Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Damian
Cecilia slid off the bed, bare feet sinking into the carpet.
Her hand traced up her neck, then drifted down.
One hand cupped and squeezed her breasts hard while the other slid over her stomach, finally settling between her thighs, rubbing lightly.
I stood frozen, calculating the odds that she'd lost her damn mind.
"Remember how crazy we used to be?" Her voice dropped low.
"You were obsessed with my body. Took me multiple times a day.
Sometimes in the study, sometimes in the car.
Hell, you'd pin me against the wall after parties before you'd even finished undressing.
That little girl Ivy—how could she possibly satisfy you?
She's so boring. What does she know about pleasing you? "
She moved closer with every word, her body nearly pressing against mine. I backed up instinctively. The shock hit me—I felt absolutely nothing for Cecilia's body.
Cecilia was objectively beautiful. Anyone with eyes could see that. Her figure was even more stunning than when we'd dated. By all rights, I should've felt some basic male desire.
But my body didn't respond. Not even a flicker. Just a faint wave of disgust. Had she actually lost it? Did she think I was the kind of trash who'd cheat on his wife?
Cecilia seemed oblivious to my reaction. She dropped to her knees, hands expertly reaching for my belt. "Let me take care of you, like before. I can make you feel so good..."
The second her fingers nearly touched me, I jerked back hard. The room went dead silent. Cecilia looked up, confusion flashing across her face.
"Enough, Cecilia. You've lost your mind.
" I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to tell her to get the hell out, irritably refastening my belt.
"We're over. We've been over for a long time.
I'm helping you because of our past and some debts I owe.
But that doesn't mean we can go back. I don't have any feelings left for you.
Extra feelings. I need you to understand that. "
Cecilia's face went white. She knelt there, her naked body looking pathetic in the light.
"Damian, you really don't want me at all anymore?" Her voice trembled. "You used to love me so much... Is this because of Ivy? Have you fallen in love with her?"
Fallen in love with her?
So all this restlessness, this hair-trigger temper—was it because I'd fallen for her?
My mouth answered before my brain finished processing. "Yes. I love her."
Cecilia froze. "No, Damian, you're lying."
"I love her." I cut her off, voice ice-cold. "You? I just find you annoying now. The mistress of this estate, my only wife—that's only ever going to be Ivy."
"But you don't even value her!" Cecilia's voice spiked. "You don't like her cooking, you don't communicate with her, she's practically invisible to you—"
Those words detonated in my ears. Did everyone see me as someone who didn't value her?
"Get out!" I felt the room spin. "If you still want to stay at the manor, then fucking leave me alone. Now!"
Cecilia finally shut her mouth. She looked at me one last time with red-rimmed eyes, then turned and bolted.
As the door slammed shut, the bedroom fell into deathly silence. My body swayed hard, and I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, strength draining away.
I'd really fallen in love with Ivy. But I'd already hurt her.
This belated realization brought no sweetness—just slapped me hard across the face.
I remembered that look in her eyes when she left my office at lunch that day. Dead water. Pure despair.
Damian, what the hell have you done? You pushed away someone who loved you.
Cecilia's perfume still lingered in the air. I turned to stare at the bed she'd touched—the bed that was supposed to belong to Ivy and me—and my stomach lurched with violent nausea. The filth of it, the guilt of betraying Ivy, I couldn't stand another second.
I ripped off my tie and jabbed the intercom, barking into it.
"Get people up here. The master bedroom sheets, blankets, even the carpet—throw all of it out! Now! Right now!"
I went straight to the bathroom and let the hot water pound against me. I closed my eyes, but another face surfaced unbidden—Ivy. The second I thought of her, my breathing went ragged. The desire Cecilia couldn't rouse with all her tricks erupted in that instant.
Yes. I'd fallen in love with Ivy. After she left.
But I didn't know how to face Ivy's resolve, or what I could possibly do to bring that gentle woman back.
All I could do was bury myself at the office, force myself not to think about her—yes, I chose cowardice. Because the moment I stepped into the estate, that cold suffocating feeling swallowed me whole.
Today, though, when I loosened my tie and opened the door, the scene before me ignited something.
The hall had changed.
The warm oatmeal-colored hand-knit throws Ivy had laid over the sofas were gone, replaced by cold leather cushions. The two pothos plants by the floor-to-ceiling windows—the ones Ivy had tended so carefully, thriving under her care—had been swapped for a gaudy spray of orchids.
"John!" I kept the fire out of my voice, barely. "Who told you to touch the living room? Where are the curtains and cushions Ivy picked?"
John sighed, hesitant, but finally spoke quietly.
"Sir... Miss Ashton ordered everything changed.
She's been running the staff and the estate ragged these past few days, saying the old setup was too lowbrow for your status.
Everyone's been miserable. Privately... they all miss when Mrs. Wentworth was here. "
What? How dare she? I thought I'd made myself clear last time.
Before I could respond, a sharp crash rang out from the dining room, followed by Cecilia's imperious scolding.
John muttered under his breath. "Here we go again..."
"What's going on?" I frowned.
"Miss Ashton's been a terror lately. Screaming at the staff constantly." John sighed. "It's been happening a lot."
I laughed bitterly. If it weren't for her, Ivy wouldn't have left. And now she had the nerve to play lady of the manor in my home? Did she actually think she belonged here?
I stalked toward the dining room.
Inside, a young maid knelt on the floor, face flushed and pale by turns, tears threatening as she picked up broken dishes.
