Chapter 6

　　The door opened gently, and in stepped a petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair neatly pulled back into a bun. She wore a navy-blue uniform and a warm, practiced smile.

　　"Good morning, Mrs. Martinelli. I'm Anna. I'll be your personal maid," she said with a respectful nod.

　　Mrs. Martinelli. It still sounded strange.

　　"Hi, Anna," Ivy said, offering a tentative smile. "You don't have to call me that. Ivy is fine."

　　Anna's smile remained professional. "That is not allowed, ma'am. I must refer to you by your title."

　　"Oh, I see," Ivy said quietly.

　　"I've drawn a bath for you, and breakfast will be served shortly," Anna said. "Mr. Martinelli has already left for the day, but he asked me to make sure you're comfortable."

　　He left without saying goodbye?

　　Ivy's face faltered for a second. "Did he… say where he went?"

　　"I'm afraid not," Anna replied. "He rarely discusses his schedule with the staff."

　　Right. Of course he didn't.

　　Ivy followed Anna into the adjoining bathroom, where an enormous marble tub gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier. Steam rose from the water, infused with rose petals and something herbal. It looked like a scene from a spa commercial.

　　"This is… nice," Ivy said, stepping closer.

　　Anna gave a small nod. "Would you like me to assist you with anything?"

　　Ivy shook her head quickly. "No, no. I've got it."

　　She wasn't used to this: being pampered, being waited on. It made her skin itch a little. Ivy had always done things for herself. Asking someone to pour her a bath felt like cheating at life.

　　Anna seemed to sense her unease. "Take your time, ma'am. I'll lay out your outfit and wait outside."

　　Ivy sank into the bath once Anna left, letting the warmth envelop her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

　　Everything felt surreal. The soft jazz music playing through hidden speakers, the way the bathroom had heated floors, the monogrammed towels that were fluffier than any pillow she'd ever owned.

　　It was paradise… but it wasn't home.

　　When she emerged thirty minutes later, Anna had laid out a pale-yellow designer dress with delicate lace sleeves. Ivy touched the fabric like it might disappear beneath her fingers. There were tags still attached, probably brand new, chosen for her before she even arrived.

　　She dressed in silence, then let Anna guide her to the dining hall. The hallway was a grand showcase of polished floors, gilded sconces, and cold portraits of stern-looking men with the same angular jawline Lorenzo had inherited. Their eyes followed her as she walked.

　　"They were all Martinelli men," Anna said quietly, catching Ivy's gaze. "Mr. Lorenzo's ancestors. Powerful, ruthless, but respected."

　　Ivy swallowed. That wasn't comforting, she thought.

　　This dining room was different from the one they'd had dinner in last night. This one was massive and formal, with a long glass table that could seat thirty. Only six places were set, but it felt like a performance all the same.

　　For a split second, Ivy toyed with the idea of turning around and running out of the mansion, but she knew that wasn't possible. This was what she signed up for. And now, it was time for her to face the music.

　　As Ivy and Anna approached, they saw three people were already seated in the dining room.

　　Olivia sat at the head of the table, stern and dressed impeccably. Her piercing eyes that could slice steel.

　　Isabella was unmistakable in a cream blouse, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. Next to her, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties lounged in his chair with a smirk on his face, a navy blazer hanging carelessly off one shoulder. He oozed arrogance.

　　Ivy didn't need a formal introduction to know who he was. She greeted everyone politely but barely received any acknowledgement.

　　Anna pulled out a chair for Ivy, and she sat stiffly on the seat reserved for her opposite her in-laws.

　　"Ivy, this is my husband, Ken," Isabella said blandly, referring to the man slouching in his seat.

　　"Pleasure," Ivy murmured, offering a nod.

　　"Sorry, I missed the wedding," Ken said with a smirk. "I had some very important business to attend to yesterday. Although I heard the event was quite… spectacular."

　　Ivy wasn't sure if she was required to offer a polite response to Ken, but she remained silent. The guy was insufferable and reminded her of her slimy stepfather.

　　"I must say, though, Lorenzo's taste appears to be evolving," Ken said with a catty grin, eyeing Ivy like she was a new accessory.

　　Ivy raised a brow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

　　Ken chuckled and sipped his coffee without answering.

　　Isabella shot him a glance that could freeze water. "Ken," she said, her voice sweet but sharp.

　　"Just making conversation," he said, shrugging.

　　A waiter appeared with a silver tray and laid out a full breakfast: fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a delicate spinach quiche.

　　Ivy had never eaten anything this fancy for breakfast. Heck, she was a cereal-and-coffee girl, and even that was a stretch most days.

　　She noticed everyone used cloth napkins and tiny utensils, cutting everything into perfect bites. Ivy did her best to imitate them, but she could feel their eyes on her. Judging. Measuring.

　　"So," Olivia began, breaking the silence, "what are your intentions with my son?"

　　Ivy nearly choked on her orange juice. "Excuse me?"

　　Olivia folded his hands and continued, "This arrangement came together quickly. You're a stranger to us, yet you now carry our name. I want to understand your purpose here. How did you convince my son to choose you of all people?"

　　Isabella sighed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Mother, we should probably respect Lorenzo's decision."

　　"I didn't ask Lorenzo. I asked her," Olivia retorted.

　　Ivy straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze evenly. "With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not here to prove myself to anyone. Lorenzo and I have an understanding. That's between us."

　　Olivia pinned Ivy with a hard look. "Marriage is a serious commitment, and I hope you are fully aware of that. Nobody in this family will tolerate any sort of disrespect or disorderly behavior from you. Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse. Do I make myself clear?"

　　"Crystal," Ivy responded flatly.

　　Ken whistled softly. "Feisty. I like her."

　　"Do you always flirt with your sister-in-law at breakfast?" Ivy asked sweetly, tilting her head.