Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Damian
Outside the glass curtain wall, dense rain clouds pressed down like they wanted to swallow the city whole.
I leaned back in my office leather chair, exhausted, rotating my aching wrists. I'd been running nonstop at the company for three days straight—the overseas asset restructuring case.
Three days with barely any sleep had worn my patience to nothing, and my stomach throbbed with a hollow ache. I hadn't gone home these past few days. Truth was, beyond the grueling work, part of me didn't know how to face Ivy—at least work files wouldn't interrogate me about who I'd been with.
Click.
The office door pushed open softly.
I frowned, about to snap at my assistant for not knocking, but when I looked up, I saw Ivy standing there. She held an elegant insulated lunch box at the doorway, just watching me. She didn't come in.
Why wasn't she coming in? Usually, after I worked late, she'd bring me something warm and nourishing.
I wasn't crazy about it, but it did make me feel better, and since Ivy made it, I'd finish it.
Like how I never liked sweets—those cakes and desserts with their excessive sugar, sickeningly sweet to me.
But whenever Ivy brought something she'd just made, looking at me with those bright eyes, asking expectantly how it tasted, I'd end up eating it anyway. Then tell her it was pretty good.
Before, I would never have compromised like that for anyone. But after marrying Ivy, some things had apparently become exceptions without me noticing.
My temples throbbed. I reached up reflexively to rub them.
Seeing me massage my temples, something pained flashed in her eyes, and she quickly walked over to set the lunch box on my desk.
"Damian, you haven't been home these past few days—have you been pulling all-nighters again?
I made stomach-soothing chicken soup, you should eat something first... "
The soup's aroma drifted over, making me press my lips together. My fingers paused, and some unexpected pleasure bubbled up inside me. See? She couldn't leave me. She still loved me that much.
"Leave it there. I'm not hungry right now." But I still cut her off coldly, my eyes returning to the screen full of data that looked like scrambled code.
I needed to teach her a lesson. As Mrs. Wentworth, getting jealous every time she saw me working with another woman was pretty immature.
Of course, I wouldn't keep her at arm's length for long—because just thinking about not being close to Ivy for any extended period made this inexplicable discomfort surge up.
Ivy didn't leave immediately. She stood by the desk, her gaze falling on the open restructuring case outline.
After a long silence—just when I was about to tell her to leave, to stop disturbing my work—she finally spoke.
Her voice came, hesitant but honest. "Damian, about Wentworth's recent overseas restructuring case... is there anything I could help with? Even if it's just checking legal clauses or organizing basic accounts—I want to help you like Cecilia does. I want to be closer to your world."
My pen-twirling hand froze abruptly.
I looked up at her, surprised at first, but then came the faint irritation.
Cecilia had clawed her way through Wall Street for years, could spot holes in overseas merger cases with surgical precision, while Ivy had spent these past two years content being Mrs. Wentworth—her research subjects had long since become the manor's tea menus and flower arrangements.
I'll admit, as a wife, she was damn near perfect. But that didn't mean she could help me at work.
"Okay, Ivy, different strokes." I didn't even want this conversation, suppressing that subtle guilt that flared up when she mentioned Cecilia, my voice low.
"The underlying logic of business is ten thousand times more complex than you think.
You have your strengths—taking care of the manor and yourself is enough.
You don't need to compete with Cecilia. Stop distracting me.
You can take the card, go shopping, buy some new clothes—I mean, just go back to the manor. "
I meant to keep her safe in her comfort zone, help her understand her place.
But the moment the words left my mouth, Ivy visibly stiffened.
Those bright eyes dimmed instantly. My heart lurched inexplicably, but I quickly pushed it down.
She needed to know her boundaries, which areas she shouldn't touch.
I was just helping her understand her position. Nothing wrong with that.
Yet, against my expectations, she didn't show that hurt expression like usual. Instead, she took a long breath.
"Got it." She didn't say another word, just quietly pushed the insulated lunch box closer to me, then turned and walked straight toward the office door without a backward glance.
My heart started racing for no reason.
That sudden, unprompted anxiety—like something was slipping completely through my fingers—swept through me instantly. I fought the urge to rush over and pull her back into my arms. Told myself she was just tired, women had moods sometimes. Nothing unusual.
