Chapter 791

When Ivy thought of the phrase "angel in white," her mind flashed to his old online handle—"Dr. Handsome"—and she couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny? You don't believe me?" Jamison asked, feigning offense.

"Of course I believe you," Ivy replied, still grinning. "I was just remembering the first time I saw your username. I assumed you must be painfully ordinary—maybe even a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and a beer belly. I mean, who else would call himself 'Mr. Dreamboat' unless he was overcompensating?" Ivy leaned back in his arms, her laughter light and easy as she reminisced. "But turns out, I was dead wrong. Our Dr. Ludwig really is a miracle worker—and, well, ridiculously good looking."

With a gentle squeeze, Jamison wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer until her chin tipped up toward him. He put on a mock-stern look. "And what other assumptions did you make about me? Come on, I want the full confession."

"That's it, honestly. I'm a saint; I'd never badmouth anyone behind their back," Ivy replied, barely suppressing her laughter as she gazed up at his sculpted features.

From where she sat, his profile looked almost too perfect, as if carved by a master sculptor. Some people said that looking at beautiful faces was good for your health. If that was true, then sharing a bed with this man every night was probably an overdose.

"Oh, you're a saint?" Jamison repeated, savoring the words. "Funny, because I distinctly remember you calling me a quack, saying all my credentials were just the result of family money, and accusing me of being cold and heartless. I remember everything, you know."

Looking back, internet trolls were nothing compared to this. His very first—and most dedicated—critic was now his beloved wife and queen.

"Oh, come on. Why dwell on the past? They say time reveals a person’s true nature. We just didn’t know each other well enough back then."

It was clear both of them were in high spirits today, relaxed enough to tease and flirt. Still, with a driver up front and the car not entirely private, Ivy eventually wriggled free of his grasp, settling for holding his hand instead.

"By the way, Baillie came by today for a work meeting," she said, her tone turning more serious. "Afterward, she wanted to talk about something more personal."

"What kind of personal?" Jamison's brows knit together.

"She and the others are upset. Someone sent a disgusting, threatening package to the guy who wanted revenge for Emma. They were all freaked out, so of course, they grilled me—demanding to know if I'd done anything to investigate him, even accusing me of dragging my feet on purpose, as if I wanted him to retaliate against them."

Ivy let out a cold laugh. "To them, I'm worse than a snake in the grass."

Jamison’s face darkened. "Seems like they still haven’t really changed. They still see you as the enemy."

"Not necessarily," Ivy replied, shaking her head. "Maybe they have changed. Maybe they do regret what they did, and realize how much they hurt me. But in their minds, family members shouldn’t hold grudges. They think because they apologized, I should forgive them—help them, no questions asked. And since I haven’t, since I’m still living my life while they’re struggling, that just makes them angrier. They think I’m cruel."

No one understood the Windsor family better than Ivy. Their feelings toward her were a mess—a tangled knot of envy and resentment. They coveted her success, yet despised her for it, simply because they couldn’t share in it.

The more Jamison listened, the more his expression hardened. He squeezed her hand, a silent offer of comfort. "Ignore them. If they bother you again, I'll handle it."

"It's fine," Ivy said with a small smile. "We barely talked for ages. It's just, with the Windsor Group restructuring, it's impossible to avoid them completely. But I don't care anymore. My reputation's already ruined in their eyes—nothing I do will ever change that. As long as the people I care about know who I really am, that's enough."

Ever since losing Emma and Micah, Ivy had found a new steadiness, a quiet strength.

Jamison’s gaze softened as he looked at her. "Don't worry. I'll always be on your side."

When they returned to Ludwig Manor, Ivy was surprised to find that Adela seemed healthier than before. She was patiently keeping Carla company, caring for her with the gentle attention of a mother doting on her child.

Something about the scene moved Ivy. After everything that had happened, this felt like the only truly warm and peaceful moment left.

Standing at a distance, she and Jamison watched through the sunroom’s glass as Adela and Carla arranged flowers together. Danny joined them, letting out a soft sigh. "Your mother's been caring for Carla just like when you two were little. Carla's been so much calmer these days. No outbursts, not even a mention of Micah. It's like she's forgotten everything."

Jamison’s face showed his shock. "Forgotten? How is that possible?"

"The psychiatrist says it's a kind of selective amnesia. Sometimes, the mind erases the past to protect itself from pain," Danny explained, sighing again.

Ivy watched Carla, who now sat in the sunroom, as innocent and lost as a child, and whispered, "Maybe this is the best ending she could have."

Carla had tried to hurt her, but Ivy had chosen not to hold a grudge. She would never truly understand the agony of a mother losing her only child. If she couldn’t find it in herself to show even this much compassion, she wouldn’t deserve Jamison’s love and protection.

At dinner, Carla brought her flower arrangement over, cradling it with pride. Jamison, as if by instinct, shifted to shield Ivy behind him, his expression wary as he watched his sister approach.