Chapter 3

The next morning, I go to the care facility first.

My father sits in a wheelchair, pushed into the courtyard by an aide to get some sun.

He's aged badly. His hair is all white. He looks like a tree hollowed out by rot.

I hand over the bank card.

"There's five million on this. Enough for the best facility, the best care. From today on, I won't be coming back."

"Because — she wants me clean when I see her."

His lips tremble like he has a hundred questions.

I don't give him the chance to speak.

Some memories, I don't want to touch anymore…

But the moment I turn around, they flood back anyway.

The year he went bankrupt, he knelt in front of me, asked if I could forgive him.

I suddenly find it laughable.

My mother gave everything fighting for a man and got nothing but a cheap apology in the end.

So I swore I'd never be like her , crying, clinging, losing everything.

Just as I'm about to tell him "I don't forgive you," a flash of white cuts across my peripheral vision — a van, out of control, barreling straight toward me.

The next second, a massive force shoves me aside.

I hit the ground hard.

When I look back—

He's lying in a pool of blood, the bumper embedded in the left side of his body.

He took the hit for me. That's why he ended up in the care facility.

Five million — not because he's my father.

It's me paying back a life.

After that, I go to work like normal.

Damien walks into the office while I'm sorting files.

He glances at me. No expression.

"Ivy, bring the quarterly reports to my office."

"Yes, Mr. Krest."

I say it naturally.

He's the one who falters.

"You adapt fast." He murmurs it under his breath.

He passes me, his fingers deliberately brushing the back of my hand.

I don't flinch. I don't respond.

Our relationship was never exactly a secret at headquarters.

Six years of him picking me up after work, bringing me to events — everyone knew without being told.

But he never made it official.

A relationship that was never official ,now he calls me "Ivy," I call him "Mr. Krest," and to everyone watching, it actually looks proper.

That night he sends me a location pin. I take a car.

I push open the suite door and find rose petals scattered across the floor and a silk negligée hanging on a rack.

She's not here. But her perfume still is.

Damien's voice comes from behind me: "Seen enough?"

I turn around.

He's leaning against the doorframe, cigarette in hand, watching me with that half-smile.

"The engagement gala is next week. I need you there to help."