This man was terrifying—calculating, perceptive, and powerful in all the ways that mattered. If they ever became enemies, Ivy knew she wouldn’t stand a chance. The thought soured her mood, but she couldn’t let it show. Only when night fell and it was time for bed did she find a secret, quiet way to get her own back.

The private hospital room was decent enough, but it was still a far cry from the big-city clinics in Neo Haven, let alone the luxury of a private hospital. There was just a single hospital bed and a worn-out couch. Jamison’s solution was simple: “We can both fit on the bed. It’ll be fine.”

But Ivy shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll take the couch. It’s perfectly fine for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You think the couch is better than the bed?”

She shot back, “Sleeping on the couch is better than sharing a bed with you.”

Jamison frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Let’s just get some sleep, I’m exhausted.” Ivy grabbed the blanket she’d borrowed from the nurse, curled up on the couch, and pulled it over herself, ready to ignore him for the rest of the night.

Jamison, meanwhile, couldn’t sleep at all. His back still ached from the injury, and lying on his stomach was torture as it was. Now, on top of that, Ivy was giving him the cold shoulder for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He stared at the small, curled-up figure on the couch for a long time, unable to hold back any longer. He eased himself out of bed and went over to her.

“Ivy, what did I do? You’ve been distant with me all afternoon.”

Ivy opened her eyes and looked up at him. From down there, he seemed as imposing as a mountain—untouchable, impossibly strong.

“No, you’re imagining things,” she replied, her tone flat. She couldn’t tell him the real reason. Instead, she was curious—how long could they keep up this charade? Once they got home, she’d have to find a way to message Dr. Handsome online and see how he’d react. After all, he’d messed with her long enough; it was time to return the favor.

“You think I’m an idiot? That I can’t tell when your mood shifts?” Jamison tried to keep his irritation in check. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just say it. I always thought you were straightforward, sharp. Why sulk in silence and leave me guessing?”

Hearing the tenseness in his voice, Ivy remembered he was still hurt and decided not to push him further. She softened her tone. “It’s nothing, really. The bed isn’t wide enough, and you’re injured. If I squeeze in with you, I’ll have to stay alert all night so I don’t bump you. Neither of us would get any sleep. The couch is just easier.”

Her earnest explanation seemed to finally get through, and Jamison sat down beside her, his posture relaxing. “That’s really all it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why were you so cold with me this afternoon?”

She sighed. “I’ve been through a lot these last few days. Isn’t it normal for my mood to be off? Besides, who knows what’s waiting for us when we get home tomorrow. I don’t exactly feel like smiling right now.”

Jamison studied her, and she met his gaze head-on, unflinching. After a moment, his expression softened.

“You’re worried my mom’s going to blame you?”

“Well, obviously.”

“She won’t. As long as I’m here, nothing can touch you. Not even the sky falling.”

He smiled faintly, reaching out to tousle her hair. “If something’s bothering you, just tell me. Don’t go all silent and stony—I keep thinking I did something wrong.”

Ivy rolled her eyes, lips twitching. “Mr. Jamison, towering above everyone, and you’re worried about my mood?”

“I don’t care about anyone else’s mood. But you’re my wife—that makes all the difference.”

He said it so matter-of-factly—“You’re my wife”—that Ivy couldn’t help feeling a surge of emotion toward him, though she kept it hidden. There was no point in arguing now.