There was no way she could remain unmoved.

Tears streamed down Carla’s face as she clung to her son’s arm, trying to soothe him through her own pain. “Micah, don’t say that. Emma hurt you–none of this is your fault.”

Jamison pressed his lips together, unwilling to utter a single word.

Micah’s gaze shifted to Ivy, desperation spilling over. “Ivy, at this point I just need to know… If it weren’t for my uncle, would you–would you get back together with me? I mean it, I really love you. I’ve only ever loved you, no one else, not in this life.”

He sobbed as he spoke, every word ringing with raw sincerity, as if his heartbreak could move heaven itself.

But Ivy felt nothing–not a ripple.

She wondered if men and women simply understood love differently.

If he loved her that much, then why had he gotten together with Emma? Why had he gone so far as to get engaged?

And if he loved her so much, why had he ended up with Emma again, to the point of getting sick?

Was it really possible for his heart to love her, but his body to long for Emma?

She shot him a glance, unwilling to dignify such pointless questions with an answer.

But Micah wouldn’t let it go. “Ivy, please, just answer me…”

With no way out, Ivy’s voice turned cold. “Even if your uncle never existed, I wouldn’t get back together with you. It doesn’t matter how much you claim to love me–it will never happen.”

“Ivy!” Carla snapped, anger flaring in her voice.

Micah broke down, crying harder than before. “You can’t even lie to me? Can’t even say something to make me feel better?”

Ivy’s voice stayed icy. “Maybe if fewer people had coddled you with sweet lies, you wouldn’t be where you are today.”

The words hit home.

Micah was the classic spoiled heir–someone who could only function when life was easy. The moment he hit real hardship, he fell apart, stubborn and warped, always blaming the world and refusing to admit any fault. In his mind, he was always the innocent one, and everyone else was to blame.

That was all Ivy had to say. Before turning to leave, she paused. “Take care of yourself.”

Down in the parking lot, Jamison called for a bodyguard to fetch Ivy’s car, then took his wife back to his own vehicle.

Boyd took the driver’s seat.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, noting Jamison’s somber mood, and hesitated before asking, “Uncle, should we head home, or stop somewhere for dinner?”

Jamison didn’t reply right away, but Ivy spoke up. “Let’s go out for dinner.”

“Of course, Ivy.”

Boyd drove them to a villa on the edge of town–he knew Ivy was fond of the chef’s homemade dishes there.

The garden was beautiful, and the evening air was pleasant. Ivy suggested they eat in the gazebo, where they could enjoy the scenery and a little peace. The open space had a way of clearing the mind.

When the kettle whistled, Ivy got up to make tea, but Jamison gently took the teapot from her hands. “Let me. You’ll burn yourself.”

She looked at him, her voice soft. “Are you going to tell your parents about this?”

She could read the storm on her husband’s face.

Micah had contracted HIV; to put it bluntly, the Ludwigs‘ elders had essentially lost their only grandson.

With proper treatment and a strong constitution, someone with the disease might live another fifteen or twenty years. But if their health was poor, or they refused treatment, it could be just three or five years–maybe less.

People like Sheridan, for example, might only have a year left, if that.

Jamison nodded, pouring the tea with practiced care. “We should find the right moment to tell them.”

“I just hope they can come to terms with it,” Ivy murmured.

But before Jamison could break the news to his parents, Micah buckled under the pressure and took his own life.

It was the middle of the night. Jamison and Ivy had just fallen asleep after making love when the shrill ring of his phone startled them awake.

Reaching for it, Jamison saw his sister’s name flash on the screen. His first instinct was to ignore the call, but after a moment’s hesitation–worry gnawing at him–he answered. “Hello-”

He’d barely spoken before Carla’s panicked voice cut him off. “Jamison! Micah tried to kill himself–he slit his wrists! There’s blood everywhere, all over the floor–oh God, oh God…” Her sobs echoed through the line.