Seeing the scuffle break out, Baillie lunged forward and landed a punch square on Boyd’s jaw. “Who the hell do you think you are, laying a hand on my dad?”

Caught off guard, Boyd took the hit, his lip splitting open. But he barely flinched, just sucked in a breath and shot Baillie a crooked grin. “You want to fight? I haven’t had a good warm-up in ages. Let’s go, kid.”

Before Baillie could react, Boyd swung back with a flurry of blows, pummeling him hard.

Adkins tried to rush in to help his son, but Mr. Crawford blocked his path, holding him back.

Rosetta went ashen with shock. She’d come here with her family, expecting a warm reunion—sort out the loan, take their daughter home, finally put all the old grievances to rest. Instead, it felt like they’d walked straight into a trap. Not only had nothing been resolved, now the safety of her husband and son was at risk.

She shrieked, half lunging forward but too scared to get caught in the brawl, hands trembling in the air as she hovered uselessly, voice shaking.

Ivy hadn’t expected things to spiral like this. Sure, she’d wanted to see the Windsor family pay for abandoning her, but this—this was all too brutal, too raw.

She glanced at Jamison, who had calmly resumed his seat as chaos erupted around him. Confused, she asked, “Aren’t you going to stop them?”

Right now, the Windsors outnumbered them three to two.

Jamison just arched an eyebrow, his smile almost lazy. “My hands are too precious to risk getting hurt.”

Then, more gently, he added, “Relax. Boyd’s got this. His best record is five against one.”

Before he’d cleaned up his act, Boyd had been the definition of trouble—a street fighter through and through. This one-on-one was child’s play for him.

Barely a minute later, Baillie was sprawled against the bar, gasping for breath.

“Baillie!” Rosetta cried, rushing to her son, hands fluttering uselessly as she tried to comfort him, unsure where to touch without hurting him more.

Boyd straightened his shirt, scoffing, “All bark, no bite. If you can’t win, maybe don’t throw the first punch.”

Baillie’s face twisted in rage, but he was too winded to reply. Weeks of heavy partying had left him weak and unfocused. Even standing up felt impossible as the room spun around him.

Adkins, older and not in the best health, had barely struggled before Mr. Crawford’s grip forced him down. But before things could escalate, he slumped onto the sofa, clutching his chest.

Ivy looked back at Jamison, suddenly worried—not for Adkins himself, but afraid someone might actually die, dragging them all down in the aftermath.

But before she could say anything, Jamison was already on his feet. He pulled a small bottle from his pocket, and by the time he reached Adkins, he had a pill ready in his hand, which he pressed firmly into Adkins’ mouth.

Survival instinct kicked in—Adkins swallowed it down without hesitation.

Jamison smiled. “Not worried I just fed you poison, Mr. Windsor?”

Eyes closed, Adkins tried to steady his breathing before finally replying, “No matter how powerful the Ludwigs are, you wouldn’t actually kill anyone. Besides, nobody wants a murder in their own house.”

Jamison’s smile widened as he glanced around the room. “True enough. This place is where Ivy and I started our life together. I’d rather not see it turned into a crime scene.”

Adkins sneered, “Love? You call it love, falling for that venomous woman?”

Jamison shot back, “And what does that make you? If she’s a viper, are you the proud father of scorpions? What did she do wrong, exactly, to deserve the way you treated her after she was brought back? The insults, the humiliation—did you ever treat her like your own daughter?”

Adkins knew he was in the wrong but refused to back down, clinging to his authority. “I told you, it was all a misunderstanding. Blame Emma, blame the police—they said Ivy was HIV-positive, that she’d given birth to some kind of freak—”

“Even if that were true, she was still your daughter. You abandoned her, threw her out of your home.”

Jamison’s voice cut through Adkins’ excuses, sharp and unwavering. “And I was there that day. You asked me to check her. I did, and I told you clearly—she wasn’t sick.”

Adkins was left speechless, but still refused to admit fault. “You just looked her over. Who’s to say you didn’t make a mistake? I couldn’t risk my whole family’s safety!”

Jamison started to argue again, but Ivy stepped up beside him, tugging his arm gently.

He turned to look at her. Ivy shook her head slightly, her message clear: there was no point fighting anymore. She’d given up on justice from these people long ago.

But Jamison was stubborn. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, then faced Adkins once more.

“You can stop making excuses. The truth is, you thought she’d been ruined, lost her ‘value’—no more chance at a wealthy marriage, no more bargaining chip for your ambitions.”

“You were just afraid she’d become a laughingstock and drag the Windsor name down with her. So you couldn’t wait to throw her out.”

“But you were wrong. Ivy never needed to marry into money—because she is the money.”

At that, the entire Windsor family turned to stare at them in stunned confusion, completely blindsided by the revelation.