Ivy couldn’t focus on anything else. The moment Jamison was struck, her heart leapt into her throat.

Since they’d been together, Jamison had been hurt more than once–and every single time, it was because of her.

She’d never been one for superstition, but now, she couldn’t help wondering if she was cursed–like some black cat always bringing trouble to those she cared about.

“Jamison! Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Her mind went blank with panic, eyes red as she hurriedly turned him in his arms to check for injuries.

Luckily, the heavy fruit platter hadn’t shattered, so there were no cuts on his scalp.

But in just a few moments, a nasty lump had already swollen up on his head.

When Ivy felt it, she couldn’t hold back her tears. “You’ve got a huge bump–please, let’s get you to the ER. I’m worried you might have a concussion or internal bleeding…”

Jamison waited out the dizziness. Judging by how he felt, it didn’t seem too serious. He spoke softly, trying to reassure her: “It’s alright. No need to rush.”

He glanced over at Carla, who had thrown herself into the crowd of Shepherd relatives, his brow furrowing even deeper.

Boyd and his men followed after Carla, but mindful of propriety, they couldn’t get too rough. Several times they managed to grab her, only for her to break free.

Carla cackled wildly, spitting at the Shepherds and swinging her shoes at them, chasing them around the room.

At first, the Shepherds thought she was just faking insanity, trying to dodge responsibility–they assumed the Ludwigs had bribed the police. But now, seeing her attack her own brother and lash out at everyone in a fit of madness, they were forced to admit it: Carla was truly unhinged, driven mad by the loss of her son.

“Micah, Micah, why are you running… Mom misses you so much, please, don’t be angry, don’t ignore me-”

“Micah, don’t fall for Ivy. She’s not good for you–Mom will find you a new girlfriend, a thousand times better than Ivy! Ten thousand times!”

Her speech was a jumbled mess, but she never once mentioned Emma Windsor.

Even though Emma was almost her daughter–in–law, and had once carried her grandchild–Carla never spoke a word about her.

Clearly, somewhere deep down, she had never truly accepted Emma.

Several Shepherd family members were left scrambling, ducking from Carla’s flying shoes and wiping spit from their faces, their expressions a mix of disgust and shock as they backed away.

In the end, it was Davina who managed to calm Carla, then, with a quick hand signal to Boyd, helped restrain her. Boyd and his men moved in with a set of restraints, finally managing to subdue her.

“She’s really lost it… this isn’t an act,” someone from the Shepherd family muttered.

Their leader stared at Carla, now trussed up and mumbling, completely at a loss.

He’d thought this whole confrontation would give them the moral high ground–ruin the Ludwig family’s reputation, win some compensation, and maybe even walk away with a tidy sum.

But Carla had truly gone off the deep end.

And if she was genuinely insane, then she couldn’t be held responsible for murder.

The realization stung. His own older brother had died under mysterious circumstances, and the Ludwig family still controlled the Shepherd fortune. Fury made him stamp his foot in frustration.

Now that the chaos had settled, Jamison stepped forward. “Farley Shepherd’s death was a tragedy, but it wasn’t undeserved. The hospital’s investigation is complete–Micah suffered a sudden cardiac episode that night because someone deliberately cut off his oxygen. He suffocated and had a fatal attack.”

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.

“What do you mean? Mr. Shepherd was already so pitiful–someone wanted him dead?”

“Probably Farley himself. He must have decided his son was better off dead—just a burden anyway–so he ended it.”

Jamison heard the whispers but ignored them, his voice clear and cold as he continued, “That night, my sister wasn’t in the room, and the nurse had been sent away by Farley. So the person who killed Micah was Farley Shepherd himself. Even a wild animal protects its young–he was worse than a beast.”

“And now you dare demand justice? Farley’s illegitimate son is nearly ten years old–don’t pretend you knew nothing. All these years, you’ve ridden on Farley’s coattails while he profited from the Ludwig name. Now that he’s gone, you want to cash in one last time? Who’s really feeding off the dead here?”

Jamison’s words cut like a knife–each accusation sharp, every question unanswerable. The Shepherds could only stand there, speechless and pale.

Moments later, police sirens wailed outside.

Thad had called them.

“Jamison, get to the hospital and have that injury checked out. I’ll handle things here,” Thad said briskly, then turned to Ivy, his voice gentle, “You go with him, make sure he gets a proper scan.”

The fruit platter had been heavy crystal, and Carla hadn’t held back. A blow like that could’ve been fatal.

Ivy nodded quickly, supporting Jamison with trembling hands, worry written all over her face. “Of course, I’ll go with him.”

Naylor hurried up. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

The Shepherd family–so smug just minutes before–now shrank back in front of the arriving police, all eager to explain themselves, bowing and scraping.

Jamison watched them with a flicker of disdain in his gaze.

A bunch of fools, he thought.

Clearly, the Ludwigs had spoiled the Shepherds for far too long–now they dared to bite the hand that fed them.

“Don’t worry, my brother will handle everything,” Ivy said softly, seeing him glance back and mistaking his expression for concern.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. But once he slid into the car, his brow furrowed, pain etched across his face. “There’s a bag of ice in the mini–fridge. Could you get it for me…”