Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ivy
Midnight. Damian still hadn't come back from the study.
I lay in bed, watching the carefully chosen aromatherapy candle flicker in our bedroom. The faint scent made it hard to breathe.
My mind kept circling back to the past few days—Damian's coldness, Cecilia's humiliation, their easy rapport...
I thought our two years of mutual respect meant something. Turns out, his only dietary restriction came from loving another woman, and my attempts to salvage things barely registered.
If this kept up... I didn't know how much longer I could last in this marriage.
I tossed and turned before finally sitting up, blowing out the candle, and switching on the main light. The sudden brightness flooded the bedroom. Since I couldn't sleep, I might as well get some milk in the kitchen.
I changed into a neat gray silk robe, twisted my messy hair into a loose bun, and slipped on soundless flats. The bedroom door opened without a sound.
The hallway sconces were dimmed low, the quiet air making me slow my breathing and footsteps.
Damian was probably still working. Better not disturb him.
But as I rounded the corner near the study, a soft sob stopped me cold.
Cecilia's voice. In Damian's study? At this hour?
My body trembled. My breath quickened. Panic surged through me.
No... they were probably just discussing work.
I drifted toward the study. The door wasn't fully closed—just cracked open, warm yellow light spilling through.
"Damian, look me in the eyes and tell me. You married Ivy to spite me, didn't you?"
The words nailed me to the floor. They drifted through the cold air and hammered into my eardrums. I gasped. What were they saying? Spite? What did that mean? Impossible. Damian loved me.
"A completely ordinary girl," Cecilia's voice echoed through the spacious study, dripping with condescension.
"You don't love her. All she does is cook and take care of you, smile like a puppet at parties.
Has she ever helped your career or your mind even once?
Damian, darling, tell me you married her to prove something to your mother, to me in Paris—that you didn't care. Right?"
I could barely contain my rage. I wanted to storm in and confront Cecilia.
This was absurd. How dare she, an outsider, judge what Damian and I had?
But the silence from inside made my heart seize. I didn't care about Cecilia's insults. I needed to hear Damian's voice.
I needed him to use that commanding, unquestionable tone to crush Cecilia's delusions. I waited for him to say coldly, "Cecilia, get out. Ivy is my wife. Watch yourself."
Even if it was a lie, even if it was just to protect his proud Wentworth dignity, say anything in denial, and I could swallow all the humiliation, all the cold looks from the past few days.
Anything, and I'd have a reason to stay.
But fate wouldn't even grant me that dignity.
"I won't deny it." Damian's voice finally came. A deep sigh. "At first, choosing this marriage did have an element of spite. I wanted to prove your leaving meant nothing to me."
My body swayed. I caught the wall before I fell. Air rushed from my lungs. Tears blurred my vision. Everything he'd done for me these years... was fake. He didn't love me?
So that was it. The truth.
All the cold violence that baffled me these two years, all those nights when his eyes looked through me without focus, all the social events where he ignored the elite women mocking me... finally, it all made perfect sense.
The joke was, until tonight, I'd been certain Damian and I were in love.
He used to pursue me so openly when I was just an assistant. He remembered what I liked and brought me medicine in the rain. Everyone at the company looked at me with envy, and I naively believed I was the luckiest girl in the world.
So after the wedding, when he turned cold, I thought it was an unavoidable personality flaw from his privileged upbringing. I thought if I was obedient enough, took care of him, managed the estate, he'd feel the warmth of home in this marriage.
But the truth was, I was just a prop in his game to spite his true love. A cheap doll, easily replaced.
They kept talking inside—maybe reminiscing about their first love, maybe struggling with unfinished feelings—but I couldn't hear another word. My tears felt baked dry by humiliation and grief. I didn't even have the right to cry.
I couldn't bear another word. I spun around and ran back to the bedroom, locked myself in the bathroom.
"Spite." "Meant nothing." The words kept circling my mind. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face.
The icy shock cleared my head slightly. I gripped the marble countertop, slowly raised my head, and looked at the woman in the mirror. "Ivy," I whispered. "You're pathetic."
I'd loved him so long, and to him, I was nothing. I had my pride too. I wasn't staying one more second in this house full of lies and contempt. I didn't want to see Cecilia's smug, pitying smile.
What came next? Damian walking in hand-in-hand with Cecilia, looking down at me while asking for a divorce? No. I wouldn't endure that humiliation.
I turned off the water, grabbed a paper towel to dry my hands, and watched my reflection's eyes harden.
I'd suffered enough indignity lately. I was done.
I walked to the nightstand, picked up my phone, and scrolled through my contacts with shaking fingers until I found my personal attorney—Robert.
"Robert, sorry to bother you so late. Please draft divorce papers for me.
No property division, no alimony or estate shares.
I'll leave with nothing. Send the final documents to my personal email tomorrow morning.
From now on, have all divorce proceedings handled directly with Wentworth's legal team. I won't be involved. Thank you."
The moment I hit send, tears stung my eyes again. But then something in my chest that had been pressed down hard suddenly loosened. I exhaled. It was worth it. I deserved better.
I opened the closet. Past rows of haute couture—Chanel and Dior labels sent regularly by Damian's assistant—sat a dusty black fabric suitcase. The only thing I'd carried when I came to New York two years ago.
I didn't touch the luxurious furs or the diamond necklaces in the safe—worth enough to buy a Manhattan apartment. Those belonged to "Mrs. Wentworth," not to Ivy.
I packed only a few sweaters and jeans I'd bought myself, some French literature books I loved, and a few odds and ends.
When the suitcase zipper closed, I sat on the cold floor, covered my face, and held back my sobs.
Was I heartbroken? Yes. I loved Damian. But that didn't mean I could pretend nothing happened after hearing those insulting words, couldn't keep playing the fool waiting on him and his true love.
