To surprise him, Ivy decided not to give any advance notice. Instead, she quietly reached out to Boyd and shared her idea with him.

“Absolutely! I’ll talk to Naylor and run it by him. Ivy, you’re swamped as it is—let me handle this one.”

Boyd was practically Jamison’s shadow these days and knew every detail about the recent events with the Ludwig family.

While Ivy wasn’t expected to stay by Adela Ludwig’s bedside around the clock, she still managed to visit the hospital nearly every day. On top of that, she was juggling her internship at the firm and occasionally had to return to campus for classes—it was a lot to handle.

“Alright, then. I’ll leave it in your hands, but loop me in once you’ve got a plan put together.”

“Don’t worry, I get it. Your opinion comes first.”

Ivy made Boyd promise not to breathe a word of it to Jamison.

Friday evening, the company had a social event.

Their trading division had been performing well lately, so management wanted to treat everyone to dinner. Ivy had even been singled out for special recognition, so attendance wasn’t optional.

Having spent some time in the corporate world by now, Ivy knew these outings were par for the course. She texted Jamison ahead of time, letting him know she’d be home late.

Jamison was still at the hospital when he saw her WhatsApp message. He called her right away.

“Any idea when you’ll finish? I’ll come pick you up.” He wasn’t about to let his wife fend for herself after a work dinner—he insisted on driving her home.

“I’m not sure yet, but it shouldn’t run too late. I’ll keep you posted,” Ivy replied.

She understood his concern and didn’t protest.

“Alright. Don’t drink—your health still isn’t up for it.”

“I know.”

She never handled her liquor well. At gatherings like this, refusing to drink outright was best; but if she picked up a glass, it was all too easy to get swept along.

At least she had a solid excuse this time.

Later that evening, when Ivy arrived at the private dining room in the hotel, she had barely sat down before a WhatsApp message popped up from Jamison, asking for the dinner’s address.

She jumped, half-afraid he was coming over.

But he quickly clarified he just wanted to know if it was far away.

She sent him her location, not realizing that by eight o’clock, Jamison was already in the same hotel restaurant with Boyd.

Boyd looked puzzled. “Uncle, why are we eating here? This place looks fancy, but honestly, the food’s nothing special.”

Jamison gestured upstairs. “Your aunt is having a work dinner up there.”

“Oh! That makes sense now.” Boyd finally got it and chuckled. “But Uncle, you really keep an eye on her. Ivy’s all about you—you don’t have to worry.”

He still called her Ivy out of habit.

Jamison’s tone was as calm as ever. “She may not care about anyone else, but that won’t stop others from having ideas.”

“Fair point,” Boyd agreed.

Upstairs, sure enough, Ivy was being pressured to drink.

Glasses were filled all around; nobody was to be left out.

When the bottle reached her, she swiftly moved her glass out of the way. “Thank you, but I can’t drink.”

“Ivy, that’s not fair. Both Mr. Shaw and the other two VPs came tonight, all because of you. If you don’t drink even a drop, that’s just not right.” The division’s most obsequious male colleague began buttering up the bosses.

Ivy spoke up, clear and direct. “I had my spleen removed just over two months ago. I’m still recovering. If you insist I drink, I’ll have no choice but to leave.”

The room went silent.

Edmond quickly stepped in. “It’s true, Ivy can’t drink. Bring her some juice instead.”

The brown-nosing colleague forced a smile. “Well, if Mr. Shaw says so, juice it is.” He poured Ivy a glass of juice.

“Thank you.” Ivy tapped the table with her fingertips in polite thanks.

Across the table, the other women—including the formidable manager, Zoe—watched the scene with envy.

No woman truly wanted to spar with men over drinks at dinners like these, but most had little choice.

But Ivy’s presence showed them that with ability, confidence, and the right connections, it was possible to say “no” to the toxic rituals of the business table—even to push back against leadership.

Throughout the night, most people treated Ivy with unusual courtesy. After a few rounds, the two VPs who’d come just to see her finally revealed their real agenda.

They wanted to get close to Ivy as a way into the Ludwig family, hoping to broker a partnership with the Ludwig Group.

Securities firms had performance targets to hit, and landing a behemoth like the Ludwig Group would make their numbers for years.

Though Ivy had been married to Jamison for half a year, she’d never involved herself in the Ludwig Group’s business.

Her only connection was as an investor—she’d once bought Ludwig Group stock and made a tidy profit.

“Sorry, my husband doesn’t work for the Ludwig Group, and I’m not close with his older brother. I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said, blunt and honest, not bothering with empty pleasantries.

“Ivy, you’re family. How can you not be close? We’re not asking you to make anything happen—just an introduction, that’s all.”

“And even if Jamison isn’t at the Ludwig Group, he’s still an investor. That guy Boyd who works with him—he runs all his business affairs.”

“Well, since you know so much, why not go straight to Boyd?” Ivy replied, glancing at her watch.

It was nearly nine, and she was starting to tire.

“Mr. Shaw, my husband will be here soon to pick me up. I’ll head downstairs—you all enjoy the rest of the night.”