Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Damian
Moving day, Brooklyn was drowning in drizzle.
"Sir, where do you want this mahogany shelf? Study or living room?"
"Study." I held the umbrella, standing at the Brooklyn street corner, watching movers shuffle in and out.
The estate without Ivy felt unbearable—cold to the bone, especially after seeing her again. I couldn't stand another day without her. I had Charlie find the cleanest apartment he could in this rundown Brooklyn neighborhood, fast. Then I moved right in.
"Sir, the place is ready, just like you asked." Charlie handed me a slightly rusted key, hesitation still flickering in his eyes. "It's just... the soundproofing and security here can't compare to Wentworth Estate. Are you sure you don't need additional security detail?"
"No need. This is fine." I pocketed the key and waved him off.
Charlie looked like he wanted to say more. I knew he'd go on about the board's displeasure with my recent absences from key meetings and urge me to refocus on the company. Usual bullshit. I turned away, pretending not to notice.
If the company couldn't function without me, what the hell was I paying those management consultants for? Window dressing?
I was absolutely certain—nothing mattered more than Ivy right now.
"Damian?" A familiar voice reached my ears.
I spun around. Before my brain could catch up, a smile had already split across my face. "Hey, Ivy. Morning."
Ivy held an umbrella in one hand, a bag of fresh berries from the farmer's market in the other. The drizzle had dampened her hair, strands clinging to her pale cheeks—Jesus, she was beautiful. When she saw me, surprise flickered through her eyes.
For a moment, I panicked, frozen in place, instinctively smoothing my rumpled collar. The wind had been strong today. I wondered if it had messed up my hair. Not that I thought it would diminish my charm, but around Ivy, I wanted everything perfect.
"Mrs. Wentworth, good morning." An intrusive voice cut in.
I shot Charlie a glare. Why hadn't he left yet? Wait—had he just called Ivy Mrs. Wentworth? I immediately looked at Ivy, terrified of seeing anger cross her face.
"Charlie, good to see you. But don't use that title. You know the situation between Damian and me." Ivy's expression remained calm, showing no sign of anger at the address.
I celebrated this discovery internally. Though her words still sent sharp pains through my chest. But that was fine. As long as I never looked at those divorce papers locked in my drawer, Ivy and I were still married.
"Uh, right." Charlie glanced nervously between me and Ivy, then said quietly, "I'll go now, sir. I have work to handle."
He left fast. I understood. Getting tangled in the boss's personal life wasn't smart, especially after his stupid "Mrs. Wentworth" slip. I decided to hold that mistake against him.
"Charlie's been swamped lately. Hope you don't mind his quick exit." I tried to ease the tension, making conversation.
But Ivy just stared at me silently. Just as I couldn't stand it anymore and was about to invite her up to my new place, her gaze landed on the nearby moving truck. Like she'd just realized, her brow furrowed. "You're..."
"I moved to this neighborhood. Maybe... we could look out for each other from now on?" I watched her expectantly.
She didn't respond to my greeting. Just narrowed her eyes, looked at me with some wariness, then coldly withdrew her gaze, walked around a puddle, turned the corner, and left without looking back.
I stood there watching her thin silhouette, a dense, cramping pain spreading through my chest. But I could only laugh bitterly, gazing after her reluctantly, unable to look away for a long time.
It was fine. As long as I could see her, everything was worth it.
The days after moving to Brooklyn made life feel full of hope.
I dumped most company business on the VP, only carving out time to handle decisions that required my input, moving most work online.
As for business dinners and executive invitations—to hell with them! How had I never noticed how tedious those so-called negotiation lunches were?
I'd push through that diner's glass door at exactly seven-thirty every morning.
I'd already figured out her routine. At this hour, the cold-chain supplier truck would be unloading in the back alley.
"Damian? You—"
Ivy was about to set down a heavy box of imported flour when I strode over, said nothing, and took the box from her hands.
"I've got this."
I started showing up daily to haul the heaviest, most exhausting materials for Ivy—flour, cases of sugar, barrels of butter.
