After tossing out those words, Ty turned to Gallagher. “Gallagher, is there anything else you need me to do?”

Gallagher shot the Windsors a withering glance, making it clear just how little he thought of them. Ever since the Windsors had sent My back home months ago—and after witnessing their bizarre reaction—he and his team had decided this family had no heart at all.

“Miss Windsor, just sign here. If there’s anything else we need from you, I’ll be in touch,” Gallagher said, passing her the paperwork and a pen.

Ivy signed her name and handed everything back. “Alright. Thanks for your help, Gallagher.” She turned to the man at her side. “Let’s go.” With that, she started to walk away.

Adkins looked anxious but didn’t dare stop her. He could only turn helplessly to his wife.

Rosetta’s expression was strained, but after a brief hesitation, she hurried after Ivy. “Ivy—wait, Ivy!” Rosetta caught up just as Ivy was about to descend the steps, and put on her most careful smile. “Ivy, when are you coming back home? Even if you’re with Mr. Ludwig now, you’ll still need to leave from your family’s home when you get married, right? People will talk if you keep living out there on your own—it’s just not proper.”

Ivy fixed her with an icy stare. “The day I walked out the Windsor front door, I knew I was never coming back. Mrs. Windsor, you care so much about appearances—doesn’t it embarrass you to come groveling to me like this?”

Rosetta froze, her face stiffening as if she’d been struck. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Watching her daughter’s figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance, Rosetta was suddenly hit by the awful realization: they’d made an unforgivable mistake. They were about to lose their own flesh and blood—forever.

Ivy walked to her car and was about to slide into the driver’s seat when Jamison caught her by the wrist and steered her around to the passenger side.

“What are you doing?” Ivy’s voice was frosty.

“You’re riding shotgun. I’m driving,” Jamison replied.

“You’re driving my car?” Ivy stared at him. “Where’s your own?”

“I already called my driver to take it,” he said, already opening the passenger door and, with an air of ownership, all but shoving her inside.

Once he’d settled into the driver’s seat, Ivy glared at him in irritation. “When are you going to stop making decisions for me? There’s nothing between us. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Jamison adjusted the seat until his long legs fit comfortably, then buckled his seatbelt. “You’re in no state to drive. If something happened, you’d just give my fellow doctors more work to do.”

Ivy let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He just grinned, not bothered in the slightest. “Fine, here’s one that isn’t flimsy: I care about you. I worry about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Is that clear enough?”

Ivy had no answer for that.

The Maserati purred onto the road. Ivy turned away, staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. It was already past eight, and traffic had thinned.

Jamison glanced at her, his voice gentle. “Are you hungry? I’ll take you to get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry. I don’t feel like eating.”

Jamison sighed. “Ivy, when are you going to stop punishing yourself every time you’re upset?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Is it?” His lips curled into a cold, almost wicked smile, and something unyielding flickered in his eyes. Without warning, he jerked the wheel and pulled the car over to the curb before slamming on the brakes.

The sudden stop left Ivy reeling, and before she could react, he’d unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the console. Her instincts screamed a warning—

“Jamison, what are you—” Her protest was cut short as his breath—clean, heady, and close—stole the rest of her words.