Chapter 801

Ivy Windsor didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go.”

Once she’d made up her mind, no amount of uncertainty could change it.

After a moment’s thought, she looked at Jamison Ludwig. “We can coordinate with the police. Have plainclothes officers lie in wait beforehand. My presence will be a much bigger draw for him. He’s probably hoping to wipe us all out in one fell swoop, so he’s bound to make a move. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel. I’d rather take this gamble and get it over with than keep living on eggshells every day.”

Jamison’s gaze darkened, a helpless smile touching his lips. “You’ve been plotting how to use yourself as bait to lure him out for days, haven’t you?”

Now that the opportunity had presented itself, she wasn’t about to let it go.

Knowing he was worried about her safety, Ivy squeezed his hand, her voice pleading. “You’ll be there, the police will be there, and I’ll have so many people protecting me. I’ll be fine.”

Jamison took a shallow breath, looking at her with resignation. He was powerless against her resolve.

He had no firm ground to object, after all. Adkins Windsor was her biological father. Despite the past resentment, despite having severed ties, with him gone, it was only right for her to be there to say goodbye. It was a matter of basic human decency.

“I’ll arrange for extra security, and you have to stick close to me. No acting brave and going off on your own,” Jamison said, his voice firm. It was the only thing he could do.

“Okay.”

Ivy gave him a grateful smile and melted into his arms.

Jamison held her quietly, a knot of worry still tight in his chest.

Ivy’s period had ended, but the last couple of days had been too chaotic for her to schedule a follow–up with Dr. Beckett. Thinking about how she couldn’t be intimate before or after a gynecological exam, she hesitated and decided not to bring it up.

Jamison, who had been counting the days, was also mindful of the situation. With Adkins’s funeral tomorrow, he was sensitive to his wife’s mood and thoughtfully kept the topic to himself.

It was as if they had both forgotten.

The next day, Ivy and Jamison, dressed in somber, understated black attire, arrived at the funeral home’s memorial hall.

It was the second time she had been to this place in such a short period. First for Micah Shepherd, now for Adkins.

The moment she stepped inside, the mournful dirge and the sight of the memorial portrait above the altar struck her. Even though she had once gritted her teeth in hatred for her biological father, a wave of sadness washed over her, and the air felt heavy with grief.

Ivy followed the line of mourners to the family section. When Rosetta saw her, her red, swollen eyes widened in surprise, then slid away with cold indifference. It was a reaction colder than one would give a mere acquaintance.

Ivy knew then that with her father’s death, the chasm of hatred between her, her mother, and her brother would never be bridged. No amount of financial support she had offered would change their perception of her; in their hearts and minds, she was the one who had driven her father to his death.

She had no desire to explain herself. As she stood between Rosetta and Baillie Windsor, she leaned in and whispered, “Be on your guard today. Hawley might show up. You need to be careful.”

Baillie shot her a startled look. “You’ve heard something?”

“No, just a hunch.”

Their hushed conversation drew the attention of Baillie’s wife. The wealthy woman turned to them, her expression a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “What are you two whispering about? Who should we be on the lookout for? Is someone planning to cause a scene?”

Ivy glanced at her, a flicker of pity for Baillie crossing her mind. Only last night, this woman had been on a clandestine date with her boy toy. Who knew how long Baillie had been cuckolded?

“It’s nothing,” Baillie said quickly. “She’s talking nonsense, just ignore her.”

The older woman, who had recently suffered a miscarriage, still had no idea that the car accident had been a deliberate act of sabotage by an enemy of the Windsor family. Baillie didn’t dare tell her; their marriage, fragile as it was, would shatter in an instant.

After placating his wife, Baillie shot Ivy a dark, warning glare.

Ivy gave a helpless, wry smile and said no more, moving with the crowd toward the reception area.

Jamison watched her closely. When they reached a less crowded spot, he turned and asked softly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She turned to her husband, offering a gentle smile and silently taking his hand.

After they sat down, a male guest approached to exchange pleasantries with Jamison. His status made him the center of attention wherever he went.

Ivy nodded a polite greeting to the man before turning her head to scan the room. Her eyes swept over every guest, not even sparing the faces of the staff.

On the way to the funeral home that morning, the police had sent them Hawley’s ID photo so they could familiarize themselves with his face and be prepared. But a full scan of the room revealed no one suspicious. The funeral had proceeded normally so far.

“Please, have some tea.” As she finished her survey, a staff member approached, placing a paper cup of hot tea next to her.

“Thank you,” Ivy said with a polite smile.

Just as she was about to pick up the cup to warm her hands, Jamison finished his conversation and returned to his seat.

“That man just said the Windsor family’s decline is inevitable,” Jamison murmured with a sigh. “With Adkins gone, Baillie won’t be able to hold things together.”

Ivy nodded. “True. But people have to go through pain to grow. Even if he can’t save the family or The Windsor Group, at least he might learn a little something about responsibility.”

Before she could finish, the memorial service officially began. Baillie walked to the front of the chapel to deliver the eulogy.