Chapter 13: The Room at the End

POV: IVY

Michael had given me a wedding ring, a mansion, and a bedroom at the end of the corridor, but not a single reason to believe I belonged there.

After the heavy oak door clicked shut and his footsteps faded down the quiet hallway, I stood in the center of the vast, unfamiliar guest suite. The room was beautiful in a cold, architectural way, filled with clean lines, neutral linen curtains, and expensive polished furniture. But it felt more like an upscale hotel room than a home, a place designed for guests who were always expected to leave.

I walked over to my single suitcase sitting on the luggage bench. Unlike Gemma, who had left behind mountain loads of designer trunks, I had only brought a few simple, practical garments that I had managed to slip past Evelyn’s watchful eyes, along with the folder of contract documents locked in my leather bag.

Reaching down to the very bottom of my bag, my fingers brushed against the smooth wooden frame. I carefully pulled out the small silver picture frame and set it on the nightstand beside the lamp.

In the photograph, Grandmother was sitting on the porch bench, her warm, wrinkled face lit up with a brilliant smile as she held my hand. I traced her face through the glass with my thumb, my heart aching with a deep, quiet longing.

I am keeping you safe, Grandmother, I thought, letting out a soft, shuddering breath. No matter how cold this house is, you are going to live.

A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.

Mrs. Gable stepped inside carrying a tray with a pot of hot chamomile tea and a fresh set of towels. She offered me a gentle, sympathetic smile as she set the tray on the round glass table near the balcony.

“I thought you might like something warm after such a long day, Mrs. Sterling,” she said politely.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gable,” I replied, stepping toward her. “And please... you can just call me Gemma when we're alone.”

Mrs. Gable paused, her hands smoothing her apron as a look of mild surprise flickered across her face. “If you prefer, ma'am. Mr. Sterling keeps a very strict schedule. Breakfast is served in the formal dining room at seven-thirty sharp every morning. He leaves for the headquarters by eight, and he rarely dines at home during the week unless there is a corporate function.”

She lowered her voice slightly, as if offering friendly advice to a newcomer in a dangerous territory. “He is a man of absolute routine, Miss Gemma. He values quiet, order, and efficiency above all else. If you stick to his schedule, you will find life here quite manageable.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I said softly.

After Mrs. Gable left, the quiet inside the room became suffocating. Unable to sleep despite the bone-deep exhaustion weighing on my limbs, I pulled on a heavy woolen cardigan over my clothes and opened the glass doors leading out to the bedroom balcony.

A spiral staircase led directly from the balcony down into the private rear gardens of the estate.

I stepped out into the damp, cool night air. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the lush lawn glistening under the soft glow of garden lanterns. The air smelled of wet earth, pine, and fallen leaves.

I walked slowly down the stone pathway, wrapping my cardigan tightly around my shoulders. I found a carved stone bench nestled beneath a sprawling oak tree near the edge of a quiet Koi pond. I sat down on the cold stone, pulling my knees up toward my chest as I listened to the gentle trickle of water.

In the stillness of the night, away from the flashing cameras, Evelyn’s cold demands, and Gemma’s cruel laughs, I let myself breathe.

I closed my eyes and imagined Grandmother sitting right beside me on the bench, wrapping her warm cardigan around my shoulders the way she used to do whenever I was upset as a child.

“You are bright, resilient, and worthy of every good thing in this world, Ivy,” her voice echoed softly in my memory.

I swallowed down the thick lump in my throat. I had to remember who I was, even as I wore Gemma’s ring. I couldn't let this house erase my soul.

“You’re up late.”

The sharp, deep voice shattered the silence, making me jump.

I opened my eyes and turned around. Michael was standing a few feet away on the gravel path, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his dark trousers. He had changed into a dark cashmere sweater, his dark hair slightly ruffled by the damp night breeze.

I quickly lowered my legs from the bench, sitting upright and smoothing down my clothes, forcing my chin into a controlled, neutral posture.

“I couldn't sleep,” I said, keeping my tone smooth and even. “It’s a quiet garden.”

Michael studied me for a long, silent moment, his stormy gray eyes tracking my movements with cold, analytical interest. His gaze lingered on my face, bare of any makeup, and the simple, loose cardigan I wore over my nightgown. I looked nothing like the glossy, polished heiress who had walked down the cathedral aisle six hours ago.

“The estate grounds are private,” Michael noted, his voice flat and measured. “You are free to use the gardens as you wish.”

He took a step closer, stopping near the edge of the stone path.

“I came down to inform you that our first mandatory public appearance as a married couple will take place this Thursday evening,” he said, getting straight to business without a single drop of small talk. “It is the annual Sterling Enterprises corporate gala at the Grand Plaza. The board of directors and our primary international investors will be present. I expect you to be fully prepared.”

“I understand,” I replied quietly. “I’ll be ready.”

Michael gave a slight, curt nod of his head, his expression remaining entirely unreadable. “Good. Get some rest. Mrs. Gable will arrange for your belongings from your family’s estate to be brought over tomorrow afternoon.”

He turned to walk back toward the main house, his long strides moving silently across the gravel path.

Before I could even stand up from the bench to follow him at a distance, the heavy glass doors of the patio swung open. Mrs. Gable stepped out onto the terrace, looking flustered as she hurried down the stone steps toward Michael.

“Mr. Sterling,” Mrs. Gable called out softly, her voice carrying across the quiet garden.

Michael stopped, turning around. “What is it, Mrs. Gable?”

“Miss Melanie has just arrived at the front gate, sir,” Mrs. Gable reported, her eyes darting nervously toward me for a fraction of a second before returning to Michael. “She says she left her diamond bracelet in your study earlier this evening.”

Mrs. Gable paused, clearing her throat respectfully. “She is waiting in the main foyer. I wanted to check whether I should show her to the drawing room, or...”

Michael didn't hesitate for a single second. He didn't check with me, nor did he look uncomfortable about his girlfriend showing up at his mansion on his wedding night.

“Show her straight to my private study, Mrs. Gable,” Michael commanded smoothly, his voice flat and decisive. “And inform the security team at the front gate that Miss Melanie holds permanent clearance. She is to be let into the mansion whenever she wishes.”