Chapter 3
Ivy's POV
Elena Leyton, my grandmother, walked into the living room.
Three years had passed, and she had aged considerably, her face marked by an exhaustion she could no longer hide.
When she saw me, her gaze softened for a moment, but quickly shifted to annoyance.
"I could hear you all the way in the East Wing." Elena looked at her son. "No throwing things in this house." Her eyes swept over Cara, then Diana.
"Out."
"Grandma..." Cara began, her voice taking on a wheedling tone. "We were just talking with Ivy..."
"I know exactly what you are. Shut up and get out."
Cara's expression crumpled into wounded innocence. Diana patted her shoulder.
A small head poked out from behind my waist, sticking her tongue out toward where Cara had been standing.
I glanced down.
"Luna."
"What?" She retracted her tongue, her expression perfectly innocent.
I decided to pretend I hadn't seen anything.
Elena beckoned to me.
"Ivy, come with me."
I took Luna's hand and followed.
Behind me, Cara stamped her foot, deliberately raising her voice. "Grandma—I heard Mr. Stone is interested in working with the company? Could I be involved in receiving him?"
Elena didn't turn around. "You don't understand company matters."
"Grandma, I have a plan! If I could marry him..."
I couldn't help glancing back at her. Cara met my eyes with a challenging look.
Elena's refusal left no room for argument. "Whatever you want to do has nothing to do with the company. I have other arrangements for receiving him."
"Then..." Cara's voice became strained. "Grandma wouldn't want her to do it, would she? She didn't even finish school—"
I pulled Luna along, quickly leaving her behind.
She was stating a fact. I hadn't been able to finish high school.
But what she didn't mention was this: the year I dropped out, it was her mother who brought people to the school to cause trouble for me.
Spreading rumors about me on campus, bringing students to block my way, preventing me from attending classes, telling every teacher I was morally corrupt...
No one helped me. Robert wouldn't even let me finish explaining before saying I was lying. Grandma was exhausted from dealing with my mother's death and her health was poor—I couldn't disturb her with these matters.
In the end, I could only leave.
Luna quietly lifted her head beside me and stuck her tongue out once more toward Cara at the end of the hallway.
This time I genuinely didn't see it.
Elena's room was on the second floor.
It was the place my mother had once lived. The scent of cedar wood, old books, and lavender hand cream—every time I sat in here, I felt myself becoming smaller, simpler. That version of myself who still lived in happiness, that naive little girl.
Luna made herself comfortable under the desk, pulling out paper and pencils to draw something she would only describe as "a very important dragon."
Elena poured two cups of tea.
"I heard you did some design work in Paris?"
"Children's clothing." I cradled the teacup. "The market is either covered in logos or dressing children like miniature adults. Well-made children's clothing actually has demand. I created a brand—it's my own thing."
Elena nodded.
"Perfect." She said. "There's an opportunity here."
"Have you heard of Darian Stone?"
That name carried weight in this city like the weather—everyone knew it, everyone revolved around it. Stone Industries' phones, Stone's hospital system, that hotel chain logo—I'd seen it in every city I'd visited over the past four years.
Even just minutes ago, Cara had been eagerly begging Grandma for a chance to meet Mr. Stone.
One could imagine how many women in this city dreamed of him.
"Enough to know," I said, "that he and I don't move in the same circles."
I could say the wealthiest person I'd ever encountered was my unseen husband.
But as far as I knew, the fifty million dollars he'd paid for me probably meant nothing to Stone.
"He has a son. Four years old, very difficult temperament—he's met one caretaker after another and sent them all away. Nannies and caregivers have been replaced in waves. Reportedly, he refuses to go out and meet people, and won't dress properly."
Under the desk, Luna held up her drawing. Six legs, wearing a crown, clutching a small bag in its claws.
"For the Stone family's little boy," she announced solemnly. "He sounds my age? Don't worry, Grandma."
I looked at my daughter, who was earnestly and honestly deciding to befriend a child she'd never met.
"He must not have enough friends, that's why he's so strange!"
I didn't know why that sentence made my throat tighten.
But then Luna laughed.
"I'll let him know—I'm friendly!"
We both laughed.
"Very thoughtful, sweetheart."
Elena held her teacup and continued, "Mr. Stone's requirement is this: he wants a custom wardrobe for all four seasons made for this child. You understand—it needs to be distinctive enough, exquisitely crafted, and most importantly, the child must be willing to wear it."
She met my eyes.
"If you do this well, all of Bay Harbor will know your name before spring. The doors Stone opens are the doors that truly open."
Under the desk, Luna was quietly explaining something urgent to her dragon.
I thought of the Hackney studio. The samples against the wall, those first few articles, the fragile thing I'd built with extremely careful hands.
Then I thought of something else. The real reason I'd come back.
That child, the one who "died at birth," whom I'd never even seen.
"I'll take it."
What I needed to do required substantial money, resources, and connections.
I needed Stone's approval, no matter how difficult.
"I'll do it well."
Elena smiled, a shallow, satisfied expression.
"Good." She set down the teapot. "I hope you'll pull yourself together, Ivy. Don't disappoint your mother's expectations. She was an excellent and strong woman. She loved you very much."
My chest ached.
"I know."
Elena stopped there. "By the way, your mother cared deeply about your marriage prospects. You went to see Mr. Voss last night—how did it go?"
I immediately thought of that large bed, and that fragile man I'd forcibly pinned down on it.
And how disheveled I'd left him this morning.
A mouthful of tea caught in my throat and I choked.
"Voss... well, I'm not sure..."
"He's probably right now..."