Staring at that closed office door, the pen in my hand wouldn't come down. The anticipated relief of being undisturbed never came. Instead, some indescribable dread kept expanding in my chest, pressing down like a dark cloud.
Whatever. Once I finished this mess, I'd go home and make it up to her properly.
The door opened again. I perked up instantly. Ivy came back? She wasn't mad at me?
But the next second, the person at the door was Cecilia. My momentary excitement crashed.
"I ran into Ivy at the elevators. She didn't look great." Cecilia walked in, spreading files directly on my desk. "She came to bring you lunch? Perfect timing—I've been too busy to eat anything, my stomach's killing me. Mind sharing?"
"Yes." The refusal came almost instinctively. Ivy didn't look great—had I really been that harsh? Was she that angry? I felt restless.
My response to Cecilia came out cold. "Sorry, Ivy made that specifically for me. You want something, have Charlie order from any restaurant in Manhattan."
Cecilia choked on my flat rejection, then shrugged. "Fine. Business then—heard you and your Wall Street genius squad are stuck on the London restructuring case?"
She pointed at several clauses on screen, analyzing with extremely fluent professional terminology. "Look here. What about introducing a third-party intermediary entity?"
My eyes lit up. My previously chaotic brain suddenly cleared.
"Worth a shot."
Can't deny, facing this kind of high-intensity business warfare, having Cecilia beside me as a capable partner did genuinely stir something like admiration.
But that's all it was. Admiration.
Cecilia caught my approval and smiled. "See? Told you I could help. Damian, as battle partners, I understand you best. Speaking of which—does Ivy understand any of this?"
I frowned slightly. Why did she always bring up Ivy, intentionally or not?
"Ivy doesn't need to understand this. I'll handle everything for her."
She'd live comfortably under my protection for life.
Though I said that, Ivy's cold expression when she left at noon stuck in me like a thin thorn, giving me no peace.
After finishing work and heading home, I detoured to a familiar high-end jewelry store, personally selecting an extremely luxurious pink diamond bracelet, placing it in an exquisite black velvet gift box.
I hoped Ivy would like it.
But the moment I returned to the manor and entered the main hall—before I could go upstairs to the master bedroom to find Ivy—Cecilia, sitting in the living room, noticed me. Her gaze landed on the black velvet box with the high-end logo in my hand, and her face paled slightly.
"That's... a gift for Ivy?" Cecilia asked softly.
"Yeah." I gave a brief response, not stopping, just wanting to get upstairs quickly. Ivy's resolute departure from the office today made me desperate to see her.
"Damian, wait!" Cecilia called out urgently, clicking over in her heels to stop me, holding up her tablet. "London just sent back the latest actuarial data. New loopholes. Need immediate patching."
I looked toward the stairs, then at the data charts in Cecilia's hand.
Fine. Ivy would wait for me. After handling this work, I'd go make it up to her. Should still be in time.
"Study."
I compromised, casually slipping the black velvet gift box meant for Ivy into my suit pocket, turning with Cecilia toward the study.
After the emergency work wrapped up, I closed my laptop and leaned back in the office chair with a long exhale.
Not too late yet. Ivy probably wasn't asleep.
Just as I prepared to leave, the study door pushed open gently. Cecilia walked in carrying two glasses of red wine. She'd changed back into that thin silk slip dress from earlier—wait. When had she even left the study? I hadn't noticed at all.
I averted my eyes, suddenly remembering how, after being intimate with Ivy the other day, she'd expressed dissatisfaction with Cecilia's clothing.
I opened my mouth but ultimately said nothing.
Cecilia's style had always been like this.
Open, bold. She hadn't changed it during our time together either.
If I suddenly imposed dress codes on her, she'd definitely connect it to Ivy.
She needed to stay at the manor a while longer—I didn't want their interactions going south.
Though honestly, if Ivy dressed like that in front of others, I'd definitely say something. Not that I really understood why I'd mind.
"All sorted? Congratulations, Damian." Cecilia walked over, handing me one of the wine glasses, settling herself on the armrest right next to my office chair.
Too close. I could smell that heavy French perfume on her. I shifted, creating some distance. After being with Ivy so long, I wasn't used to overly strong perfume anymore.
"Thanks. Today's breakthrough was your angle." I raised my glass, clinked it with hers, and downed most of it. I was genuinely tired—might as well relax with these drinks.