I learned to work like those blue-collar guys, bending at the waist, shouldering those rough cardboard boxes, hauling them one by one from the alley truck to the walk-in cooler.
My movements were clumsy, but I gritted my teeth and even kept my breathing deliberately quiet, afraid one labored gasp would make her think I was fishing for sympathy.
I didn't want to pressure her. I just wanted to be good to her.
After stacking the last butter box neatly on the shelf, I turned, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, and walked out of the kitchen.
Knowing Ivy hadn't completely dropped her guard around me, I forced down my desire to get closer. I didn't say anything to her. Instead, I walked to the front, choosing the corner seat farthest back—least likely to intrude on her line of sight—and ordered an iced Americano.
I opened my laptop and started working through the mountain of overseas asset reorganization emails.
The old bastards on the board were getting increasingly resentful lately, even stirring up some of the meddling Wentworth relatives, who called constantly, practically trying to parent me in place of my absent mother and father.
I didn't think they could threaten my position one bit, but to keep those old fools from causing more trouble, I had to dedicate more energy to work.
Naturally, I felt exhausted. But as long as I could see her every day from this corner, even just watching her busy back, I felt my weary, numb, aching soul finding peace.
Just sitting here quietly, I felt steady happiness. Of course, it would be better if that damned Lucas didn't show up.
"Ivy, I checked the carnival procurement list for next week. The flour supplier said if we order fifty extra bags, they'll give us another ten percent off."
Today, he wore a sharp charcoal coat, walking naturally to the counter as soon as he entered, tablet in hand.
My fingers paused on the keyboard. Though my eyes stayed fixed on the complex financial data on screen, my attention and peripheral vision locked onto that counter like radar.
"Ten percent off? What about their delivery fee? Brooklyn Bridge is closed for construction next week—can they deliver on time?"
Ivy set down her cloth, leaning in close. From my angle, their heads were nearly touching.
"Don't worry, I worked it out with the driver. They'll use the underground freight passage, deliver to the back door by five a.m., guaranteed."
"Thanks, Lucas. Without you, I really couldn't handle these big orders alone." Ivy took the pen, looked up, and gave him an easy smile.
Their eyes met midair. I gripped my coffee cup hard, the cold surface digging into my knuckles until they turned white.
Acid churned in my stomach. Why? What gave this broke kid the right to stand so intimately beside my wife?
In that moment, I couldn't lie to myself anymore. Though I wanted to be good to her without expecting anything in return, that absolutely didn't include watching her grow close with another man.
I had to bring Ivy back. She didn't belong in Brooklyn, and she sure as hell didn't belong to this nobody.
I pulled out my phone and texted Charlie.
Then I kept suppressing my rage while secretly watching them.
Soon, as I'd predicted, Lucas checked his phone and left in a hurry.
I felt smug. Finding out Lucas ran a flower shop wasn't hard.
Getting him to stop buzzing around Ivy like a fly was even easier—just spend some money placing a large order at his shop.
The shop fell silent again, only the old humidifier making its rasping sounds.
Satisfied, I dove back into work, when the kitchen curtain lifted and Ivy appeared, jaw clenched, trying to lift a newly arrived butter box from the floor onto the shelf.
I practically leaped from my chair, and before she could strain herself, I grabbed the heavy box from her hands and placed it securely on the metal rack.
"This is too heavy—you can't lift things this heavy!" I turned to her sternly.
Ivy froze and stepped back. Her previously calm eyes suddenly filled with alertness and wariness.
"Why would you say that? I think that's none of your business." She spoke coldly, voice without warmth, though panic flashed through her eyes.
"None of my business?" I narrowed my eyes.
The image of Lucas and Ivy's heads nearly touching flashed through my mind, stirring up uncontrollable agitation. I stepped closer, locking my gaze on her face, voice low and trembling.
"Then whose business do you want it to be? Ivy, I already know—you're pregnant, aren't you?"
Her pupils contracted. She instinctively covered her abdomen with her hand, the wariness in her eyes turning to terror.
I felt hurt. Why, even now, would she look at me like this?
