For three years, her life had been nothing short of miserable—worse than an animal’s. She’d been starved to the point of severe malnutrition; her stomach must have been a mess for a long time.

“Sorry, I should’ve thought of that,” Jamison apologized immediately, but then tipped his chin toward the plate. “A few pieces of foie gras won’t hurt. Eat them.”

Ivy puffed her cheeks in frustration, glaring at his stubbornness.

Jamison reached over, spearing a piece of foie gras with his fork and holding it up to her lips. “Come on, be good. You barely eat as it is.”

Katrina, watching from across the table, looked like she’d just seen a magic trick—her eyes wide, mouth agape.

Dr. Ludwig really didn’t treat her like an outsider, did he?

He was actually feeding Ivy. Feeding her!

Ivy was just as stunned.

This wasn’t like Jamison at all. For someone usually so sharp-tongued and distant, this gentle attentiveness was almost unrecognizable.

From sarcasm and mockery to tenderness and care—the transformation was almost unbelievable.

“Jamison, do you even know what you’re doing?” Ivy hesitated for a few seconds before voicing her confusion.

Jamison cleared his throat, a faint discomfort visible on his handsome face. “I haven’t lost my mind, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Katrina snorted, barely holding back a laugh.

Ivy almost laughed herself.

When he decided to be impossible, he didn’t even spare himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can feed myself, you know,” Ivy said, pushing his hand away. She picked up her utensils and, in one defiant motion, stuffed all the foie gras into her mouth.

“Slow down! Are you trying to choke?” Jamison frowned, concern etched across his face.

Predictably, she did start to cough, eyebrows knitting together as she reached for her water and took a few hurried gulps.

Jamison shook his head, torn between exasperation and affection. “You’re supposed to be the city’s most elegant debutante, but honestly, you’ve got no sense of decorum at all.”

Ivy stretched her neck to swallow the last bite, then shot him a look. “Are you done? Can you stop talking now?”

Katrina barely managed to stifle another laugh.

Jamison just smiled, satisfied, but didn’t let it drop. As he picked up his own fork, he asked, “I told you before to make an appointment with Professor Brown, didn’t I? You still haven’t gone, have you? In another couple of weeks you’ll be in pain again. Do you really not care about your own health?”

It took Ivy a moment to realize what he was talking about. Then it hit her—he remembered her cycle.

She really did have about ten days before it started all over again.

As Ivy’s expression darkened at the thought, Jamison’s face softened with concern. “I have a day off the day after tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up and take you to see the doctor, okay?”

Katrina watched the scene unfold, almost giddy with excitement.

Dr. Ludwig was simply too good to be true.

“No need. I can go myself.” Ivy was having none of it. He clearly had the memory of an elephant—she’d just refused him, and here he was, offering again like he’d forgotten.

“Can you even get an appointment?”

Ivy fell silent.

Getting a consultation with Professor Brown was nearly impossible.

Jamison smiled knowingly, put down his fork, and repeated, “I’ll come pick you up.”

“I said no.”

But Jamison was undeterred. His mind was made up.

Jamison’s gentle yet unyielding insistence left Ivy’s thoughts in complete disarray.

That night, she forced herself to focus on her studies, trying to steady her nerves. Just as she settled in, her phone rang. It was Sawyer from the gallery.

“Miss Windsor, Mr. Ludwig called earlier asking about the price of that painting. He wants to buy it.”

Ivy blinked in surprise. “Jamison wants to buy that painting?”

“Yes. I told him the artist had made it clear it wasn’t for sale, but he said he’s willing to pay double and asked me to check with the artist again.”

Ivy’s shock only deepened.

What was Jamison thinking?

At the gallery earlier, he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in that painting. In fact, he’d said it was too dark, too heavy, and even stopped her from looking at it for too long.

So why was he suddenly so eager to buy it—at double the price, no less?

“Miss Windsor, what do you think? Are you willing to sell?”

Ivy snapped out of her thoughts and gave her usual answer. “No, it’s not for sale.”

“All right, then I’ll—”

“Wait, Sawyer,” Ivy interrupted. “Did he say why he wanted to buy it?”