Ivy perked up immediately, her curiosity piqued. “Who’s caught your eye? One of your friends?”

Jamison shot her a look of disgust. “You think I’d keep company with a scumbag like that?”

According to their plan, the idea was to introduce Emma to this so-called “trust fund brat”—the type who could play the perfect gentleman before marriage, only to reveal his true colors after the vows were said. By then, Emma would find herself trapped in a miserable marriage, unable to escape, worn down by endless strife.

Did Jamison—Mr. Jamison, no less—look like someone who’d befriend that kind of person?

“So what’s your approach? Are you planning to engineer some accidental encounter, let them ‘meet cute’ by chance?”

Jamison’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Sharp as ever. That’s pretty much the idea.”

Ivy frowned, unconvinced. “But do you really think things will unfold the way you expect?”

He looked more confident than ever. “Of course. When there’s enough money on the table, people will do whatever you want.”

“Money? You’re going to bribe someone?”

“Not that blatantly. I’ll use a go-between—call it an investment. If I play my cards right, I might even turn a profit.”

Ivy couldn’t help but laugh. Two birds with one stone—ruin someone else’s life and make money in the process. Classic Jamison.

“You really are a sly old fox,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re clever,” she replied smoothly.

“That’s not what I heard.”

She feigned ignorance, refusing to elaborate.

When their conversation finally ended, Ivy was left with an unsettling realization: being involved with Jamison came with its own brand of danger. If a man as calculating and ruthless as him ever turned his schemes on her, would she even stand a chance? Or would she end up completely destroyed?

That very afternoon, Ivy got a call from the Windsor family.

Emma herself was on the line, her tone downright triumphant. “Well, well, big sister. Disappointed to hear I’m out, aren’t you?”

Ivy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You really do have nine lives, don’t you?”

Emma snorted. “All talk, as usual. You keep threatening revenge, but here I am—untouchable. The police couldn’t find a thing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Emma had dropped the pretense entirely, her words edged with a manic bravado that bordered on unhinged.

No wonder—after several days in custody and relentless questioning by the police, anyone would be rattled.

Ivy stayed silent.

Remembering Jamison’s plan, she knew she had to play her part—project the image of a loser, bested by her victorious rival.

Sure enough, Emma, emboldened by Ivy’s silence, pressed on, “Cat got your tongue, sis? Admitting defeat?”

Ivy let out a cold laugh. “What do you want, Emma? I doubt you called just to gloat.”

Emma paused, as if suddenly remembering her real purpose. “Always the perceptive one. Mom and Dad asked me to call. They want to know if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night. You’ve been back for months, and we haven’t had a proper family meal. Big brother’s coming home too.”

Ivy was taken aback. “Baillie Windsor is out as well?”

“Of course. He was framed—Lauren Miller set him up. The whole thing was a farce.” Ivy didn’t reply, but inwardly she knew the truth: the Windsors and the Millers must have struck some sort of deal behind closed doors. That’s the only reason the Millers would have dropped the charges.

“So, are you coming or not? We’re family, after all. We’re giving you an olive branch—take the hint.”

Emma sounded utterly fearless now. After all, her misdeeds had come to light, yet her parents hadn’t truly cast her out. That alone made it clear she’d been forgiven.

The Windsor family had built their fortune in real estate, with a side business in international trade. Years ago, they’d been riding high, but lately, with the economy in shambles both at home and abroad, their investments kept tanking. They were barely keeping things afloat by selling off assets, desperately trying to hold it all together.