Cecilia was poking at the wagyu steak with her fork, frowning, voice dripping with reproach. "Why hasn't the chef improved? This wagyu is clearly overcooked. Damian likes his steak medium-rare. How can he eat meat this tough? Take it back and have them redo it!"
"Don't bother." My frigid voice cut through from the doorway, dropping the temperature to arctic.
Cecilia turned. Her critical expression froze, then forced itself into a strained smile as she moved toward me. "Damian, you're home. I was just trying to help establish standards for the staff. Ivy was too lenient with them before, and if this continues..."
"Since when did this estate get a new mistress?"
A commanding, inherently authoritative female voice suddenly rang out from the foyer.
That familiar voice made me whip around. Aunt Eleanor. She hadn't even removed her coat, striding into the living room in heels.
Surprise hit me. "Aunt, what are you doing back?"
In my lonely childhood watching my parents leave, only Aunt Eleanor had stayed by my side, giving me the only warmth from an elder. She was also one of the few in the Wentworth family who didn't dabble in business warfare yet commanded absolute respect.
Aunt Eleanor's expression was ice. "Where's Ivy? Did you throw her out?"
Cecilia clearly recognized her. She froze, then clutched her fingers nervously.
"Eleanor, don't blame Damian. It's all my fault... Mrs. Wentworth probably misunderstood my working relationship with Damian and left in a moment of anger..."
"Shut your mouth, Miss." Aunt Eleanor turned sharply, disgust in her gaze cutting off Cecilia's words at the throat.
"Don't play the victim with me, and stop throwing dirt on Ivy. I've seen too many women like you in my lifetime—think because you're attractive and have Wall Street credentials, you can manipulate men? You picked the wrong house."
Aunt Eleanor stepped forward. "As long as I'm alive, you'll never set foot through the Wentworth door—Damian! Are you dead? Why haven't you thrown this scheming outsider out?"
Cecilia's eyes instantly reddened, tears hovering. "Damian..."
Looking at her like this, I felt no trace of my former sympathy. Only endless irritation. But for appearances, I rubbed my temples wearily. "Aunt, Cecilia's just the lead consultant for the London restructuring. She'll move out in a few days. Can we talk in the study?"
Aunt Eleanor glared at me, snorted coldly, and without another glance at Cecilia's ashen face, stormed into the study.
The study door slammed shut.
"Do you have any idea what Ivy's quietly done for you?" Aunt Eleanor turned, her voice carrying anger and disappointment I'd never heard from her before.
"Last spring, your grandfather's memorial.
The whole family—over thirty people came.
Who arranged the accommodations? Who planned the menu?
Even your second uncle's neglected illegitimate son's dietary restrictions were carefully handled—by Ivy!
Ivy did all of it alone. What were you doing that day?
You were in Manhattan closing a multi-hundred-million-dollar acquisition, didn't lift a finger!
If Ivy hadn't flawlessly arranged everything behind the scenes, you think your uncles and elders would let you sit so comfortably in the Wentworth power seat? "
"You know some of your uncle's tactics, don't you? That day he dismissed the staff and made Ivy wash dishes for over thirty people alone!"
I stood frozen. Didn't argue.
I remembered coming home late that night. Ivy had simply walked over, helped me out of my suit, smiled gently, and told me everything went fine. She... never once asked for credit.
"And the fall before last, when your deal with that Japanese conglomerate collapsed—why do you think they suddenly agreed to renegotiate?" Aunt Eleanor laughed coldly.
"The chairman's wife had lunch with Ivy and some other executives' wives that day.
She had a heart attack. Ivy was the first to notice something was wrong, rushed her to the hospital, and stayed all night.
The next day, the Japanese chairman personally called your secretary, saying, 'Mr. Wentworth is blessed to have such a wife.
We're willing to cooperate again.' As her husband, did you even know about this? "
I didn't know. I truly didn't know.
I didn't know Ivy had done these things. Weakness washed over me. I barely caught myself on the sofa arm. I'd thought it was my terms that won them over.
"Besides all that, can't you see how good Ivy's been to you daily? I know because of your parents, you've never let anyone close," Aunt Eleanor sighed, her voice softening slightly. "But Ivy truly loves you. She was willing to give everything to melt your ice."
My throat worked.
"Damian, you've disappointed me deeply. You might meet many more women in your life, but you'll never find another one who loves you the way Ivy did.
" She finished and stood, walking out of the study without waiting for my response.
During that twenty-minute evisceration, I'd stayed rigid, unable to get a single word in.
I suddenly realized something—from the day Ivy entered this estate, I'd categorized her. She fell under the "wife" label. She was supposed to manage the household and take care of me. As for her feelings, her sacrifices, her loneliness and pain—I'd never once cared.
I sank back onto the sofa, hands pressed hard over my face. Aunt's words were like a dull knife, tearing open all the details I'd deliberately ignored these past two years in bloody clarity.
So... in everyone's eyes, Ivy had been that good.
So, in the Wentworth family's den of wolves, she'd once stood alone, using her slender shoulders to shield me from countless unseen attacks.
And I, as her husband, had given her nothing in these two years but cold indifference and criticism. And finally, betrayal.
What the hell have I done?
Why did I only see my own heart clearly after she vanished from my world?
Guilt, regret, and panic tangled together, nearly tearing my sanity apart. I didn't even know how to face her anymore, didn't know if I had any right to ask her to turn back.
But. Let her go? Watch her belong to someone else?
I couldn't do it.
Just imagining a life without Ivy sent a crushing pain through my chest.
In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty—I couldn't lose her.