He’d missed so many obvious clues, brushing them all off as mere coincidence. But how could Ivy, barely in her twenties, be called “Mrs. Smith”? No wonder people got the wrong idea.

Jamison felt a wave of frustration. For all his cleverness, he’d outsmarted himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that the legendary Wall Street genius, Mrs. Smith, was actually the stubborn, sharp-tongued socialite, Ivy.

But if Mrs. Smith really was Ivy, then why had she told him during their private chats that she’d never had children–hadn’t even had any experience in that area at all? That didn’t add up.

The Windsor family claimed Ivy had been forced to marry some old man and had given birth to a disabled child.

So who was lying? Was Ivy making things up, or was the Windsor family mistaken? Or maybe Mrs. Smith and Ivy really were two different people?

Jamison’s mind was a mess. He prided himself on his composure, rarely letting his emotions show, but now he was desperate to know the truth: was Ivy really Mrs. Smith?

Fortunately, finding out wouldn’t be too difficult.

Just then, his young nephew ran over, tugging at his sleeve and asking him to play. Jamison didn’t even hear him at first, lost in thought, but suddenly snapped back to reality and headed upstairs.

Downstairs, Adela was just about to discuss her youngest son’s future with him, only to watch him rush away without a word. She frowned in annoyance. “That boy! He hasn’t said a thing since he got home!”

Carla chimed in, “I saw Jamison glued to his phone. Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?”

“Hmph! I wish. I set him up with several lovely girls recently – handpicked! He stood them all up without a second thought.”

Upstairs, Jamison ignored his sister and mother’s conversation. Once in his room, he focused on his online chat.

11:53

Mrs. Smith: Dr. Handsome, are you still there?

Mrs. Smith: If you’re busy, never mind – I’ll look it up myself.

On the other end, Ivy saw there was no reply from Dr. Handsome and assumed he was busy. Not wanting to bother him further, she started searching online by herself.

Suddenly, a new message popped up.

Dr. Handsome: This illness is tricky to treat. Sometimes a combination of traditional and modern medicine works best. I’d recommend St. Aurelia’s Mercy Hospital.

Ivy smiled at the message and asked quickly: Do you know any doctors there you’d recommend?

Dr. Handsome: One moment.

Jamison sent the reply, then immediately made a call.

A few minutes later, he got the visiting hours of a renowned professor at St. Aurelia’s Mercy Hospital and sent the information straight to Mrs. Smith.

Dr. Handsome: Try to make an appointment with Professor Brown. He should be able to help with your friend’s condition.

As soon as he sent it, Jamison realized his mistake and quickly added: Sorry, that came out wrong – I meant your friend’s illness.

When Ivy saw his first message, she panicked, thinking he’d seen through her lie. But before she could worry further, he corrected himself.

She finally relaxed.

Mrs. Smith: Thank you. I owe you one.

Jamison frowned, his doubts resurfacing. Was Mrs. Smith really Ivy?

She was so polite, so gentle, so well-spoken. But the Ivy he knew was all thorns – stubborn, prickly, fiercely independent. They hardly seemed like the same person at all.

Dr. Handsome: No need to thank me. It was nothing, really.

Ivy smiled at his reply, not realizing she’d been grinning at her phone ever since she

11:53

started chatting with Dr. Handsome.

The important matters were settled, and by all rights, that should have been the end of it. But for some reason, she found herself searching for something else to say, not wanting the conversation to end.

On the other side, Jamison, knowing full well that the person he was chatting with was likely Ivy, felt strangely conflicted.

He should have wanted to distance himself, to shut things down and return to his usual cold detachment – just like they did in real life. Yet, inexplicably, he found himself wanting to keep talking, too.

Before Ivy could think of a new topic, another message popped up.

Dr. Handsome: How’s your friend doing now?

Ivy blinked, surprised. He was actually following up?

They were both adults, and Ivy couldn’t help noticing that Dr. Handsome’s attitude toward her had grown a little warmer, a touch more personal.

They’d gone from sniping at each other in real life to this – almost flirting now.

No, that can’t be possible…

Ivy immediately dismissed the thought. He was probably just being professional, making a polite inquiry.

Mrs. Smith: Not great. She’s itching all over, and the medicine isn’t helping. She’s scratched herself raw.

Dr. Handsome: Maybe try a cold compress. That might help calm things down.

Mrs. Smith: That’s what she’s doing – she’s soaking in cold water now.

Jamison frowned. Soaking in cold water?

With cramps that bad, she shouldn’t be anywhere near cold water. She’d be in agony next time.

His fingers hovered over the screen, ready to type out a warning, but he suddenly froze, realization hitting him.

What was he doing?

11:53 Chapter 111

Why was he worried about Ivy? Since when did her well-being matter to him?

Jamison’s expression clouded. He tossed his phone aside and got up, walking out onto the bedroom balcony, letting the cool night breeze clear his tangled thoughts.