spoon onto his plate, his brows furrowing. “It does matter. Answer me. Why did you agree?”
Ivy frowned. “Why are you questioning it when you’re the one who asked me in the first place?” She exhaled sharply, giving him a small, knowing smile. “See? I was right. You’re proving me right. You don’t love me. It’s all just a fantasy you want to turn into reality. It’s not love.”
“Ivy,” Christian interrupted, his face darkening. His voice dropped an octave, quiet, yet laced with intensity. “Do you even understand what marriage is? Getting married to me means you’ll spend every waking moment with me. You’ll be around me all the time. You’ll live under my roof, in my bedroom, in my bed. Have you thought about that?”
"I have," she answered calmly. "And I’m telling you—I’ll marry you."
He studied her face, searching for something—anything—that would give him clarity.
His voice lowered, his tone unreadable. “Are you agreeing just to get rid of me?”
Frustration flashed across Ivy’s face. She put down her spoon with a sharp clink, looking straight at him.
"Christian, what else do you think this is? You asked to be with me, I agreed. You asked for marriage, I agreed! What else do you want from me? What more should I do to please you? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Isn’t this why you’ve been hovering around me all this time? So why do you have a damn problem now that I’m saying yes?"
Christian didn’t look pleased. If anything, he looked a little angry.
Suddenly, he stood up. In one swift motion, he leaned forward, his face inches from hers. Before she could react, his hand slid to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair as his lips crashed against hers.
It wasn’t soft—it was raw, urgent. His mouth claimed hers with a fierce hunger, his lips pressing hard, parting hers as his tongue slid inside, tasting her deeply. The heat of his breath mingled with hers, and a low, guttural sound escaped from his throat as he deepened the kiss. His grip tightened, holding her head still as his tongue tangled with hers, rough and possessive.
Just as suddenly, he pulled back, his breathing uneven. His gaze burned into hers, his thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip as he studied her with dark intensity.
“Think it over,” he murmured. “And then answer me. If you say the same thing again, I’ll marry you.”
***
As they stepped outside her apartment building, Ivy adjusted her bag over her shoulder.
“You can go back,” she told him. Ivy’s voice was calm as they stepped out of her building. She was dressed for work
Christian, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, glanced at the car waiting for him at the entrance.
"I’m leaving for work," she added, turning to walk away.
Before she could take another step, Christian swiftly caught up to her, scooping her into his arms and carrying her toward the car.
“Christian!” she hissed, struggling. “Put me down!”
“I’m dropping you off,” he said, his grip tightening around her.
“I don’t need you to. I can go on my own.”
His grip only tightened, his eyes met hers. “I told you, I’ll drop you off.”
With that, he settled her into the car and climbed in beside her.
As the car started moving, Christian reached out, suddenly lifting her and pulling her onto his lap.
“Christian!” she snapped, pushing against his chest. “Stop it.”
"I want you in my arms," Christian muttered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her head against his chest. "Just sit here. I promise I won’t do anything else," he whispered.
Ivy stiffened, his firm embrace keeping her locked in place. Her hips rested on his lap, her legs stretched out along the seat, and his arms tightened around her body, making any escape impossible. After several seconds of resistance, she finally gave up and remained still in his hold.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Christian’s gaze drifted out of the window, but soon, his head lowered, his nose brushing against her hair. He inhaled deeply, his fingers moving gently through her strands, massaging her scalp in slow, soothing strokes.
Despite herself, Ivy felt something in her chest tighten. His touch—so warm, so careful—sent a strange sensation through her. His breath tickled her ear, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back made her acutely aware of how close they were.
Christian held her securely, his legs stretched out, one hand resting on her hip while the other ran through her hair with an almost reverent tenderness.
The entire ride passed in silence, the only sounds in the air were their quiet breaths. As he had promised, he didn’t do anything else. He simply held her.
When the car came to a stop, Christian finally released her, his arms slowly loosening as he helped her sit back in her seat. Without sparing him a glance, Ivy wordlessly opened the door and stepped out. Christian got out from the other side, watching as she walked briskly toward the office building.
But just as she was making her way forward, a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. Her vision blurred, and her body swayed. She tried blinking to clear the haze, but it only worsened. Before she could react, her knees buckled, and she felt herself falling.
Before she could hit the ground, a strong pair of arms caught her just in time.
When Ivy opened her eyes again, unfamiliar voices murmured in the background.
“She’s alright for now,” the doctor’s voice reassured. “Just a little anemic. She doesn’t seem to be eating much, which is why her blood pressure is low. Just make sure she eats properly, and she’ll be fine.”
The doctor’s voice faded as Ivy’s gaze slowly adjusted to the surroundings. It wasn’t her house. The familiarity of the room sent a shiver down her spine. Christian’s house. There were traces of his existence all around this room.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on a painting hanging on the wall—a wild forest, mist curling between dark clouds, the wet leaves glistening in the rain. She remembered pointing at a similar image once, telling Christian she loved places like that. And now, here it was—a large, breathtaking painting placed right in front of the bed.
The doctor finished his instructions and left the room. Christian, who had been standing by the bedside, finally turned to face her. Seeing her awake, he sat down beside her.
Ivy shifted slightly, trying to sit up. He immediately reached out, supporting her until she was properly upright. Once she was settled, Ivy looked up into his dark eyes. He silently handed her a glass of water, bringing it to her lips as if she were too fragile to hold it herself.
