Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Damian
"Mr. Wentworth, what do you think of this bouquet?" The florist turned from the flower room, cradling a bunch of white roses. "Fresh Bulgarian variety, just arrived. The stem length is perfect for your velvet gift box."
"What does it mean?" My fingertip brushed the dewdrop on a petal. The cold touch made my heart skip.
So beautiful. Just like Ivy.
"Purity and devotion, sir." The shop owner secured the ribbon with a pearl pin. "If it's for someone you love, nothing could be more perfect."
I stared at the fullest bloom in the center, my throat tight. "I'll take it."
I got in the car, set the flowers on the passenger seat next to the pink diamond necklace I'd picked out yesterday.
If Ivy wanted to see my intentions, then I'd court her again—as an ordinary man. This time, I'd show her my love.
I drove to Ivy's bakery, full of hope. Pushed through that glass door again.
If she tried to kick me out, how should I play it? Act like I didn't understand?
I ran my hand through my hair and tried to summon a gentle smile. Not easy for me. Ever since I'd learned to keep my face blank for those old foxes on the board, smiling had become a luxury. I just hoped Ivy wouldn't think I looked like some weird robot.
I stepped inside. But when I saw what was happening, that smile froze on my face—lasted maybe a second, tops.
The front tables and chairs had been shoved against the wall.
Thick interior design magazines and fabric swatches littered the floor.
Ivy was bent over the counter, pencil in hand—and that goddamn Lucas was standing right beside her, practically pressed against her shoulder, his finger pointing at something on the blueprints.
From where I stood, their shoulders were almost touching.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat, took a deep breath, and walked in. I set the flowers and jewelry box on a nearby table and tried to keep my voice gentle and sincere. "Ivy, can we talk? About what happened before, I wanted to—"
"Mr. Wentworth?" Ivy turned and saw me. The smile vanished from her face instantly, her brow furrowing tight.
She didn't even glance at the flowers or jewelry, her voice pure irritation.
"I'm really busy today. No time for chitchat.
The shop's getting renovated, and we'll be closed for a few days.
Unless it's about negotiating the divorce, you don't need to come by anymore. "
I stood there. Opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Lucas looked up, his gaze sweeping between me and Ivy, a faint smirk playing at his lips. He deliberately leaned closer to Ivy and murmured something that made her turn her head and laugh.
In that instant, I heard something shatter inside my chest. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, forcing myself to pull on a decent smile. "Fine. I won't interrupt your work."
I planted myself half a meter away from them, shamelessly eavesdropping.
They were discussing renovation details—something about waterproofing the walls and carpentry modifications. Honestly, I was clueless. Completely out of my depth. But I had enough money to hire people to solve problems.
An idea sparked. I cut in forcefully. "About the renovation, I can have Wentworth's top engineering team come straight over. Materials, design—they can handle all the waterproofing and reinforcement in twenty-four hours..."
My voice trailed off. Then died.
Ivy acted like I hadn't spoken. Just turned to Lucas. "So should we shrink this shelf inward another five centimeters? That way, the aisle won't be too cramped."
Lucas smiled back. "Yeah, you're right. I'll bring the saw tomorrow and adjust it."
They just continued their conversation, natural and in sync, treating me like I was invisible.
I felt like an exile from high society, cast out completely.
The embarrassment and rejection made my whole body stiffen—something I'd never experienced.
At any event, I was always the center, surrounded by crowds.
But all I could do was breathe deeply and stay rooted in that corner, too stubborn to leave.
"Hey, miss! Your walnut shelves and mosaic tiles are here—out back in the alley. Come unload them yourself!"
A truck driver's rough shout shattered the store's strange atmosphere.
Ivy started to stand. I moved first, rushing out. "I'll get it." Ivy was still carrying our baby. How could she do heavy lifting?
Ten thick wooden panels sat stacked by the truck in the back alley. I yanked off my suit jacket, tossed it on the filthy garbage can lid, loosened my tie, and bent to hoist the heaviest walnut board onto my shoulder.
Shit. Why the hell were these splinters so sharp? My hand was killing me!
I looked at the splinter embedded in my palm.
In my entire privileged life, aside from lifting barbells under a personal trainer's supervision, when had I ever done manual labor?
I wasn't used to this bent-over posture, the strain.
Every step in my custom leather shoes through Brooklyn's muddy alley felt absurd and wrong.
But when I saw Ivy follow me outside, I just gritted my teeth and carried that board inside without a sound, stacking it neatly in the front room.
Noticing her gaze drift my way, I casually unbuttoned my shirt, exposing my muscled chest. But from the corner of my eye, I saw Ivy just frown, then pull Lucas back into the shop.
What? Ivy used to love pressing against my chest, feeling my body. I looked down, suddenly doubting myself. Had my recent depression made me less attractive?
Whatever. Better finish the job first.
I started hammering and screwing like an actual carpenter.
