Chapter 4: Dearest wife, get lost

Chapter 4: Dearest wife, get lost. 

Ivy’s polite smile faltered, the weight of the old man’s words pressing down on her shoulders like a heavy stone. For a fleeting moment, she felt the crushing burden of his expectations, the weight of a promise she hadn't made yet was bearing down on her. But she steadied herself, pushing aside the discomfort, and lowered her head with respect. “Thank you, Grandpa. I'll keep that in mind,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.

The old man’s gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “We’re family, child. No need for formalities,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Now, go check on Rowan.”

Ivy nodded, her breath shaky as she turned toward the door. She couldn’t help but feel his eyes on her retreating figure, the sharp intensity of his gaze following her every movement. For a moment, the space between them felt like an abyss she had no choice but to cross.

After a few beats of silence, the old man spoke again, his voice low and thoughtful. “Did you notice it?”

Mr. Finch, the ever-present butler, stood nearby, his expression somber. “Yes, sir. Her eyes were red and swollen. She must have stayed up all night looking after her new husband.”

The old man sighed deeply, his features softening with an emotion Ivy rarely saw from him. “She’s a good girl,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She’s been through so much. From now on, things will be different. She deserves a voice in this household, one that carries weight.”

Mr. Finch gave a slight bow, his respect and agreement clear. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it.”

The old man nodded but didn’t look away from the door, his thoughts clearly still on Ivy. His unyielding nature was well-known, but there was a part of him, buried deep, that wished he could ease her burdens. She wasn’t just another pawn in their family game. At least, not anymore.

---

In Rowan’s room, the silence was broken by the soft, rhythmic click of heels against the polished floor. A striking woman in a figure-hugging red dress approached the bed, her eyes lingering on Rowan’s sharp, chiseled features with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She leaned in close, brushing a delicate finger against his cheek. “Rowan,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Of all the men I’ve known, you’re still the one I want most.”

Her lips inched closer to his, her breath warm on his skin. But just as the tension between them reached its peak, a deep, commanding voice echoed through the room, sending a chill down her spine.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, the woman recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted to the source of the voice, her shock turning to disbelief as Rowan, wide awake, sat up, fully dressed, his cold, piercing gaze locked on her.

The woman froze, her face draining of color. Before she could even react, Rowan’s voice cut through the stunned silence, each word ice-cold. “Was it you who saved me?”

The woman hesitated, caught off guard. She instinctively shook her head, but her desperation to claim credit quickly overcame her. She nodded eagerly. “Yes, Rowan! It was me. I’ve been by your side this whole time.”

Without another word, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, possessive embrace. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she gushed, her voice thick with emotion.

But before Rowan could respond, the door creaked open, and Ivy stepped inside. The room seemed to pause in time as her eyes scanned the scene before her—the woman in red still clinging to Rowan as though he were her lifeline.

For a moment, Ivy hesitated, feeling like an intruder in her own husband’s room. The woman’s presence felt like a slap in the face, but then Ivy’s gaze fell on the acupuncture supplies scattered across the room, a reminder of her care for Rowan. This was her husband’s room, and she was his wife. No matter how strange this felt, she had every right to be there.

With newfound resolve, Ivy straightened her back and cleared her throat.

The woman in red flinched, immediately releasing Rowan, her face flushing with embarrassment. She shot Ivy a look that was full of contempt but said nothing as she quickly stormed out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Ivy’s heart was pounding, but she didn’t let her composure slip. She turned to Rowan, expecting a neutral response at the very least, but instead, she was met with dark, angry eyes, his glare burning into her with a quiet fury.

"Why is he looking at me like that?" Ivy’s heart sank. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, his gaze felt like a betrayal.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice steady, though her stomach churned at the tension in the air.

“Who are you?” Rowan’s voice came out cold, clipped, as if her very presence was an irritation he could hardly bear.

The words hit her like a slap. Her pulse quickened, but she refused to show weakness. This was her life now—whether he acknowledged it or not.

Before Ivy could respond, Mr. Finch entered the room, his eyes widening in shock as he saw Rowan sitting upright.

“Sir, you’re awake!” Finch exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “You’ve finally woken up!”

The excitement in the room was contagious, and soon more people entered, murmuring with relief and happiness. The doctor was called in immediately to perform an examination.

After a thorough check-up, the doctor stepped back, his face lit with astonishment. “It’s incredible! His recovery is nothing short of miraculous. His physical functions are nearly normal. With time, he’ll regain full strength.”

Grandpa’s face lit up with joy, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “Thank the heavens!” he exclaimed, gripping Rowan’s hand with a mixture of reverence and relief. “Three years! Three long years, and you’re finally awake.”

He turned to Ivy, his gaze softening. “The wedding was the turning point,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It saved your life.”

“Wedding?” Rowan’s voice dripped with disdain, his brow furrowing as he glared at his grandfather. “What wedding?”

“Yes,” the old man continued, gesturing toward Ivy, who stood quietly by the side, feeling the weight of the moment. “This is your wife, Ivy. She’s the one who brought you back to us.”

Ivy stood frozen as the old man placed her hand gently on Rowan’s. “Ivy, you’ve done something remarkable. You’re the Hale family’s savior.”

But before Ivy could fully rest her hand in his, Rowan recoiled sharply. His expression darkened with contempt as he pulled away from her touch, his voice laced with ice.

“Get out,” he spat, his words cutting through the room like a blade.