Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Damian
Ever since that night when Ivy and I came back from Queens, we'd fallen into a sweetness we'd never had before.
She still hadn't said yes to my confession, but her eyes, the way she'd reach for my hand sometimes, how her ears would flush pink when I spoke—it all told me she was slowly letting me in.
This delicate balance was both bliss and torture. Bliss when she'd lean against my shoulder and I'd catch the scent of her hair. Torture because I was afraid to push, afraid I'd shatter the fragile trust she'd finally started to rebuild.
I kept showing up at her shop like before, trading my suit for that flour-dusted gray cashmere sweater, helping out however I could. Now, under her watchful supervision, I could even bake a decent batch of lavender honey cookies.
To be closer to her, I'd moved into the small apartment. We still had separate bedrooms, but waking up to find her stumbling into the kitchen, half-asleep and hunting for coffee—that was enough.
She'd wear my shirts as pajamas, the collar loose enough to show her collarbone, then mumble a sleepy "morning" with her head against my shoulder. In those moments, I had everything.
I thought I'd finally pulled her back from the edge. Maybe we could just keep living like this, waiting for the baby.
"Damian, have you seen my beige nightgown?" Ivy poked her head out from the bedroom, hair a mess over her shoulders, holding an empty hanger. She was about to shower.
"Beige nightgown? I washed it yesterday." I set down my book and found it on the balcony. "Forgot to bring it in."
"Thanks." She took it with a smile. "Oh, tomorrow at eleven I have a prenatal checkup. Are you—"
"I'm free!" I practically shouted. "Eleven, right? I'll come with you!"
She nodded with a laugh, but before she could answer, my phone buzzed. This late? Another crisis at the company?
I picked it up. Unknown number. Frowning, I answered.
Seeing me on the phone, Ivy tilted her head, then headed off to shower.
"This is Damian."
Long silence. I was about to hang up when a soft laugh came through.
"Damian, Long time no see." The woman's voice was familiar, that lazy drawl. My hand clenched around the phone.
Cecilia. What the hell did she want? I didn't give a damn about anything involving her.
"You've got some nerve calling me. Guess you forgot my warning." My voice rose with irritation, and I glanced toward the bathroom. Water was already running.
"Warning?" Her mocking tone made me want to slap her through the phone. "Why wouldn't I dare? After all, you're... my beloved."
A wave of nausea hit my stomach, and I barely controlled my rage.
"Don't make me sick." I forced the words through gritted teeth. "Cecilia, if you come near me or try to get anywhere near Ivy, I'll have you in federal prison for commercial fraud."
"Ha! Federal prison? You think I escaped Wentworth's special security detail without an ace up my sleeve?" Cecilia's shrill laugh pierced through the quiet night.
A message popped up. I opened the encrypted attachments. My pupils contracted violently.
Forged financial audit records, fabricated food safety reports. Even blurry photos staged to look like the kitchen used banned additives.
"Damian, you know how the FDA operates. I send these over, get the media involved, and that precious little bakery your sweetheart worked so hard to open in Brooklyn gets shut down tomorrow. Her fragile self-esteem? It'll shatter on the spot."
Every word dripped with venom.
"You're insane." My voice went cold, like the dead calm before a storm. "What do you want? Spit it out."
"Simple." Her tone turned syrupy. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. I'm sending you the hotel address. Damian, you know my temper. If you tell the cops or tip off Charlie, these hit the news before you reach me."
The call ended.
Cecilia. Good. I'd make her pay for threatening me. But first, I had to keep Ivy safe.
"Damian? Who was that? You were on forever." Ivy came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair.
"Just work." I went to her, pulling her into my arms. Her clean scent instantly calmed my rage. Once I handled this, I'd tell her everything.
Ivy, forgive me this one last time for acting on my own. I'm afraid you'll get hurt. When I get back, I'll tell you everything.
The next day in Brooklyn, rain hammered down.
When I pushed open the door, only one dim floor lamp lit the room. Cecilia wore a wrinkled red silk robe, wine glass in hand, half-swallowed by shadows. Her hair was messy, her once-refined face now showing the haggard strain of life on the run.
Seeing me, her eyes lit up with almost manic greed.
"Damian! You came... I knew you still had feelings for me, didn't you?"
She threw down her glass and stumbled toward me, trying to grab my collar.
The air reeked of alcohol and cheap perfume. I instinctively stepped back, dodging her touch.
"Don't make me sick, Cecilia." I stood two meters away, watching this half-crazed woman. "Your only way out is to hand over the originals and the forged materials, then get the hell out of New York."
