Ivy Windsor tossed the empty ice cream cone aside, dusted her hands, and declared with absolute finality, “Micah Shepherd, I don’t love you. I don’t love you. I don’t love you – did you hear me clearly?”

Jamison Ludwig hadn’t expected Ivy to be so unflinching, blindsiding Micah with her words. For a moment, he was stunned, his eyes wide with disbelief. But then, thinking it over, he realized this was exactly the sort of thing Ivy would do. Especially knowing she’d taken his side, Jamison couldn’t help but let a sly grin curl his lips.

Micah, on the other hand, was a complete wreck.

Clutching his throbbing head, he listened as Ivy said she didn’t love him – not once, but three times. The blow landed on both his body and his heart, and he couldn’t help it; tears started to roll down his cheeks.

“Ivy…”

She didn’t even bother looking at him. Shooting a glare at Jamison, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle, she snapped, “What are you standing there for? Want to get hit too?”

That snapped Jamison out of it. He glanced at his nephew to make sure the injuries were only superficial, then followed after Ivy without a shred of guilt.

He started toward the driver’s seat, but Ivy barked, “Passenger side. I’m driving!”

He obediently switched sides.

As the car door swung open and the overhead light flicked on, Ivy glanced over and immediately noticed a smear of blood at the corner of Jamison’s mouth.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No need.” Jamison buckled in, his tone breezy. “Just stop at a pharmacy. I’ll grab some antiseptic and patch it up.”

Figuring he knew what he was talking about – he was a surgeon, after all – Ivy didn’t argue. She started the Maserati and eased out of the lot, driving slowly as she scanned the streets.

It didn’t take long to spot a pharmacy. She pulled over and hurried in, leaving Jamison in the passenger seat. Through the windshield, he watched her slender figure weaving through the lamplit street, the breeze lifting strands of hair from her temples. From behind, she looked fresh, a little stubborn – almost childlike.

He couldn’t help but grin, though the movement tugged at his split lip, forcing him to sober up. Tonight’s drama had caused quite a stir – word would definitely get around.

He pulled out his phone and called home, instructing someone to pick up Micah and make sure he got back safely. Despite their rivalry, Micah was still his nephew, family was family, and safety came first.

Soon, Ivy returned with a small bag: cotton swabs, antiseptic, bandages, and a tube of antibiotic ointment.

Jamison peered inside and smiled approvingly. “You thought of everything. Not bad – you know your first aid.”

Ivy shot him a look. “Handle it yourself.”

“How am I supposed to? I can’t even see where the cut is.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Come on, I did leap heroically to your defense. You’re really going to just leave me like this?”

She eyed his bruised face, lips pressed together as if weighing her options. After a moment, she sighed and turned to face him, opening a sterile swab.

Jamison immediately sat up straight, facing her like a well-behaved student.

Under the harsh dome light, she could see it clearly: his lip was split, his jaw bruised, and there was a darkening welt at the corner of his eye.

Micah really hadn’t held back.

“I thought you were supposed to be tough. Can’t believe you let your own nephew get the better of you.” Ivy dipped a swab in antiseptic and dabbed it at his lip, her tone mocking.

Jamison winced, the pain making his brow crease, but he snorted. “If I weren’t the grown-up here, I’d have had him begging for mercy.”

“Sure you would,” Ivy scoffed.

“You don’t believe me?” His gaze lingered on her. “If I really let loose, everyone at home would have my head for hurting him. I had to let it go.”

Ivy didn’t reply, but after a moment’s thought, she conceded the point. Grown-ups were supposed to show some restraint, after all – something Micah clearly hadn’t bothered with.

She smirked. “You’re really playing the wise uncle, huh?”

Jamison started to retort, but Ivy leaned in with the swab and warned, “Don’t move.” He shut his mouth and let her work.

Of course, most of what he’d said was just for show. Jamison was never one to care about what his family thought – not when it came to what he wanted. If he really cared about their opinions, he never would have gone after Ivy in the first place. The truth was, he was putting on a bit of a wounded act, hoping for her sympathy. It didn’t hurt that this way, his family couldn’t complain; after all, he was the one nursing the worst injuries.

Ivy had no idea about the games he was playing. She just looked at his handsome but battered face and felt her dislike for Micah grow even stronger. To go after your own uncle like that, to leave a bruise under his eye – one wrong move and someone could have gotten seriously hurt. What kind of family did that?

Suddenly, neither of them spoke. The silence in the car grew heavy, the air tinged with awkwardness and something else.

Ivy went through several swabs, cleaning away the blood from his mouth. When she’d finished, she realized the wound wasn’t actually on the outside.

“Your mouth is bleeding on the inside, isn’t it?” she asked, curious.

Micah must have landed his punch right at the corner of Jamison’s mouth, splitting the skin inside against his teeth.

Jamison nodded, brow furrowing. “Tastes like blood. Must be.”

“What are you supposed to do about that?” Ivy asked, cheeks coloring slightly.

He was always so sharp and intimidating, but his mouth was surprisingly soft. Every time the swab brushed his lips, she could feel the gentle give of them, and she couldn’t help but recall the moment – still fresh in her mind – when he’d stolen a kiss from her.

“Do we have any water in the car? I need to rinse my mouth,” Jamison muttered, frowning.