She took a slow sip before setting the glass down. Then, she met his gaze.
“I’ve thought about it,” she said, her voice quiet. “Let’s get married.”
Christian stilled, his eyes locking onto hers. She couldn’t tell what he was searching for in her expression.
“Ivy…” His voice was softer this time. “Do you really want to marry me?”
She held his gaze, unflinching. “We’ll get married for a year,” she continued. “If I fall in love with you in that one year, I’ll stay. If I don’t, we’ll get a divorce, and you’ll never look for me again.”
Christian’s expression remained unreadable, but his answer was immediate.
“Okay.” His voice was quiet. Resolute.
“I want an agreement,” she added.
His lips curled into a small smile. “Okay.”
Without warning, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The warmth lingered for a second before he abruptly stood up and left the room.
Minutes later, he returned, a document in one hand and a pen in the other. He placed the contract in front of her and handed her the pen.
“There.”
Ivy took the document, her eyes scanning the contents. It stated everything she had asked for—the one-year marriage, the divorce terms, the promise that he wouldn’t seek her out afterward. But there was more.
If they divorced, he would give her fifty percent of his wealth. Half of his existing properties. A fifty percent share of his business for life.
Her brow furrowed as she pushed the document toward him. “Why are you giving me all this?” she asked, frowning. “I can’t take it. Change the document. I’ll leave with what I brought into this marriage. I don’t want your money.”
Christian slid the document back into her hands. “You’ll be my wife once we’re married,” he said simply. “I don’t want you to leave me, and I don’t want a divorce. Ever. But if it does happen, you’ll walk away with all this—and whatever else I give you. If you don’t agree to it, then we’re not signing anything at all.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes, her grip on the pen tightening.
She wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew he wouldn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her gaze to the paper.
As her pen hovered over the signature line on the paper, a memory from five years ago surfaced.
It had been three weeks since the incident at the bar. Christian hadn’t stopped pursuing her since. Everywhere she went, he was there. He wasn’t her boyfriend—not officially—but he acted like one. Everywhere she went, he was there—taking care of her, bringing her food and medicine, making sure she got home safely, and even drove her home.
He didn’t care about the gossip in the office about his closeness with Ivy, didn’t care about the whispers of her colleagues. The only thing that mattered to him was what Ivy said.
Except for one thing.
He wouldn’t stop introducing her as his girlfriend.
She remembered that day in the meeting room when all the executives had gathered. As the meeting ended and people filed out, an older businessman had approached her, smiling kindly.
“You’re impressive,” he had said, sliding a piece of paper toward her. “Would you mind writing down your name and number? I’d like to introduce you to my son. I think you’d be a great match.”
Since he was a major client, Ivy hadn’t wanted to reject him outright. However, she planned to politely turn down his son at their first meeting. Smiling, she took the paper and began writing her name—only for Christian to snatch it from her hands.
His grip was firm, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to protest. Then, she had watched, stunned, as he scribbled something on the paper and slid it back toward the older man.
Curious, Ivy had glanced at the paper.
Underneath her name, Christian had added three words: Christian Evans’ girlfriend.
The number had been scratched out beyond recognition.
The businessman had picked up the paper, taken one look at it, and burst out laughing. “Alright,” he had said, shaking his head. “I get it.” Then, with a knowing smile, he had walked out of the room.
The moment they were alone, Ivy had turned to Christian, glaring. “You need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” he had asked, frowning.
“Getting so close to me,” she had snapped. “It’s not right. I need to work. People are talking about us.”
“So what?” he had said, utterly unfazed. “You’re my girlfriend. What does it matter what people say?”
Frustration had flared in her chest. “Stop calling me that. I’m not your girlfriend.”
Christian had only smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.
“You are my girlfriend, Ivy.”
“Stop.” She had warned him.
He had only chuckled and walked off, completely ignoring her protest. She had chased after him, lowering her voice into a frustrated hiss.
“Are you listening to me? I said stop calling me that!”
“What?” he had asked, pretending not to understand.
“Your girlfriend!” she had snapped.
Hearing the words, his smile had only widened. Without another word, he had strode into the CEO’s office, leaving her standing there, fuming in the hallway.
And now, five years later, she was signing her name on a white document again.
Only this time, it wasn’t for him to call her his girlfriend.
It was to become his wife.
The déjà vu hit her hard, an ache settling deep in her chest.
Nothing had changed.
In front of Christian Evans, she was still the same Ivy—the girl whose breath hitched when he was near, whose body trembled at the mere sight of him. Shocks running through her body, her hands trembling, and her words getting stuck in her throat as she struggled to remember what she wanted to say in front of him.
But she could never let it show.
Back then, it had been because she was young and nervous in front of her crush.
Now, it was because she couldn’t let him know he still affected her this way even after five years.
She was waiting for him to disappear, just like he had five years ago. Because if he left this time, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t hurt as much. So that it wouldn’t hurt as much as it had five years ago. So that she wouldn’t feel like she was suffocating every time she opened her eyes.
She couldn’t let herself drown in heartbreak again.
Never again.
With her fingers tightening on the pen, she took a determined breath.
Just one year.
One year, and then it would be the same as before. He wouldn’t bother her again, and she wouldn’t have to sit in fear, wondering if he was just bored and would disappear just like last time. She wouldn’t live in that constant fear. She would be free.
With a sharp breath, Ivy scribbled her name on the document, the pen gliding smoothly across the paper. Then, she handed the document back to him.