Chapter 697

Ivy glanced at the elegant, tranquil bouquet of tulips. A genuine smile lit up her face as she reached out. "They're beautiful. Bring them here, let me have a closer look."

Jamison’s handsome features darkened.

"So, you’re telling me that old fox sent them?" His sharp tongue struck again.

Ivy shot him a look. "Would it kill you to say something nice? He’s not even that old."

"He’s over ten years older than you. Didn’t you say he’s divorced and has kids in grade school? If that’s not an old fox, what is?"

In the finance world, men with real influence aren’t just old foxes–they’re ancient wolves, sly as they come.

Jamison knew his wife was clever and quick-witted, but even the smartest people could stumble or get caught up in someone’s schemes. Especially when it was a middle-aged man–he couldn’t help but be on guard.

Ivy didn’t bother arguing. She just beckoned again, “Come on, bring me the flowers.” Jamison turned, sized up the bouquet, and bent to pick it up.

But instead of handing them to his wife, who was still reaching from her hospital bed, he marched over to the trash can and tossed them in with a loud thud.

“Gifts from other men? Absolutely not,” Jamison said coolly, his face hard.

Ivy stared, eyebrows knitting in disbelief.

She glanced at the trash can, then at her husband. Suddenly, her patience snapped.

After over a month cooped up in this hospital room, she’d already faced life and death–had her spleen removed, then surgery on her tailbone. As if that weren’t enough, she’d suffered a miscarriage and undergone yet another operation.

Her body–and her spirit–had endured blow after blow, pain after pain. No matter how attentive Jamison was, the frustration and gloom never truly left her. She tried to swallow it all down, not wanting to add to his burden when he’d clearly been struggling to care for her.

Today, she’d finally seen something lovely–a bouquet so bright and delicate, she just wanted to hold it, admire it, let it lift her mood for a moment. But Jamison, jealous as ever, tossed it straight into the trash.

Those gorgeous flowers, so fresh and vivid, thrown away like they were nothing. What a waste.

“Pick up the flowers,” Ivy said after a long moment, her voice suddenly cold and her expression shuttered.

Jamison froze at her reaction, then his own temper flared. “It’s just a bunch of flowers! Do you care about the bouquet, or is it the man who gave them?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ivy bristled. Did he even hear himself?

Jamison’s jaw clenched. “He’s into you. The only reason he hasn’t made a move is because he knows he can’t compete with me. If your husband were an ordinary guy, that man would’ve swooped in long ago.”

In their industry, this sort of thing was hardly unheard of.

“So, if he wanted to ‘swoop in,’ I’d just let him?” Ivy shot back. “Jamison, I’m not some clueless little girl who doesn’t know how to protect herself.”

She felt his words were more than just an insult to her loyalty–they were an insult to her intelligence.

This was too much.

“I know you’re smart and capable, but women are still at a disadvantage with men–" he started.

She cut him off. “You’re talking about physical strength, not brains or ability, right?” He hesitated. “Exactly. That’s all I meant.”

“So what, then?” she pressed. “You think I should stay locked up at home, never see anyone, never set foot outside?”

“You could always find something more stable. A regular job.”

And there it was again–the same argument they’d had over and over.

Jamison just didn’t want her out there in the world. He wanted her in some safe, predictable desk job where nothing could ever go wrong.

But Ivy was never meant for a life like that. She was born for mountains, not streams; she longed for open skies and wide, uncharted seas, not a cage or a stagnant pond.

What he saw as security, she saw as prison.

The atmosphere in the hospital room turned stifling, sinking lower than ever.