Ivy's POV
The ride back was silent.
Too silent.
The city lights flickered past the tinted glass, each reflection cutting across Adrian's face in pale streaks of gold and shadow. He sat rigid beside me, his gloved hand gripping his knee, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.
He hadn't said a single word since we left the hall.
I stared at him — at the mask of control that had cracked, if only for a second, back there. The memory of his body tensing, the pain in his eyes, the way his hand had trembled… it kept replaying in my head.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"What happened back there?" I asked softly.
No response.
"Adrian—" I caught myself, "Mr. Blackwood?"
His eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. "Nothing that concerns you."
"That looked like something," I pressed, my voice rising despite myself. "You almost collapsed."
"I didn't." His tone was sharp — final — but I wasn't convinced.
I leaned forward slightly, searching his face. "Was it your condition? The one you never fully explained?"
His jaw flexed. "You broke contact."
I blinked. "What?"
He turned his head then, the weight of his gaze pressing into me. "You let go of my hand."
I froze. "You're saying that caused—"
"Yes." His tone dropped, controlled but dark. "You want honesty, Dr. Ivy? Fine. You're the only one I can touch without pain. Without... consequence."
The car hummed softly beneath the silence that followed. My pulse thudded in my throat. I didn't know what to say — didn't know how to breathe under the weight of what that meant.
He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes briefly as though collecting himself. "It started years ago. No one's been able to explain it. Doctors, specialists, researchers — all useless. But then you—" He stopped, exhaling sharply. "You were different."
"I—" I hesitated, the image flashing in my mind — a memory I'd buried deep. A boy outside a marble hall, trembling, breath shallow, as I pressed a hand against his chest and whispered—
"You'll live. I know you will."
That night. Seven years ago.
"You remember," he said quietly, his eyes opening again — sharper now, more human somehow. "Don't you?"
My throat went dry. "I… didn't know it was you."
He almost smiled — but it wasn't warmth. "No one ever does."
We didn't speak again after that. The rest of the drive was a blur of headlights and heartbeat. When the car finally stopped before the mansion, he turned to me, voice low but steady.
"Don't leave the estate again," he said. "Not unless I say so."
I wanted to argue, but something in his tone — that quiet authority, the exhaustion beneath it — kept me still. I only nodded.
He stepped out first, his driver moving to open my door. The night air hit me like a wave — cool, still heavy with rain. I watched him walk ahead, coat shifting with each step, the world bending around his presence.
He stopped at the entrance and looked back just once, his mask of composure back in place.
"Tomorrow," he said. "We'll discuss the next phase of this arrangement."
Then he disappeared inside, leaving me in the driveway — my heart still racing, my hand tingling faintly where his had been.
Morning light spilled through the wide glass windows, painting the floor in soft gold. I woke later than usual, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar quiet — no alarms, no footsteps in the hall, no cars outside. Just silence and sunlight.
It took a second to remember where I was.
The Blackwood mansion.
My new reality.
My phone buzzed beside me. Dozens of notifications filled the screen — texts from colleagues, classmates, even my old supervisor.
> "Is that really you in the pictures?"
"The ghost heir?! You married him?"
"You lucky witch, explain yourself!"
I groaned, tossing the phone aside. Apparently, last night's gala had gone viral — every site plastered with the same headlines:
THE GHOST HEIR REVEALED
Who Is the Mystery Woman by His Side?
I dragged myself out of bed, trying to ignore the tight knot in my chest. A part of me wanted to hide forever. Another part wanted to know what Adrian would say about all this — if he even cared.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," I said.
A maid stepped inside, bowing politely. "Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood requests your presence for breakfast in the east dining hall."
Breakfast.
With him.
I swallowed, quickly pulling myself together — a light dress, hair brushed back, nothing too formal. My nerves buzzed as I made my way through the long corridors, every marble step echoing faintly.
When I entered the dining room, Adrian was already there.
No mask. No gloves. Just him — crisp black shirt, cuffs rolled, eyes unreadable as ever. He looked… different in the daylight. Less like the ghost heir, more like a man who hadn't slept.
"Sit," he said simply.
I did, hands folding in my lap. The table was too large, the silence too heavy.
After a moment, he spoke.
"You handled yourself well last night."
"By panicking in front of twenty reporters?" I muttered.
His lips twitched — almost a smile. "You didn't run. That's progress."
He poured himself coffee, movements precise. "There'll be follow-ups. Articles. Questions. I've arranged a statement — you'll review it before it's released."
I frowned. "You already have a statement prepared?"
"I always plan ahead."
He took a sip, gaze never leaving mine. "You'll need to attend another event tomorrow night. A smaller one — family dinner. I expect you to be ready."
My brows furrowed. "Family dinner?"
