Chapter 770

Ivy could hear the strain in his voice, how he was forcing himself to stay composed. She knew all too well how much pain he was in; her nose stung, and her heart twisted with worry.

“Alright, just wait a second,” she responded quickly, rushing to get some ice.

There were no towels in the car, so she pulled off her own scarf, wrapped the ice in it, and turned back to him, concern etched on her face.

“Lie down–it’ll be easier this way.”

He was too tall for the cramped backseat; if he stayed upright, Ivy had to awkwardly reach up and could barely steady herself. If he lay down, she’d be able to tend to his injury more easily.

Jamison said nothing but stretched out, resting his head gently on Ivy’s lap.

She hurried to press the makeshift ice pack softly to the swelling on his head.

“It’s getting bigger. Are you feeling nauseous or dizzy?” she asked, her voice edged with worry.

“No, don’t worry. I’m alright,” Jamison replied in a low, steady voice.

As she kept icing his injury, Ivy’s guilt welled up. “I’ve gotten you hurt more than once now. Maybe I really am some kind of jinx. And apparently, our horoscopes don’t even match.”

“Stop with the nonsense.” Jamison kept his eyes closed, not in the mood for talking, but still managed to comfort her. “Don’t blame yourself. My own sister did this. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Naylor was driving fast, glancing into the rearview mirror every so often, equally worried about his friend. Hearing Ivy berate herself, he couldn’t help but chime in, “It’s not your fault. Don’t go taking the blame for someone else’s mess.”

Ivy said, “If someone else got hurt, or even if it was just me, I wouldn’t care so much. But every time it’s him…”

“He’s a man, Ivy! It’s his job to protect his wife. Otherwise, what’s the point of marrying him?” Naylor declared, utterly convinced of his own logic.

Jamison grumbled, “For once, you’re making sense.”

At the hospital, Jamison went straight in for tests–first to surgery, then for a head CT.

As expected, there was some internal bleeding in his skull.

It wasn’t serious, though. The doctors recommended observation and gave him medication to help the blood dissipate on its own.

When they were finished at the hospital, the memorial service at the funeral home was wrapping up.

The Shepherd family, in front of the police and all the guests, apologized to the Ludwigs. They paid their respects to Micah, then slunk away, thoroughly disgraced.

After the service, Micah was to be laid to rest. The cemetery plot had been chosen long ago.

Unlike Emma, who had to make do with a humble niche in a temple wall, Micah’s grave was in an upscale cemetery–an extravagant plot that could have bought a small apartment in the city.

At the burial, the Ludwigs were overwhelmed by grief, wrapped in a heavy silence.

No one noticed the man in the distance, standing quietly under a baseball cap, watching the proceedings with a shadowed gaze.

Although the Shepherds had apologized, the chaos at the funeral home hadn’t escaped notice. Someone had recorded the whole scene; at first, the video circulated only among friends, but soon enough, busybodies posted it online, and public opinion began to snowball.

The initial incident–Carla’s attack on her husband at the hospital–had been quickly covered up by the Ludwig family.

But as outrage over the funeral home fiasco spread, word of the “hospital murder case” leaked out as well.

There was no video evidence of what happened that night, which led to endless rumors and wild theories.

In the end, driven by online resentment against the rich, the story mutated: the Ludwigs, with all their power, could literally get away with murder.

Ivy found herself at the center of office gossip, all because of the scandal.

Thankfully, Edmond had enough sense to see that rumors like these wouldn’t truly harm the Ludwigs. On the contrary, he was even more attentive toward Ivy, granting her two days off.

It was just as well–she needed the time to take care of Dr. Ludwig, who was nursing a nasty bump on his head.

The house staff from the old manor came by to cook their meals, so Ivy’s only focus was Jamison.

The swelling on his forehead had ruined his hair, making him look both pitiful and a little ridiculous; Ivy couldn’t help but smile and ache for him at the same time. She fussed over him like he was an invalid, even feeding him by hand.

“I’m not helpless, you know,” Jamison protested, embarrassed and exasperated every time.

“I know. But you got hurt protecting me. Let me spoil you a little as payback.”

If that blow had landed on her, she might’ve ended up with a fractured skull or worse.

Hearing her, Jamison smiled and let her fuss over him without protest.

“This whole mess happened because we didn’t act fast enough. Now we’re on the back foot, the company’s taken a hit, and you’re caught up in it too.” With nothing else to do, Jamison had spent the last two days replaying everything in his mind and realized that he’d underestimated just how vicious the Shepherds could be. That was the real reason things had spiraled out of control.

He could handle the rest, but he worried Ivy might brood over it.

“I’m fine. I’m just an intern–if I take off for a couple of days, the company won’t implode,” Ivy said, still holding a spoon to his lips.

She’d noticed a pattern: every time they managed a few quiet days together, savoring the calm, it was because one of them was injured or sick.

Thinking about it that way, maybe there was a silver lining to all this.

Jamison was about to reply when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Ivy picked it up for him. Seeing it was Boyd, she answered, “Hello, Boyd? What’s up?”

Boyd got straight to the point. “Ivy, Baillie was taking his wife to the hospital for a prenatal checkup this morning. There was a car accident. She… she lost the baby.”