Jamison held out five bank cards in his hand like a poker hand, presenting them to his wife.

Ivy hadn’t even fastened her seatbelt when she caught sight of the cards. Her brows knit together as she glanced up at him. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

Jamison’s lips curled in a faint smile. “Didn’t we agree earlier today? You’re in charge of our finances. I’m handing over my salary cards.”

With a soft click, Ivy buckled her seatbelt and turned to eye the “deck” in his hand without taking it. “No need. You can keep them.”

He frowned. “Why? Isn’t it normal for a married man to hand over his salary? I was just so busy before, I never thought about it.”

“That’s only for men who can’t be trusted,” Ivy replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “I have absolute faith in you, Dr. Ludwig.”

She meant every word.

A reliable man stays reliable, no matter how little his wife manages him. On the other hand, if a man can’t be trusted, the tighter you try to rein him in, the more rebellious he’ll become.

Did people really believe that taking away a man’s cards solved everything? If a man isn’t faithful, he’ll always find a way to squirrel away cash, hiding secrets and sneaking around behind his wife’s back.

Ivy was never the traditional, doting wife. She had no interest in controlling her husband’s wallet.

She gently pushed Jamison’s hand back toward him. “Really, there’s no need. Keep the cards. This way, you’ve got cash on hand for holidays and special occasions–you can surprise me with gifts.”

Jamison countered, “Why don’t I just give you all the money? That way, if you want something, you can buy it yourself. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Ivy shot him a look, clearly exasperated.

Suddenly, she remembered the lavish necklace Katrina had received as a gift from her boyfriend when they made things official. Jamison, on the other hand, had only insisted she wear a wedding ring to mark his territory, and that was it. The only time he’d ever given her flowers was out of jealousy, after Edmond had brought her some during a hospital visit.

She couldn’t help but ask, “You and Naylor are practically inseparable–why haven’t you picked up any of his tricks for making a woman feel special?”

Jamison caught the hint and raised an eyebrow. “That guy gave your friend a gift, didn’t he?”

“Of course. He gave her one the moment they got together.”

“So, you want one too?”

Ivy was at a loss for words.

It totally missed the point. Gifts are only meaningful as surprises–if she had to ask for it, it wouldn’t mean anything at all.

“Not really,” she muttered, turning away. “Let’s get going. I’m starving.”

She was done with the conversation, not wanting to give him any more ideas–otherwise, he’d start grilling her about what she wanted, and that would only make things worse.

After dinner, back at their luxury apartment, Ivy slipped into her study as usual to get some work done.

Jamison, not wanting to bother her, lounged on the living room sofa, phone in hand. After a moment’s thought, he texted his best friend.

[What gift did you give Katrina?]

Naylor was still out at a business dinner. When he saw the message, he replied with a simple “?”

Jamison suddenly felt a little embarrassed–he didn’t want to give Naylor any ammunition to tease him, so he put his phone aside.

But Naylor, not getting a follow-up, actually left the private room, found a quiet corner, and called him.

Jamison saw the name flash on the screen and answered, frowning. “Yeah?”

“What’s up with your message? Why do you care what I gave Katrina?”

“It’s nothing. Get back to your dinner.”

“Dude, you’re being really weird. Wait–does your wife have her eye on something, and you want to buy it for her?”

Jamison had never been in a serious relationship before, and women’s feelings were a mystery to him. In his mind, Ivy was nothing like other rich girls–she didn’t spend her days shopping for clothes or shoes, and her collection of designer bags couldn’t fill a closet, let alone an exhibition hall.

He’d always figured she didn’t care about those things, and since he wasn’t good at them himself, he simply didn’t bother. As far as he was concerned, giving her money and letting her buy what she wanted was the most straightforward solution.

But tonight, Ivy’s words made it clear–she still hoped for the occasional surprise.

He swallowed his pride. “I want to get Ivy a gift, but I’ve got zero experience. Thought I’d ask you for advice.”

Naylor laughed knowingly. “I knew there had to be a reason you were asking. Look, just tell me what you want to give her and I’ll sort it out. You just pay up.”

“No need. Just tell me what you bought, and I’ll get it myself.” He might be busy, but he could at least spare enough time to pick out a gift for his own wife. Letting another man choose it for her? Not a chance.

“Wow, are you actually jealous of me now? Relax–your wife’s not my type.”

“I used to think Katrina wasn’t your type either.”

Naylor was momentarily stunned, then grumbled, “Fine, I’ll send you a list later. Just pick something from it–you can’t go wrong.”

“Thanks. Talk later.”

Meanwhile, in the study, Ivy had just finished her work and was reaching for a sip of water when her computer pinged with a WhatsApp notification.

After setting her cup down, she clicked on the avatar.

It was Sophia.

Bob: There’s a coffee festival in your city this weekend. I’m thinking of stopping by.

Ivy: You’re coming over again?

Bob: What, am I not welcome?

Ivy: Of course you are. I’m just curious–are you coming for the coffee, or is it something else?