He nodded once. "My father called it. Which means it won't be small, and it won't be pleasant. But you'll come with me."
"So this is what it's going to be?" I asked quietly. "Public appearances and staged smiles?"
He didn't answer right away. "It's what's required," he finally said. Then, softer — almost imperceptible — "Until I find a way to fix this."
I hesitated. "Fix what?"
His eyes darkened. "Everything."
He stood then, slipping on his black gloves and reaching for the mask he'd left folded beside his cup. The gesture was familiar now — precise, practiced, distant.
"I'll be at work until late," he said, his voice returning to that calm, unreadable tone. "You'll be served breakfast here. Everything to your liking."
He picked up the suit jacket draped over the chair, slid it on effortlessly, and buttoned it. "If you need anything, the staff will attend to you."
Without another word, he turned to leave. The sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor, the door closing softly behind him.
For a while, I just sat there — staring at the half-empty cup of coffee he'd left behind. Steam still curled faintly from it. The seat across from me felt heavier than it should have, as if his absence had weight.
Moments later, the maids returned, quiet and efficient. They set down a tray filled with everything I could possibly like — pancakes, fruit, tea, eggs made exactly how I preferred.
I blinked. "He told you—?"
"Yes, ma'am," one of them said with a polite bow. "Mr. Blackwood was very specific."
Of course he was.
The day dragged on quietly after that. No word from him. Not a call, not a message. I told myself I didn't care, that it was better this way — but each time the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed, my chest tightened.
By the time evening rolled around, I'd showered and wrapped myself in a towel, about to decide what to wear for dinner, when a sharp knock came at the door.
I froze. "Who is it?"
No answer. Just silence… then the handle turned.
I barely had time to react before the door opened — and Adrian stepped inside.
I jumped back instinctively, clutching the towel tighter. "You— you can't just walk in here!"
He didn't even flinch. "Why not? It's our room."
"Our—?" I stared at him, speechless.
His gaze swept over me briefly — not indecently, but enough to make my skin prickle. "You should get dressed," he said calmly, stepping past me into the room. "We're leaving soon."
"Leaving?" I echoed.
He moved toward the closet, unhurried, bare hands sliding along the row of clothes. "The family dinner," he reminded, his voice smooth and even. "It's been moved from tomorrow to tonight."
I blinked. "What? Why wasn't I told?"
He finally turned to face me, expression unreadable. "I'm telling you now."
I clenched the towel tighter. "You could've sent someone to tell me."
His lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, more like quiet amusement. "And miss this reaction?"
My heart jumped to my throat. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
He paused, then reached into the closet and pulled out a dress — deep red silk that caught the light like fire. He held it up between us. "Wear this."
I stared at the dress, then at him. "Red? Seriously?"
"It suits you," he said simply, placing it on the bed. Then he turned, heading toward the door.
Before stepping out, he added over his shoulder, voice low and unreadable, "Dinner starts at eight. Don't keep me waiting."
The door closed behind him, leaving me standing there — still clutching my towel, heart pounding — and wondering if this man had any concept of boundaries at all.
I took my time getting ready — maybe out of spite, maybe because I wanted to see if the man who never waited would actually wait for me.
The red dress fit like it was tailored just for me. Silk that caught the light every time I moved, hugging and flowing in all the right places. I slipped on the heels that matched, brushed out my hair, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
For a moment, I didn't recognize the woman staring back — confident, polished, dangerously close to beautiful.
By the time I stepped outside, dusk had already fallen. The long driveway glowed under the soft amber lights, and there, parked in front of the steps, was a sleek black car.
Adrian stood beside it. Mask on. Gloves on. Waiting.
He didn't say a word when he saw me — but I caught the faintest shift in his expression, a silent pause before he opened the car door for me.
"Let's go," was all he said.
The ride was quiet, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blue. Neither of us spoke, but the tension sat between us like a living thing — unspoken, thick, and strangely magnetic.
After nearly thirty minutes, the car slowed to a stop.
I glanced out the window.
The Blackwood main mansion.
If the estate I'd been staying in was grand, this was another world entirely — older, bigger, built to intimidate. Marble lions guarded the entrance, and warm light spilled from the tall windows like the house was alive, breathing wealth and history.
Adrian's phone buzzed just as the driver came around to open our doors. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening.
"I need to take this," he muttered, stepping a few paces away.
I waited, unsure what to do — until a voice behind me broke the quiet.
"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Blackwood."
The tone was smooth. Too smooth.
Before I could turn fully, a hand slammed against the wall beside my head, pinning me in place.
I froze, breath catching, as the man's shadow fell over mine.
"Didn't expect to see you here so soon," he said, his breath brushing my ear. "But then again… my brother always did like surprises."...