Jamison froze for a moment, then blurted out in disbelief, “You’re the homeowner. You want me to deal with it? What, are we even related?”

“Of course, we are! You’re the previous owner—if the house you sold has problems, shouldn’t you take some responsibility?” Ivy shot back, her tone sharp and self-assured. She was already in a foul mood today. A blowout with the Windsor family, a vicious argument, and a stinging slap to the face. Now her new place was flooded, and she’d been stuck in traffic on the way home… It was like every bit of bad luck had conspired to hit her at once. Frustrated to her limit, she was itching for a fight with anyone who crossed her path.

“Ivy, you—”

“I can’t hear you, don’t bother talking. If you want to help, help; if not, get lost!” Ivy snapped, hanging up with a flourish.

On the other end, Jamison, also behind the wheel, stared at his phone, furious that she’d abruptly cut him off. The property manager had just called to say his house was flooded, and his first thought was that his own penthouse had been hit. But after a bit of questioning, he realized it was the duplex he’d sold not long ago. It wasn’t his problem anymore. Turns out, the property manager had tried calling the new owner but couldn’t get through, so they contacted him for help. Jamison didn’t even have Ivy’s number; he’d had to ask his nephew for it. And that’s when he found out Ivy had just left the Windsor family—word was, she’d severed all ties, gotten slapped hard by Adkins, then, in a fit of rage, trashed the place so thoroughly that the police had to intervene. Jamison was shocked at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed just like her.

So, when she barked at him about not being able to hear, and he realized she was on her way to the hospital—it hit him: that slap must have ruptured her eardrum.

The property manager called again, and Jamison quickly gave them the code for the smart locks so they could start the cleanup.

As for him…

After a brief hesitation, he changed course and headed to Golden Maple Estate.

When Jamison arrived, the front door was wide open and several maintenance workers were mopping up water. The elevator lobby, the foyer, the living room—water everywhere.

“Mr. Ludwig, you’re back,” the property manager greeted him respectfully. “We’ve checked it out. The pipe under the kitchen sink burst, flooded the entire place. Good thing a neighbor noticed in time—if the water had reached the elevator, it would’ve been a real mess.”

Jamison frowned and nodded, stepping into the living room. Fortunately, the ground floor was tiled, so the water hadn’t caused much damage. If the upstairs had been hardwood, it would’ve been a disaster.

The maintenance crew was still busy in the kitchen, replacing pipes and checking the whole plumbing system to prevent future mishaps.

Ivy finally arrived.

As soon as the elevator doors opened and she saw the watery mess, she tiptoed carefully inside, lifting her feet to avoid the puddles.

“What happened here?” she demanded.

The property manager explained, “Looks like the kitchen pipe gave out from old age and couldn’t handle the pressure. It just burst. We’ve shut off the main valve and are replacing the pipes as we speak.”

Ivy headed for the kitchen, and as she looked up, she nearly collided with Jamison coming out.

Jamison had heard her voice and turned, already bracing himself.

Ivy, on the other hand, hadn’t expected to see him there. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why are you here?!”

Jamison, towering nearly a foot above her, looked down with his usual air of arrogance. “You think I wanted to come? The property manager couldn’t find you and insisted it was my responsibility.”

“Hah.” Ivy scoffed. “Serves you right! You sold me this place—you should be handling the aftercare.”

Jamison’s expression was colder than the drenched floor. But then his gaze landed on her face—her right cheek was red and swollen, with a clear handprint. Without thinking, he reached out, gripped her chin, and tilted her face to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Is this some new makeup trend I haven’t heard of?”

Ivy nearly exploded. It was obvious she’d been slapped—was he blind, or just being deliberately sarcastic? But even more shocking than her anger was the fact that Jamison had just grabbed her chin out of nowhere!

“What the hell is wrong with you? Who gave you permission to manhandle me?” Ivy slapped his hand away, scowling.

Jamison’s face stiffened as he realized what he’d done. What was he thinking? Why had it felt so natural to reach for her like that?

Their eyes met, and Ivy caught a strange flicker in his dark gaze—a hint of something she couldn’t quite name. Sympathy? Pity? No, she must be imagining things. He’d just cursed her out over the phone, wishing some new illness on her. He was always sharp-tongued; a weaker person would have broken down after a few minutes of conversation with him. Someone like him, feeling sympathy? Impossible.

Jamison noticed the suspicion in her almond eyes, as if she could see right through him, and his expression grew even more awkward. “Occupational hazard,” he muttered gruffly. “Treated you like a patient, that’s all.”

Ivy gritted her teeth. See? Nothing but poison from his mouth.

“Gee, thanks,” she shot back sarcastically, pushing past him to grill the maintenance technician about the repairs.