Even though everyone now knew Ivy was the esteemed Mrs. Jamison, Adkins still found doors slammed in his face when he tried to court investors under the pretense of family ties. The old money crowd wasn’t fooled; everyone was as sly as a seasoned fox.
“They kicked Ivy out ages ago,” someone whispered over a glass of scotch. “Whether she’s Mrs. Ludwig now or not, what’s that got to do with the Windsors?”
“Exactly! If she were really still their daughter, don’t you think the Ludwigs would step in to help? Instead, the Windsors are out here begging for handouts. Embarrassing, really.”
“And let’s not forget, Emma and Micah’s engagement was called off in the most humiliating way. You think the Ludwigs are going to side with the Windsors after that? They must resent them to the bone. Anyone helping the Windsors is just picking a fight with the Ludwigs.”
“Couldn’t agree more…”
Clustered beneath the soft glow of the chandeliers, a group of executives gossiped behind raised glasses, the conversation lively and biting.
Adkins arrived at the gala with Rosetta, while Baillie escorted Emma. The whole family made a show of attending.
As they entered, Baillie caught wind of the whispers and his expression darkened. He started forward, ready to confront them, but Adkins grabbed his arm in a hurry.
“What are you going to do, pick a fight? We can’t afford to offend anyone right now. I don’t care how nasty the talk gets, you swallow it, understand?”
Adkins, weathered by years of success and hardship, knew when to bow his head. He kept his voice low, but his rebuke was sharp.
Baillie clenched his fists, jaw working in silent fury.
Emma, meanwhile, was the picture of young glamour in a pale evening gown, her makeup flawless, her beauty undeniable. Her reputation might be tarnished, but her looks remained striking; her body, sculpted at great cost, was the product of countless sacrifices and a small fortune in cosmetic work. Once, she’d gone to these lengths for Micah, sparing no expense in pursuit of his attention.
But now, with the Windsor family teetering on the edge of ruin, she doubted she’d have the money to maintain such perfection if bankruptcy became reality. Anxiety gnawed at her; the fear of losing everything overshadowed even her thoughts of Micah. Romance no longer mattered—what she needed was a ticket out, a wealthy husband, some kind of long-term security.
While Adkins and Baillie bickered, Emma had no patience for family drama. Her gaze swept eagerly across the room, already sizing up the crowd for a suitable target.
Adkins, too, placed his hopes on his children. After scolding Baillie, he softened, adding, “Go mingle. Make some new friends. You’re old enough to shoulder some of this burden for me.”
Baillie understood all too well. He muttered, “In our family’s state, which heiress would even look my way…” and stalked off into the crowd.
The ballroom filled quickly, the air rich with perfume and the clink of glasses. Beneath the gilded ceilings, the scene glittered with elegance and ambition.
Ten minutes before the gala officially began, Jamison arrived, hand in hand with Ivy. Tonight marked her first formal appearance as Mrs. Jamison—an entrance that commanded attention.
She wore a sweeping, violet gown that trailed behind her like a river of stars. The silk shimmered under the lights, casting a soft, luminous glow that seemed to radiate from her very skin. For a moment, she looked otherworldly—like she’d stepped out of a dream and into the heart of the city’s most dazzling night.