Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Damian
"Damian, let me explain! I just wanted to help with Ivy's business, how was I supposed to know that vulgar man would—"
"Shut up!"
I slid into the car and slammed the door so hard the whole chassis seemed to shake. Cecilia clutched at her disheveled designer coat and scrambled into the passenger seat.
I didn't want to hear a single word from her. My knuckles went white against the steering wheel, veins bulging with rage.
Cecilia froze in the passenger seat, my outburst making her flinch. Her carefully reapplied makeup looked stiff and forced.
The air inside the car pulled taut. I turned to stare at her, every word ground out through clenched teeth. "Tell me—why the hell were you there today? Who gave you permission to go near Ivy?"
Cecilia stared at me in disbelief, eyes brimming with tears. I kept my face cold, unmoved.
Things between Ivy and me had gotten this bad mostly because of Cecilia. Okay, maybe more my fault. But I'd been tolerant enough with Cecilia. How dare she show her face to Ivy?
"Damian, why are you yelling at me? I'm the one who got hurt.
I did it all for you." Her voice dripped with that nauseating mix of coyness and victimhood as she reached for my sleeve.
"I know you've been miserable since she left without a word.
I thought... if I went to her, bowed my head, ordered her a cake, gave her a way back—maybe she'd come home.
I was thinking of the Wentworth family reputation... "
"For me?"
"Cecilia, do you actually think I'm an idiot? Did you go to that shop today to bring her back, or to rub her face in it? I warned you not to covet things that don't belong to you. You know where my line is!"
Dead silence filled the car.
Looking at her fake face, I realized what a fool I'd been to believe she had no agenda.
Two months ago, at my birthday party, her sudden appearance made me leave Ivy alone in a corner to be laughed at.
Later, she ran crying to the study, which led to Ivy overhearing that twisted conversation and leaving the divorce papers behind.
And today—again—she'd gone to that Brooklyn shop to flaunt herself, giving another man the perfect excuse to stand beside my Ivy.
The joke was, I'd thought the problem between Ivy and me was just poor communication. Never occurred to me Cecilia had been stirring the pot.
I only woke up after Ivy left.
"Cecilia," I said, my voice so cold it sounded foreign even to me, "how's your apartment hunting going?"
Cecilia blinked, clearly thrown by the subject change. She crossed her legs awkwardly. "The realtor's looking, but places that meet my requirements are scarce. Manhattan apartments are tight right now. Damian, you know I need somewhere secure. It might take more time..."
"Three days. You have three days to get out of Wentworth Estate." I cut her off coldly, eyes back on the road as I hit the gas. "Start packing today. If you can't find a place, I'll book you a hotel—as a final favor. As friends."
"Okay, Damian." Cecilia bit her lip hard, voice dropping.
I lit a cigarette irritably, my mind replaying that man's arm around Ivy.
No. I needed a plan. A way to make Ivy want to come back to me.
After thinking all night, I woke up with a splitting headache.
But an urgent problem with an important deal meant I was still sitting in my CEO's chair first thing, mechanically working through stacks of documents. These dry numbers and tangled legal clauses used to be my safe zone, but today my focus was scattered like broken glass.
I just wanted to finish this crap and sleep. Wake up and figure out how to win Ivy's heart back.
On the last page of a file—a record of commercial arbitration the company had recently handled—a familiar name jumped out at me.
Cecilia? Why would she be involved in a commercial dispute?
I frowned and kept reading. When I hit another name, my finger stopped dead.
Julian Sterling.
My temples throbbed. Average people might not recognize that name, but New York's upper crust had blacklisted him.
He masqueraded as European nobility or hidden wealth, targeting valuable women worldwide, luring them with fake money, titles, and status to transfer assets or commit illegal acts for him.
Once he'd wrung them dry, he'd skirt the edge of the law, leaving them with nothing—or buried under massive litigation debts.
So Cecilia disappeared from New York years ago because of this man?
Perfect. She'd dared to deceive me.
"Charlie," I called my assistant in, barely containing my fury. "I want everything on Cecilia for the past two years in Europe. Every movement, bank records, and all contact with Julian Sterling. Now!"
Soon, a complete dossier on Cecilia sat neatly on my desk.
When the lies and truth unfolded before me, I let out a laugh—sudden, absurd, bitter.
Cecilia had climbed into that "tycoon's" bed the night before our engagement, too.
Everything she'd told me since coming back was a lie.
She'd wanted to climb the social ladder, but Julian Sterling had squeezed her dry, nearly landing her with cross-border fraud charges.
So she'd come back to me with that carefully crafted pitiful act and those tears, timed perfectly. I'd been played from the start.
Fuck! Damian Wentworth, completely fooled!