"You... what are you talking about?" Ivy denied it urgently.
"Sacred Heart Hospital gave me a heads-up." I sighed, realizing I'd been too aggressive, and took a deep breath to steady myself. "They gave me your report. That's our child..."
Watching her face drain of color, I stepped forward, trapping her between the shelf and my chest, softening my tone.
"I'm sorry... I know I've been an asshole.
But I'm standing here today not planning to use that child to force you into anything.
I won't disrupt your peace now... Legally, you're still my only wife.
We're not divorced. I have the responsibility and obligation to care for you.
Manhattan has the best obstetrics teams in the country. If you'll just—"
I couldn't finish. Because Ivy suddenly cut me off.
"Damian, since you know, you should sign those divorce papers. It's better for both of us." Her eyes had regained their composure.
I froze, not processing. "Divorce papers?" When it hit me, fury swept through me.
"Why do you keep clinging to that damn paper?" Seeing her desperate to sever all ties with me, all the grievances I'd accumulated these past days, all the jealousy I'd suppressed watching her interact so naturally with Lucas—it all exploded out of control.
I stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders, eyes stinging.
"You're not rejecting my presence anymore! You've accepted everything I've done! But why? Why can you turn around and laugh and chat so easily with Lucas? Do you know how much that hurts?"
Ivy showed fierce resistance. "If you think me not kicking you out means I accept you, then I think you don't need to come anymore." She shook off my hands forcefully and stepped back. "Orders have been heavy lately. I don't have time for this."
"Heavy orders? Ivy, do you think those agencies just randomly decided to come to Brooklyn for your desserts?"
Ivy's body shook violently. She stared at me hard. "What do you mean?"
"I sponsored them. The condition was they all order afternoon tea and party favors from you.
That simple." I spread my hands, urgency creeping into my voice.
"Ivy, I can give you the most luxurious life in all of Manhattan!
And I won't interfere with your career. Hell, one word from you and those chain contracts can extend ten years!
You don't need to suffer here. Stop refusing me, okay? "
But the gratitude or compromise I expected never came.
Ivy just looked at me quietly. Suddenly, two silent tears streamed down her pale face.
"Damian." She laughed bitterly, looking at me with disappointment and disgust. "See? You haven't changed at all. What's more pathetic is I almost believed your act these past weeks. Almost thought you'd changed."
I opened my mouth to speak, but Ivy's tears left me bewildered and panicked, my throat constricting.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, looking at me like I was some hopeless lunatic. "In your eyes, you can always use your money and resources, your condescending charity to buy out someone's life."
"Have you ever respected me? Even for one second, treated me as an equal, independent person? No. You still think I'm your property. Think I left the estate just to throw a tantrum, and these bullshit orders are treats to coax your pet. Right?"
"No, Ivy, I just wanted to help you..." I panicked. Seeing the resolve in her eyes, I completely panicked.
"You don't want to help me, Damian. You're just selfish. You only ever think about your own feelings."
Ivy pointed at the door, each word like a blood-stained blade stabbing into my heart.
"You look down on Brooklyn, think your groveling is some huge favor.
But do you know? My friends show up when I'm at my lowest. And you?
You just strut around behind your so-called 'big orders'!
I will never, ever be with someone as selfish as you—someone who tramples others' dignity and turns it into business leverage! "
"Damian Wentworth, take your so-called charity and get out of my shop. Now."
Her ruthless words made my vision go dark. Why? Why did it come to this? What did I do wrong?
I'd abandoned the entire Wentworth Group, endured pressure from executives and family to shamelessly waste away in Brooklyn. To protect her pride, I'd hidden all my efforts so carefully. Even after finding out she was pregnant and hiding it from me, I didn't dare question her once!
I only lost control because jealousy over Lucas drove me insane. How could she just dismiss everything I'd done?
My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I looked at Ivy deeply, said nothing more, just laughed bitterly, slowly withdrew the hand I'd tried to reach toward her, then turned and pushed through the door, stumbling slightly.
The door slammed shut behind me with a bang, cutting me off completely from her world.