Her eyes met his. "Thank you so much," she said sweetly. "I am quite relieved." Her lips quirked into a mocking smile. "If you’re done, you can find your way out. The door is still exactly where you left it."

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, slipping back into the mask of control that had served him all his life. "Syl..." he began. She wasn’t listening anymore.

Tom watched her in silence, eyes darkening. For all the strength she was showing off now, he knew Sylvia’s weak spots better than anyone. He had built her, after all. And there was still one addiction she hadn’t quite killed.

Alcohol.

Sober Sylvia was too sharp, too steady, too immune to his manipulation. He needed the other one—the wild one, the laughing, slurring, pliable version of her who could be convinced, cornered, coerced.

His mind began to churn. He didn’t care how hard she’d fought to stay sober. All he cared about was getting her back on his side.

Because a drunk Sylvia was useful. A sober one was dangerous.

"You’ve grown cruel," he said quietly, letting his disappointment drip. "Cold. Just like your grandfather."

Sylvia smirked without turning. "That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me."

"I’ll be seeing you, Syl," he said finally.

She didn’t respond.

When the door closed behind him, Sylvia exhaled slowly, her pulse still racing.

She went back to her desk, trying to refocus on her restaurant proposal.

*****

Evans wheeled Ivy into her mother’s recovery room. The private suite in Angel Dove Hospital was a picture of quiet luxury. Mary looked small, her skin pale yet glowing with renewed strength. For the first time in months, there was color in her cheeks, and when her eyes fluttered open and landed on her daughter, they filled with tears.

"Oh, baby... what happened to you?!" Mary’s hands, still thin from IV drips and medication, reached for Ivy’s face. Her fingers brushed the faint bruise that still lingered at the corner of her daughter’s lip.

"I’m fine, Mum," Ivy said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. "I’m just... glad you pulled through."

Evans lingered by the window, watching the tender reunion. His heart squeezed unexpectedly at the sight.

"How was the wedding?" Mary asked suddenly, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Ivy chuckled softly. "Ah... you remember that?"

Mary smiled faintly. "Of course I remember. I might’ve been half out of it, but I remember everything you told me. You were so excited. You looked radiant even talking about it."

"The wedding didn’t happen."

Mary’s face fell. "Oh, sweetheart..." she whispered, reaching for Ivy’s fingers and squeezing them gently. "I’m so sorry, love."

"Mum," Ivy began hesitantly, brushing away her tears. "Why didn’t you ever tell me about your family?"

Mary’s gaze darted toward Evans.

"It never came up," Mary said quickly. She sighed and turned her head toward the man still standing by the window. "Come here, Ev."

"I always told you to stop calling me that," Evans muttered. "It sounds like a girl’s name. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, Mary." He crossed his arms, feigning irritation.

Mary rolled her eyes, a spark of her old spirit returning. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, you big baby. Will you get over here?!"

Evans groaned dramatically but obeyed, strolling over.

Ivy chuckled softly. Gone was the arrogant man with a five-thousand-dollar watch and a smirk that could make headlines. Right now, he looked boyish. His usual sharp confidence was replaced by a quiet tenderness as he fussed over her mother’s blanket and adjusted her pillow with surprising care.

It startled Ivy—this gentle side of him that people in his world probably never saw.

"I’m so sorry I left you behind," Mary whispered. Her eyes shimmered with guilt, and her fingers trembled where they rested on the white hospital sheets.

Evans let out a low sigh, shaking his head. "Hey, I understand," he said softly. "You were young, stupid, and in love. I get it. We’re together now. That’s what matters." He reached out, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand in a comforting gesture that spoke of old bonds and forgiveness long overdue.

"You just focus on getting better, and when you’re strong enough, I’ll take you to see Dad. He’s going to have a heart attack, by the way."

Mary let out a breathy laugh that turned into a cough. "I don’t think he wants to see me, Ev."

Evans leaned closer, his dark eyes softening. "He does. I promise you. The older he got, the more he missed you. And now? He just sits on that damn porch, drinking whiskey and praying you come home before he dies."

Then Evans’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out with a sigh, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted—his brows furrowed for half a second before a slow, satisfied smile crept across his face.

"What?" Ivy asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Evans’s grin widened. "Your fiancé’s investors are considering Everest." He chuckled. "They’re asking for a meeting."

The blood drained from her face. "Uncle Evans, you... please."

"Ivy," he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket, "it’s business. Nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" she echoed. "Winn worked so hard for that project. You know how much it means to him. It was the reason we rushed the wedding plans! Please don’t do this to him."

"He’s a big boy. If he can’t handle competition, he shouldn’t be in business."

She swallowed hard, her heart beating a little too fast for comfort. "You’re doing this because you can, not because you should."

"Ivy... come on!" Evans groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. "I’ve been ass-kissing those men even before I knew who you were."

"I’m begging you. Please. I’ll do anything you want."

"Anything?" he repeated softly, as if tasting the word.

"Everything you want," she whispered, her throat tightening.

"You’re going to regret that," he murmured, and the quiet promise in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

"I know," Ivy said. And she meant it. Every word. There was no trace of naivety in her eyes now, only raw, aching resolve.