During a break, I wiped the sweat from my forehead, silently watching Ivy behind the counter. Thanks to my excellent vision, I could clearly see her frowning, fingertips moving back and forth between different supplier quotes and price comparisons.
"Ivy, if you need financial help—" I tried to approach her.
"Mr. Wentworth, please don't talk. All you're doing here is making noise and getting in the way. You're useless." She threw the words at me coldly, didn't even look up.
The impatience and disgust in her tone practically spilled over.
I froze in place, still holding that rusty screwdriver. Suddenly, I remembered scenes from the estate. Back then, she'd held shopping lists just like this, softly trying to discuss purchases with me.
How had I treated her? I'd told her to take that stuff to the butler. Don't bother me.
"Mr. Wentworth, if you're done moving things, can you leave?"
The gentle voice from my memory merged with the voice in my ear, jolting me back to the present. I forced my lips into something like a smile, tried to convince myself I didn't care about the disgust and rejection, but my shredded heart told me I couldn't.
Ivy still didn't look up. "Your Wall Street theories are useless in a Brooklyn shop like mine. Here, they just waste my time. That's all."
"I'm just trying to help. I can help you." I softened my voice, desperate for her to feel my sincerity.
"I don't think so." She finally looked up, annoyance in her eyes. "How long are you planning to stay?"
In that moment, seeing Ivy's guarded, disgusted expression—like even listening to one more word from me was torture—my brain suddenly roared.
That look. Too familiar.
For two years in that cold mansion, when Ivy awkwardly tried to fit into my world and I mocked her... hadn't I looked at her exactly like this? With condescension, disgust, impatience, crushing all her sincerity under my heel?
"Ivy, don't bother me just because you're bored."
"Put away your tacky gestures. Wentworth Estate doesn't need your cheap devotion."
Was this what it felt like to be looked at with disgust by someone who'd loved you completely? A dense, dull ache spread through my chest, every breath dragging at my lungs.
Had Ivy felt like this? I'd inflicted so much cruelty, so much irreversible damage—why had she still smiled at me?
Massive pain flooded over me like a tide. When the door chimed, I just looked up numbly, like a puppet. Lucas?
"Ivy, I checked over this week's supply list for you." Lucas walked straight to Ivy's side, still in his work clothes. He smoothly took the pen from her hand, marking up the list. "Butter delivery's been moved to Tuesday mornings—perfect timing for your fermentation cycle. Does this work?"
Ivy glanced at the list. Her tense expression instantly softened, even sparked with a faint smile. "Yeah, that lines up the costs and timing perfectly. Lucas, thanks so much. What do you want to drink? I just brewed fresh Earl Grey."
"Hey, don't mention it. The usual—two sugar cubes." Lucas smiled, rubbing his neck.
What were they talking about? Fermentation cycle?
I wanted to jump in, but I couldn't follow their conversation. All I could do was blurt out, "If you need anything, Wentworth has—"
"The oven in back's almost done. I'll go check on it." Ivy didn't spare me even a glance. She just turned and handed that freshly brewed tea to Lucas.
So this was what it felt like—being treated with such complete indifference by someone you loved deeply. It hurt. It suffocated.
As the kitchen curtain fell, the warm atmosphere instantly chilled.
Lucas turned, holding that warm cup of tea, and walked slowly toward me.
He dropped every trace of the gentleness he'd shown Ivy, studying me. "Mr. Wentworth, you're not welcome here." He loosened his collar.
I let out a cold laugh and straightened up. Perfect. I had a full head on him, even if his face made me insanely jealous. "That's what I want to tell you, Lucas. Stay away from my wife. This is between her and me. An outsider has no business interfering."
"Wife?"
Lucas looked like he'd heard the punchline to a sick joke. His eyes flooded with mockery.
"Damian, now you call her your wife? Where were you when your first love was humiliating her? Where were you when your friends were mocking her behind her back?"
Damn it. I had no comeback.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping low.
"You never gave her a shred of respect or protection. Now that she's decided to leave, you show up playing the devoted husband trying to win her back. You don't love her. It's just your disgusting need for control!"
"What the hell do you know?"
My fists clenched hard, veins bulging on the backs of my hands, blood pounding in my temples.
First time anyone had dared tear me down to my face like this. What terrified me more—I couldn't argue back.
"I don't know. But I can see."
Lucas stared at me coldly, no fear in his eyes. "You already lost her. Now, the person by her side is me."
Fuck.
Jealousy churned violently in my gut. I wanted to roar, to punch that goddamn Lucas away from her, to tell the whole world she was mine!
But I bit down hard, swallowed all that rage. I couldn't guarantee that if I did that, I'd ever be allowed near this bakery again—even its dumpster.
I turned silently and went back to hauling those heavy tile boxes. If she didn't want to hear me talk right now, then I'd finish every dirty job I could find.
I refused to believe my sincerity was worthless.