The name “the Howard Group” seemed to act like a magic spell on the waiter’s demeanor. No more
than a moment had passed before he ushered the two guests to a plush booth, serving them a
complimentary pair of ice waters.
“Please hang tight,” he said with newfound deference. “I’ll fetch the boss straight away.”
The stark shift in the waiter’s attitude was a clear testament to the might of the Howard Group’s
influence in the city.
Ivy’s heart began to race; she had never mixed with such high-rollers before. Now, she was on the
brink of being married to one of them for a whole year, and she couldn’t fathom what that might entail.
The bar owner arrived posthaste with a practiced smile on his face. “My apologies for the wait. I hear
you had a bit of a mishap with some lost belongings. Looking to check last night’s surveillance footage,
are we? This place is quite the maze, lots of angles to cover. Can you tell me where to start looking?”
Quinton glanced over to Ivy.
Standing, Ivy pointed to the booth nearby. “Around this area, and the corridor leading to your hotel.”
Will do. Give me a moment.”
The bar owner instructed an employee to fetch a laptop and queued up the relevant footage.
Sure enough, the surveillance footage clearly showed yesterday’s scene with Clara urging Ivy to drink,
every gesture and expression painfully evident.
And there, in the corridor footage, was Clara entangled in chatter with Vincent. Initially, Vincent seemed
intent on coaxing Clara upstairs, but after a brief exchange, he left with a chuckle and a nod, heading
up alone.
Ivy could only surmise that it was then Clara had struck her deal with Vincent, promising to deliver her
sister to his bed after the night’s festivities.
Oh, what a doting sister Clara was!
“Boss, I need a copy of this video. It’s important.”
With Balfour behind them, the bar owner didn’t dare refuse or pry further.
With the footage in hand, Ivy and Quinton proceeded to her family.
Quinton parked in front of the grand estate and turned to Ivy with a respectful air. “Ivy, would you like
me to accompany you inside?”
He had seen the altercation between Ivy and Clara the previous day and was concerned about her
standing with her family. His presence as a Balfour’s assistant might afford her some protection,
sparing her from the worst of their treatment.
Ivy found the notion bitterly ironic; needing an outsider’s support to enter her own home.
‘No need, I’ll manage. Just wait here for me, please.”
Declining Quinton’s offer, Ivy stepped through the threshold alone.
The first to greet her was her mother, Tessa.
Tessa’s face soured at the sight of her daughter. Her hand shot up, landing a sharp slap across Ivy’s
face. “How dare you show your face? Do you any idea how much your father scolded me? He’s still
giving me the cold shoulder because of you!”
Tears sprang to Ivy’s eyes, not from the sting on her cheek, but from the ache in her heart.
After such a long absence, her mother’s first instinct wasn’t concern but blame, followed by violence.
have
Ivy quickly wiped away the tears and faced Tessa with a defiant glare. Without a word or a plea for
understanding, she retreated to her room to pack. “Ivy, what are you doing? Are you really moving out
to be someone’s mistress?” Tessa followed, her voice sharp with anger as she watched Ivy gather her
things.
Ivy continued in silence, swiftly collecting her belongings.
All her life, she’d been handed down Clara’s castoffs. There was no reason to take them now.
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