The voice from the past

The low murmur of porcelain against porcelain was the only sound in the Cole family’s sunroom. Sunlight spilled through tall arched windows, catching on silver teaspoons and the faint steam curling from the teacups. The place smelled faintly of bergamot and roses, refined, calm… until the door opened.

“Grandmother,” Asher greeted, his tone respectful but faintly cool. His storm-grey eyes flicked to Velvet. “Aunt Velvet.”

Then they landed on Ivy. His gaze sharpened, slicing through her like cold steel. “What’s going on?”

Mrs. Cole didn’t look flustered. Her voice was smooth, deliberate. “We were having tea with Miss Marlowe.”

“I see,” he said slowly, his brows knitting.

Mrs. Cole placed her teacup down with an almost theatrical calm. “We were also discussing… responsibility.”

Asher’s brows drew tighter. “Responsibility?”

“You are going to marry her, Asher,” Mrs. Cole said, her tone as serene as if she were announcing a luncheon.

The words hung in the air like the moment before a storm.

“What?” His voice sharpened, his stance going rigid. “Grandmother, no. We’re strangers. I don’t even know her.”

The word strangers punched into Ivy’s chest, but she kept her expression neutral.

“You know enough,” Mrs. Cole replied evenly. “She is carrying your child. You will take responsibility. If you refuse, this will become a scandal that will stain the Cole name and the company. The Cole family does not allow illegitimate children.”

His voice got colder, harder. “I will not be forced into a marriage I don’t want.”

Velvet stood then, her hand coming to rest lightly against Asher’s arm, her posture both calming and firm. “Then an engagement,” she suggested smoothly. “A temporary arrangement. It will calm the press, protect the family, and give everyone time to… adjust.”

Asher’s jaw flexed. He turned his head toward Velvet, frustration burning in his eyes. Then he looked at Ivy, his gaze assessing, almost challenging. “Fine. Engagement. I assume Miss Marlowe will refuse anyway.”

Mrs. Cole’s pale blue eyes shifted to Ivy, calm and expectant.

Ivy’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. She could feel the defiance in Asher’s eyes, the subtle scrutiny in Velvet’s, the quiet pressure in Mrs. Cole’s.

Her fingers curled against the fabric of her dress. She straightened her spine. “I agree,” she said softly. “With the arrangement of an engagement.”

Asher’s head snapped toward her, surprise flashing, just for a heartbeat, before the cool mask returned.

Mrs. Cole inclined her head as if this had been the inevitable conclusion. Velvet’s lips curved faintly, almost approving.

Without another word, Asher turned and walked out, the measured click of his shoes echoing until the sound faded into the hall.

The silence he left behind lingered until Ivy’s phone buzzed sharply on the table. She reached for it, glancing at the screen, Christopher Hayes, her CEO back in London.

“Excuse me…” Ivy murmured, pushing her chair back and stepping toward the far corner of the sunroom. She turned her back to Mrs. Cole and Velvet, lifting her phone to her ear.

“Mr. Hayes?”

“Miss Marlowe,” Christopher Hayes’ voice was deep, clipped, the sound of a man who didn’t waste time.

“Why are you calling me?” She asked in a confused voice, she has never received a call personally from him ever.

“To know about the progress of the deal.” He answered in a casual tone, making her frown go deeper.

She frowned. “Since when do CEOs call personally for project updates?”

“Since you left.” He replied in a low tone which she heard clearly but the response was so confusing that she couldn't wrap her head around it.

There was a short pause. Then a low, puzzled, “Huh?” from her which seemed to drag him out of his thoughts.

She heard the faint sound of him clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his tone was cooler, more measured. “I asked you once, how the New York deal is progressing.”

“I’m… taking care of something important at the moment,” she said, her voice lower than before.

“What about?” His question was immediate, direct.

Her grip on the phone tightened. “Something personal.”

That was when she heard it, a voice from somewhere in the mansion, sharp and carrying through the air like a thrown blade.

“Grandma! Where are you?”

Her pulse spiked. She turned her head toward the hallway without meaning to, her breath catching.

The voice came again, closer, angrier. “What the hell is going on? Why am I seeing this nonsense about Asher all over the internet?”

Her fingers went numb around the phone. The tone deep, dark, laced with a dangerous edge, was too familiar. Memories she didn’t want to remember stirred like shadows under a door.

On the line, Hayes’ voice cut in, suddenly cool with something unreadable. “Oh. I see what’s so important now, Miss Marlowe.”

She barely heard him. “I have to go,” she said quickly, ending the call without waiting for a response.

Her heartbeat was wild and uneven as she stepped toward the living room, the voice from the hall drawing her closer with every slow, measured footstep.

He was taller than she remembered, the same broad-shouldered frame now cut sharper with maturity. His suit was black, the fit flawless, the white shirt open at the collar, revealing just enough to hint at carelessness under precision.

Dark hair framed a face that was all chiseled lines and angles, a mouth that could curl into charm or cruelty in a heartbeat. And his eyes, steel-gray, flecked with storm, locked onto her like a hawk sighting prey.

Jason Cole, the second heir of the Cole family.

Recognition flickered there instantly. Then his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice lower now, almost mocking. “If it isn’t Ivy Marlowe.”

Her stomach knotted.

“Long time no see,” he added, tilting his head as if studying an exhibit he owned.

She took an involuntary step back, pulse hammering. Heat rushed into her face, but her hands felt ice cold.

Memories she didn’t want clawed at the edges of her mind. She pushed her chair back, her body moving before her thoughts caught up.

Without a word, she walked past him, forcing her steps to stay even, refusing to run, even though her instincts screamed to.

But she could feel his gaze following her.

From across the room, Velvet’s eyes lingered on Ivy’s retreat, her expression thoughtful.

___

Ivy didn’t stop until she reached a small study at the end of the hall. She shut the door quietly and leaned back against it, trying to steady her breathing.

Her phone was still in her hand. She unlocked it, and the first thing to fill the screen made her heart lurch.

A photo she didn’t remember being taken.

Her name, his name.

The headline blazed in bold black:

ASHER COLE AND IVY MARLOWE — ENGAGED.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She sank into the nearest chair, the phone trembling in her grip.

It’s happening…