I pulled myself off the floor and slowly lay on the bed, hugging myself, feeling the whole world falling away.
When I heard the servants moving outside, I opened my eyes groggily. The cold beside me told me Damian hadn't come back all night. I laughed bitterly at the pathetic part of me that had hoped.
I checked the time. Damian would be leaving for the office soon. By my biological clock from the past two years, I should already be downstairs plating breakfast. But today I didn't have the heart or energy for Mrs. Wentworth's duties.
It didn't matter. The estate staff would handle breakfast. Everything would run perfectly. Just like when I disappeared from this estate, Cecilia would seamlessly take my place and be close to Damian.
I got up and changed into a plain cotton dress I'd pulled out last night. After two years of marriage—even one born from ridiculous spite—I wanted to see Damian one last time before leaving. I wanted to say goodbye in person, to put a not-too-pathetic ending on this absurd love affair I'd imagined.
"Damian." I'd just reached the landing when I saw Damian coming from the guest room direction. I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and blocked his path. "I need to talk—"
Damian stopped. He looked up at me, his brow furrowing obviously the moment he saw me. "Later. I've got an emergency to handle." Without waiting for my response, he coldly stepped around me and strode downstairs.
The heavy door shut hard below, leaving me frozen on the empty curved staircase.
I didn't even have the energy to mock myself. Ivy, what were you expecting?
The slap came at the perfect time, shattering the last bit of unrealistic attachment and cowardice in my heart.
I turned around without looking at the direction he'd gone.
My phone buzzed. Robert had sent the final documents.
"John, could you turn on the printer for me?" I called down to John, who looked up at me with concern. He opened his mouth but said nothing. He'd seen it all.
The printer's mechanical hum started. A few thin pages cleanly negated two years of my life. I picked up a pen and signed my name on the signature line without hesitation.
Then I pulled the massive engagement ring off my left ring finger and pressed it on top of the divorce papers, right in the center of Damian's desk.
On a sticky note beside the agreement, I wrote one last line: "Damian, I've signed the divorce papers. Don't look for me. For all follow-up matters, contact my attorney Robert directly."
I dropped the pen on the desk, turned around, grabbed my heavy black suitcase, and walked downstairs without looking back.
"Ma'am! Mrs. Wentworth! Please wait!"
Just as I left the hall, a breathless shout came from behind.
I turned, surprised, to see butler John hurrying toward me with a sealed manila envelope. When he saw the old black suitcase at my feet, shock flashed in his eyes.
"Ma'am, this came from Sacred Heart Hospital this morning, addressed to you." John handed me the envelope, looking at me carefully. "Are you... going on a trip? Sir was just very busy today, please don't—"
Looking at this butler who'd been respectful to me for two years, I swallowed the bitterness and gave him the most genuine smile I'd managed in days.
"Thank you, John. You don't need to call me ma'am anymore. I'm not the lady of this house anymore." I took the envelope and said softly, "Take care of yourself. You can go back now."
John froze in place, his lips moving slightly. "Madam, is this because of that Miss Ashton with her—" He seemed to search for the right word, then finally settled on one. "—bold style?"
He hurriedly continued, "Please don't worry. I'm quite certain she's only a guest staying here temporarily. You are the only one worthy of being called Mrs. Wentworth. Sir only has eyes for you—"
I shook my head, cutting him off. "Goodbye, John." The coldness I'd felt these past days was real. The words I'd heard were real. Damian and I were done.
John's open mouth took a while to close. Finally, he sighed, bowed slightly to me, and returned to his work.
I pushed down the surge of bitterness and decided to open the envelope anyway.
It was from the full physical I'd done at Sacred Heart Hospital two weeks ago.
Damian had needed to attend a last-minute gala, so I'd rushed out of the hospital without waiting for the final results.
The doctor's assistant must have finally forwarded them to the estate today.
The first few pages were routine medical data—blood work, liver function, electrolytes... everything normal. Until my fingers reached the last page, the words made my heart nearly stop.
"HCG test result: positive, indicating early pregnancy. Estimated gestational age: approximately 4 weeks. Recommend scheduling ultrasound to confirm intrauterine pregnancy."
Like a lightning bolt splitting my world in two. Absurdity and panic slammed into me.
I collapsed onto the front steps, trembling as I raised my left hand and traced my still-flat stomach through my dress.
Here...
At this moment, a small life connected to Damian and me was already quietly growing.
What cruel irony. I'd dreamed about children countless nights. Wondered if that cold man would show a father's tenderness when he held a baby.
But reality was, the day I discovered I was pregnant was the day I decided to end everything. Should I... stay for this child?
As I drowned in despair and confusion, my phone vibrated. My heart jumped. Did Damian know?
I took a deep breath and opened the screen with sweaty, shaking fingers. It was from Damian, but the message was so cold it was almost funny.
"Don't wait up for dinner tonight. Work emergency. Cecilia and I need to fly to London immediately. Business trip, about a week. Whatever you wanted to talk about can wait until I'm back. There's a gift box in the study. Compensation for you."
My tears finally broke free, falling onto the report that read "pregnancy positive."
I wiped my face hard and stood up with resolution.
This child came after I decided to leave.
He was a gift from fate to me—to Ivy alone.
He had nothing to do with the Wentworth family.
He didn't need a father who married his mother out of spite, didn't need to grow up in a mansion full of lies, coldness, violence, and contempt.
I left the estate and called a rideshare, heading to the station in the light rain.
Through the car window, the estate that had shattered my dignity grew smaller and blurrier in the rearview mirror, finally disappearing along with the weak Ivy I used to be.
Damian. Mr. Wentworth. This marriage was a complete fraud. I never want to see you again.