Chapter 3: Grandchild

Chapter 3: Grandchild

"Ivy, let’s put the past behind us," Justin said, his voice oily with insincerity. He tried to appear genuine, but there was something too calculating about the way he spoke. "I still care about you. Look, Rowan’s a lost cause. He’s practically fucking dead. The doctors have said he’s beyond saving. If you stay by his side, you’ll be a widow before long. Let’s keep things between us quiet. Once he’s gone, everything he owns will be ours."

Ivy felt her stomach churn. She hadn’t realized just how vile Justin was until this moment. The audacity, the shamelessness—it was suffocating.

"What if your brother doesn’t die?" she asked, her voice cold, cutting through the air like a knife.

Justin hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. "That’s impossible!" His words came out too quickly, as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. "The doctors have said there’s no hope. His coffin’s already prepared."

Ivy’s lips curled into a mocking smile, her gaze unwavering. "If your brother wakes up and learns the truth, do you think he’ll forgive you for wishing him dead?" Her voice was low, like the promise of a storm, and Justin recoiled slightly.

Panic flickered in his eyes, and he glanced nervously at the bed where Rowan lay, his face still as death. But seeing the lifeless form of his brother seemed to settle him somewhat. His fear dissipated, replaced by something darker.

"Don’t scare me like that," Justin muttered, shaking his head, his voice trembling slightly.

Ivy didn’t have time for his pathetic excuses. Her words came out firm and cold, the weight of them undeniable. "Leave. Now. Or should I call someone to drag you out?"

Justin’s anger flashed in his eyes, but he understood the danger of pushing her further. With a final, muttered curse, he stormed out of the room.

Once the door closed behind him, Ivy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She walked slowly over to Rowan’s bed, her gaze softening as she looked at his pale, still face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you hear that? He’s already planning your death, waiting for you to slip away so he can take everything you built. Are you really going to let him get away with it? Fight, Rowan. Fight for us."

But Rowan didn’t stir. His silence was thick, suffocating, and Ivy felt an overwhelming sadness settle over her. She wished she could do more, but for now, it was up to him. She could only hope he would find the strength to wake.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Miss,” Mr. Finch’s voice called through the door as he entered, bowing slightly. "Grandpa Hale would like to see you in his study."

Ivy hesitated, glancing once more at Rowan. She had done all she could for now. The rest, she thought grimly, was either up to fate—or Rowan’s will to survive. With a quiet sigh, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress. "Lead the way."

The study was grand, a place that commanded respect with its towering bookshelves and the roaring fire that cast long, shifting shadows on the polished wooden walls. Edward Hale, the patriarch of the family, sat behind a massive desk. His sharp, calculating eyes watched Ivy intently, though his aged features and the intricately carved cane he leaned on gave him the appearance of a man who had lived through many battles—both physical and political.

Ivy approached cautiously, keeping her head slightly inclined in respect. "Good evening, sir."

Edward grunted, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. For a long moment, he studied her as if she were an object to be appraised. "So, you’re the young woman Rowan married yesterday?" His voice was gruff, but there was something coldly assessing in his tone, as if he were weighing her value.

Ivy met his gaze without flinching, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, my name is Ivy."

For a moment, silence stretched between them as Edward continued his silent inspection. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened just slightly, and he gave a small nod of approval.

“You’re aware of Rowan’s condition,” he said, his voice holding an edge of something like sympathy. "It’s not an easy situation, child. But if there’s anything you need—anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask. The family will make sure you’re taken care of."

Ivy wasn’t sure what to make of this unexpected warmth. It was a stark contrast to the cold indifference she’d experienced from most of the family. The way he spoke reminded her of her late grandmother’s rare moments of tenderness, and it tugged at her heart more than she expected.

"Thank you, Grandpa," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. A gentle smile tugged at her lips.

Edward’s gaze snapped to hers, his sharp eyes piercing. "What did you just call me?"

Ivy froze, realizing the slip. But she didn’t back down. "Grandpa," she repeated, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

Edward’s face cracked into a grin, deep and resonant. "Good, good. That’s the way it should be." He turned to a drawer in his desk and retrieved a small brocade box, its surface embroidered with intricate golden threads. He held it out to her, his expression unreadable. "This is an heirloom of the Hale family. I’m giving it to you."

Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. The box, small and unassuming, felt heavier than it looked. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Grandpa, I… I can’t accept this. It’s too valuable."

"Nonsense," Edward said firmly, stepping closer to press the box into her hands. "You’re Rowan’s wife now. You’re part of this family, whether you like it or not. This belongs to you."

Ivy’s fingers closed around the box, but her grip was trembling. It wasn’t just an heirloom; it was a burden, a symbol of everything that had been thrust upon her without her consent. She hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but Edward’s gaze held her firmly in place.

The old man’s voice softened as he patted her hand gently. "The astrologer assures me the stars are aligned for you two. You’ll bring him the fortune he needs, just as the family expects."

Ivy forced a polite smile, but the weight of his words pressed down on her. How could she tell him the truth—that this marriage was a business deal, not a love story? That she had no intention of being a permanent part of this family?

Edward’s smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with hope and calculation. "And if Rowan wakes up, and you bless this family with a great-grandchild…" He leaned forward, his voice almost conspiratorial. "Everything you want will be yours. The family will see to it. And you’ll have all the power you need, Ivy. But I'll need the grandchild first