"Mr. Wentworth, Miss Ashton's at the door. She brought you lunch..." The intercom buzzed.
"Tell her to get lost—no, send her in!"
I hung up and leaned back, eyes closed. I'd neglected Ivy for this lying snake?
"Damian..." Cecilia's voice. She carried an elegant thermos to my desk.
"Damian, last night was all my fault. I shouldn't have gone to Brooklyn...
" She spoke while arranging lunch, voice syrupy and submissive.
"I just saw how badly your headaches have been.
I wanted to help. Who knew Ivy's man would be so crude?
But I don't blame them. I just feel bad you're caught in the middle... "
She dabbed at nonexistent tears, trying to milk my sympathy with her fragile act. Now, even looking at her performance made me sick.
I grabbed the thick private investigator's report and threw it in her face.
"Ah!" Cecilia stumbled back. She looked up angrily, ready to protest, but her eyes caught the scattered papers. Panic washed over her face.
She recovered quickly, dropping to the carpet, grabbing at my pant leg, voice shrill. "Damian... someone's turned you against me! These are fake! I'm the victim. Damian, back then, your mother—"
"Enough! Cecilia. Stop performing. I'm tired of watching."
I kicked her hand away, voice arctic.
"Cecilia, tell me—what the hell did you do to Ivy at the estate?"
"I... what could I do?" Her practiced crying hitched. She slumped on the floor, eyes darting. "I just stayed there. I always respected her..."
"Respected?" I laughed coldly. "If you hadn't done something, why would she sign divorce papers and leave with nothing?"
Her crying stopped dead. She sat there, unable to meet my furious gaze.
Suddenly, the tears dried up.
She twisted her mouth in a bitter smile and hauled herself up from the floor.
"I forced her? Ha. Damian Wentworth, you're the most hypocritical man I've ever met." The fake vulnerability vanished, replaced by something wild.
"Sure, I mocked her. But only because you allowed it! You can't admit the one who trampled her dignity was you! You ignored her calls. You let me get close. You pushed her to the edge, and now you're dumping it all on me? To cover up your own cowardice?"
"Enough!" My temples pounded. My pointing hand shook with rage.
"Now take your things and get out of my company.
Within the hour, the butler will throw your luggage onto the street like garbage.
And if you ever appear in front of Ivy again—even for a second—that cross-border fraud indictment will land you in maximum security the next day! "
Seeing the fury I could barely contain, the viciousness in my eyes, Cecilia's tears turned to terror. She didn't even grab her bag, scrambling out of the office.
The door slammed shut.
I stood there breathing hard, surrounded by wreckage, suddenly feeling cold to the bone.
She was right. I was a coward.
For a second, I'd wanted to strangle her. Because she'd ripped away my last pretense—Cecilia was right. All my anger, my rage, even my fury at her was just my subconscious weakness.
I couldn't face the fact that I'd driven Ivy away.
Absurdity and crushing regret swallowed me whole. I'd brought another woman home. I'd let that fraud boss everyone around at the estate. For this piece of trash, I'd neglected the woman who loved me with everything she had.
That night, I don't know how I drove back to the estate.
Wentworth Estate at night felt cavernous and panicked. The cold air held no warm light waiting for me anymore. I collapsed on the empty living room couch, staring at the dead silence. That delayed realization hit me like a slap across the face.
I sat there staring at the empty room. The warmth I used to take for granted versus the coldness now—it was the hardest slap I'd ever taken.
If the roles were reversed... if Ivy had brought some ex-boyfriend into the estate...
Fuck. Just imagining it for one second—the jealousy and pain tearing me apart made my fingers dig into the leather armrest.
I couldn't stand another man near Ivy.
"Damn it... damn it!" I squeezed my eyes shut. I finally understood why Ivy had left so decisively.
Me. I'd pushed her straight into that man's arms.
But thinking about what I saw in Brooklyn today, imagining some guy named Lucas—or whatever—legally holding Ivy, eating her cookies every morning... my whole soul felt like it was tearing apart.
I didn't want a divorce. I'd never planned to leave her.
Only now, in this bone-cold night, did I finally see my own heart clearly—I loved her. Not because she was docile. Not because her cakes suited my taste. But because she was Ivy.
Because I'd brought Cecilia back, because of my arrogance and inaction, Ivy had felt so hurt, so desperate she'd chosen to leave.
I had to swallow my pride and go to her. Tell her honestly that I loved her. Use every means necessary to bring her back.
My eyes fell on the empty gift box on the table—the one I'd finished completely. The confusion and defeat in my gaze finally gave way to determination.
Ivy, wait for me. This time, I'll do it my way. I'll bring you back here.