"Grandpa?" Ivy called.

"Yes, princess," Sam quickly answered, adjusting himself in his oversized chair. The faint hum of the television carried the business news—numbers, profits, and stock reports he barely listened to anymore. The only sound that mattered now was her voice.

Ivy stepped into the room. "Is Uncle Evans coming tonight? He isn’t picking up his calls."

Sam squinted at her over his glasses. "Uh... I don’t know, love. Is there something you need?"

"I think I need to go to the hospital," Ivy said lightly, trying to sound casual, even playful. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, pretending it was nothing.

But the second she saw his expression change—from calm to alarmed—she realized her mistake.

Sam straightened instantly, dropping the remote. "Are you alright? John!" His voice boomed through the house. "John!!"

"Gramps! No! No, I’m fine!" Ivy rushed to his side, grabbing his hand. "It’s just a bit of heartburn. Not an emergency. I just need someone to drive me to the hospital in the morning, that’s all."

Sam’s eyes softened, but his brow didn’t relax. "Oh. Okay." He glanced toward the hallway. "John manages stuff like that. He’ll get you a driver. But I’m coming with you."

"Grandpa, no," she protested, groaning dramatically. "I don’t want to be a bother."

"Nonsense," he said, waving her off. "You have twenty-two years of bothering me accrued. Bother me as much as you want."

Ivy chuckled, shaking her head. "Really..."

"Princess, come on," Sam insisted, his grin lopsided and affectionate. "Let me. I have to see my doctor too anyway. This damned hip keeps clicking." He tapped his thigh with a rueful sigh.

"Okay fine," she conceded, folding her arms. "But you will get me ice cream afterwards."

Sam laughed. "I’ll get you the world, princess."

"Nope... no... just ice cream, for now." Ivy giggled.

"Princess?" Sam said after a while, gesturing to the seat beside him. "Come, come sit over here."

"Okay." Ivy moved closer, lowering herself beside him carefully.

Sam studied her face for a long moment, his gaze filled with concern. "Are you going to tell me who is responsible for your pregnancy?" he asked finally. "Something tells me Evans knows."

Ivy exhaled, her smile fading just a little. "Ugh... I will tell you when the time is right, Gramps. I just don’t want you going to punch him in the face."

Sam raised a single bushy eyebrow. "So, it’s someone I know?"

"Yup, yup," Ivy said, smiling mischievously now, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Gramps, you definitely know him."

Sam groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "Lord, give me strength," he muttered under his breath.

"Relax," Ivy teased, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Does this man know you’re expecting?"

Her silence was answer enough.

Sam turned his head to look at her. He could see it in her eyes—the love she didn’t dare name, the pain she tried to bury beneath a calm smile.

"Ah," he said softly, placing a weathered hand over hers. "The heart never picks the easy road, does it?"

"No," Ivy whispered.

Sam nodded slowly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Then I suppose I have to try as much as possible not to make the same mistake I made with your mother."

Ivy wrapped her arms around her grandfather. "Its fine, gramps. I’ll be fine. And I promise, I will not leave you, no matter what."

"Thank you, sweetie. Thank you."

*****

Friday came faster than expected. Winn spent the week buried in meetings and calculations, his desk drowning in contracts and ledgers. Maurice had been meticulous about every clause.

"Get your 20% of the Orchard fortune in cash," Maurice had advised. "Liquid assets are immediate. The rest can come later once the terms are met."

That decision meant Sharona would get her fifty million at the end of their one-month marriage.

By the time he pulled up to Sharona’s penthouse that evening, the city had already sunk into a velvet night. The elevator ride to the top floor felt suffocating.

He carried a thick file under one arm, containing the full details of Orchard’s assets, estate holdings, and bank reports.

When the elevator doors slid open, Sharona already had her door open.

She was wearing nothing but black lace lingerie— delicate, deliberate, devastating. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, and her mouth curled into a slow, knowing smile as she watched him from across the room.

Winn froze at the threshold. "What’s this?" he asked.

"Just... humour me," she said. "I am your wife after all."

"Go put something on or I will walk out of here right now!"

"Fine! Fine! You are being incredibly selfish!" she snapped, tossing her hair as she stomped to the couch. She grabbed a robe from the couch.

"I can’t believe you! A man would have to be dead not to react to this!" she muttered as she tied the belt loosely around her waist.

"We had a deal!"

"Yes, I know." She flopped onto the couch dramatically, the robe gaping at her thigh. "But being married really screwed up my chances of getting fucked. So yeah, I am sex-starved. Turns out there aren’t many men who want to fuck a married woman."

"One would think for fifty million dollars, you would consider becoming a nun if that’s what it takes," Winn said dryly.

"Oh, fuck you!" she spat.

"I didn’t come here to fight." Winn dropped the file on the table with a soft thud. "I came with the summary of Orchard’s holdings so you’ll know what to expect now and in the future."

"Great..." she rolled her eyes.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I’m not going to sleep with you, Sharona."

"Come on, really. What difference does it make if we fuck?" She leaned forward. "You can use protection if you’re so worried about a child. You’re not seeing anyone. I’m not seeing anyone. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be purely sexual, Winn."

(Please, refer to Author’s note: Contains spoiler though)