“Even though it’s well past midnight, a birthday present is still a must,” she said, her smile gentle.

The moment Jamison caught sight of the logo on the velvet box, he knew exactly what it was. He frowned slightly. “You didn’t need to buy such an expensive watch.”

“With someone of your standing, Mr. Jamison, a cheap watch just wouldn’t do,” Ivy replied, opening the box and taking out a timepiece worth nearly a million. “They say this model stands for ‘enduring commitment.’ It’s my first time celebrating your birthday, so it had to be something special.”

She took his wrist, delicately unclasped the well-worn watch he’d been wearing, and fastened the new one in its place.

“It suits you perfectly. I have excellent taste, don’t I?” Ivy admired her choice and nodded in satisfaction.

Jamison had no shortage of luxury watches, but a gift from his wife—chosen just for him—meant far more than any other.

He wrapped his arms around Ivy, pulling her close, his handsome face lowering until his lips brushed her cheek. His voice was low and husky. “You’ve gone all out today—homemade birthday dinner, and now this extravagant gift. Tell me, how should I thank you, hmm?”

The warmth of his breath and the tone of his question made it clear to Ivy exactly what he was thinking.

But now wasn’t the right time.

Her health aside, with Micah Shepherd’s memorial barely a week past and Carla Ludwig still in custody, it simply wasn’t the right moment for intimacy. Anything more would feel callous, even heartless.

Still, Ivy knew he’d been abstinent for two or three months, and lately he’d been both physically and emotionally drained. Maybe this was exactly the release he needed. And it was his birthday, after all—if ever there was a day for “special privileges,” this was it.

She hesitated.

But after a brief struggle, she steeled herself and gently turned him down. “It’s your birthday. Celebrating for you is the least I can do—I don’t need any thanks,” she said softly. Then, cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him. “It’s already half past midnight. You’ve been through so much lately—let’s get some sleep.”

Jamison sighed, a hint of complaint in his voice. “You really are heartless.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ivy promised, her cheeks flushing as she met his gaze.

Dr. Ludwig muttered, sounding for all the world like a sulky husband, “You’re always saying ‘later, later’… You haven’t been in the working world long, but you sure have mastered the art of promising the moon.”

Ivy burst out laughing, slipping from his embrace and tugging him up by the hand. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed.”

“I need a proper shower. I’ve barely managed to rinse off these past few days at the hospital.”

“I’ll wash your back for you—birthday perk.” Ivy glanced over her shoulder at him, her tone clearly hinting at more.

Dr. Ludwig’s disappointment vanished in an instant. Realizing what Ivy meant, a spark lit up his handsome face.

They headed into the bathroom together, where steam and laughter filled the air for the next half hour.

By the time they finally crawled into bed, it was nearly 1 a.m.

Jamison still didn’t want the night to end, but it was late, and he couldn’t bear to tire Ivy out any further. He swallowed his longing and forced himself to sleep.

Carla’s psychiatric evaluation had arrived.

According to the certified report, Carla suffered from schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, and was in the midst of an acute episode.

Because the law states that a person suffering such a mental break at the time of a crime is not criminally responsible, Carla would not be held legally accountable for her actions.

However, for her own safety and that of others, her family or legal guardians were required to watch over her closely and ensure she received proper medical care.

Should they fail in their duty, the government could step in and enforce treatment or supervision.

For the Ludwigs, this was, in a way, good news.

Carla would not be prosecuted for the killing of Farley Shepherd; she could be released.

Yet it was a tragedy all the same.

Her husband and son, both gone; her mind shattered. The rest of her life would be spent under constant care.

The Ludwig family had money, of course. They could easily hire a team of nurses to look after her. But in her condition, Carla was a ticking time bomb—a source of endless worry.

On the drive to the detention center, the Ludwig brothers debated whether to bring Carla home and hire private care, or send her directly to Serenity Point Hospital for professional treatment.

But with illnesses as severe as hers, “treatment” was often just a euphemism for heavy sedation and strict supervision. If necessary, patients could be restrained or given tranquilizing injections.

“We should just bring her home and have staff watch her around the clock. Our mother doesn’t even know about this yet, but I doubt we can keep it from her much longer. If she finds out we’ve left Carla in a psychiatric hospital, who knows how furious she’ll be,” Jamison said.

As a doctor, he knew Serenity Point’s methods all too well, and in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to send Carla there.

Thad Ludwig nodded. “Alright, we’ll bring her home and hire a care team.” At the detention center, with the help of their lawyer and a police officer, they completed the paperwork and Carla was brought out.

Thanks to the Ludwig family’s influence, she hadn’t suffered during her days in custody; her clothes were neat, her appearance tidy.

But her eyes—blank and lifeless, like a dead fish—showed no spark, not even when she saw her closest family.

Both Ludwig brothers frowned, their faces heavy with worry.

Davina Foster, watching, felt a pang of sympathy. She stepped forward. “Carla, come on—it’s time to go home.”

Only then did Carla slowly turn her gaze to Davina, something flickering in her eyes at last. Her lips moved in a whisper. “Ivy…”

The moment that name left her mouth, Jamison’s face darkened.

Thad had warned him that morning—whatever happened, Ivy should not be brought along.