Cecilia froze, her face twisting grotesquely. The sick devotion in her eyes turned to bitter hatred. I took another step back, watching her warily.
"Do you know how much I've suffered? Those lawyers are trying to destroy me!
Damian, we were together for so long. I stayed late with you and dealt with the board.
I'm the woman who understands your ambition better than anyone!
I truly loved you. Why... why would you choose that nobody, that low-class ordinary woman?
She's just my replacement! What does she have? "
I stared at her, expressionless. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands, Cecilia.
It disgusts me." I pulled out a wet wipe and carefully cleaned my wrist where her sleeve had brushed it.
"Your sick lies? Legal's already tracked down every detail in Europe.
Your only option is to hand over those forged materials. "
"Fine. Very good, Damian! You think your Ivy is some holy angel?"
Cecilia backed up, seeing the undisguised revulsion in my eyes. She suddenly let out a piercing laugh and yanked a stack of photos from a drawer behind her, hurling them at my chest.
"Open your damn eyes and look! This is your perfect wife! While you were killing yourself for the company in Manhattan, she was all over Lucas first thing in the morning in Brooklyn, drinking coffee he bought her, letting him touch her face! She's not what you think! She's just a cheating whore!!"
Photos scattered through the air, falling across the carpet.
I glanced down. In the dim light, the photos clearly showed Ivy and Lucas. Lucas brushing hair from Ivy's face outside the bakery. The two sitting behind the counter, smiling at each other. Even one where Lucas held Ivy's arm from behind—shot at an angle to look like an intimate embrace.
My breathing grew heavy.
"See? This is the woman you wanted to treasure." Cecilia leaned in, her twisted face full of triumph. "How's it feel, Damian? Hurts, doesn't it? She's not as pure as you thought. She's just another bottom-feeder, shameless trash. Work with me, and—"
Before she finished, I bent down and grabbed several scattered photos.
Cecilia thought my anger came from Ivy's "betrayal." The smile hadn't fully formed on her face when it froze completely.
With deliberate force, I tore the photos she'd counted as her trump card into confetti with sharp, grating rips, scattering the pieces at her feet.
"Cecilia, did staying in Europe rot your brain?" I looked down at her.
"Those watchers you left in Brooklyn—if I hadn't deliberately kept them around to draw you out, you think they'd still be breathing? You think this cheap manipulation could make me as blind as I was two years ago?"
I threw the remaining photos in her face.
"Let me warn you, Cecilia. Your biggest mistake was calling her trash. If I hear one more insult about Ivy from your mouth, I promise the Wentworth family has a hundred ways to make you disappear in the middle of the Atlantic."
"You're insane, Damian." Cecilia's voice trembled uncontrollably, her makeup smeared from sheer terror.
She stumbled backward, her heel catching on the carpet. But then she switched tactics, putting on a soft expression, trying to approach me with that fake mask. "Damian, you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
I shoved away her outstretched hand hard enough to send her sprawling backward onto the carpet, hair covering half her face. Those eyes that used to hold calculation and arrogance now showed only spite and resentment.
"Why? Why does she get everything I wanted so easily?"
"Because Ivy is my only wife." My exhaustion and revulsion had peaked. Every second with this fraud felt like a betrayal of Ivy's scent.
I tossed the used wipe onto her face, done wasting time on this lunatic. For a businessman, the fastest way to solve problems was usually putting a price on them.
"Cecilia, this is my final offer."
I pulled out my checkbook and pen, wrote a figure that could set up an ordinary person for life, tore it off, and dropped it at her feet.
I had plenty of ways to spin any news story, but I didn't want Ivy caught in pointless drama. So I'd rather pay Cecilia off—like tossing coins to a beggar.
"Take it and get out of my sight."
Cecilia stared blankly at the check on the floor. She didn't pick it up. Instead, she slowly stood, looking at me one last time with dead eyes.
"You'll regret this, Damian." She spoke softly, giving me one final piercing look. I frowned, wondering what trick she was pulling, when she suddenly turned and hurried out of the room.
I hesitated, instinctively following, but she'd vanished.
Damn it. She got away.
I stood there, chest heaving. No. I couldn't give her a chance to hurt Ivy. I had to get back to Manhattan headquarters.
"Charlie." I dialed, speaking rapidly. "Alert our legal audit team. Pull together every piece of evidence on Cecilia's illegal offshore money laundering and her commercial espionage operations in London. All of it."