It seemed Ivy had beefed with sleep that night.
She lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Her mind replayed the moment in the study again and again—the file slipping from her hands, Adrian's face hardening, the silence that had answered her question.
This marriage isn't just about inheritance, is it?
He hadn't denied it.
That truth sat heavy in her chest.
By morning, she had made a decision.
If she was trapped in this marriage, she would not remain ignorant inside it.
She rose early, showered, and dressed with quiet determination.
The estate was already awake, staff moving efficiently through the halls. Ivy kept her expression neutral, masking the storm inside her as she made her way downstairs.
The dining room was empty when she arrived. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the long table set for two.
She sat.
Minutes passed.
Then Adrian entered, his presence commanding even without effort. He looked composed, as if the tension of the night before had never happened, which fueled Ivy's anger.
"Good morning," he said.
"Morning," Ivy replied.
They sat in silence as breakfast was served. PThe staff withdrew discreetly after setting the plate and finished serving the food to the couple.
Ivy refused to touch her food.
"You're avoiding me," she said, not a question but more eof a statement to Adrian.
Adrian paused mid-motion. "I'm giving you space."
"That's not the same thing."
His gaze lifted to hers. "What do you want, Ivy?"
"I want the truth," she said evenly. "About why my name was on medical documents I was never supposed to see."
His jaw tightened.
"You invaded my privacy," he said.
"You married me and my name is boldy written in that paper," she countered. "That made it my business."
Silence stretched, taut as wire.
Adrian leaned back in his chair. "Finish eating."
"I won't, I just need answers." Ivy firmly replied.
Something flickered across his face—irritation, perhaps, or restraint.
"Very well," he said. "After breakfast, we'll talk."
They moved to the study again, the room now carrying a heavier weight. Adrian closed the door behind them.
"What you saw," he began, "was not meant to alarm you."
"That's very comforting," Ivy said dryly.
He ignored the tone. "There are… conditions tied to my inheritance. Legal ones. Some of them involve medical contingencies."
"And me?" she asked. "Where do I fit in, in all of this?"
"You are my legal spouse," he said. "Which grants you authority under certain circumstances."
Her stomach clenched. "Authority over what, exactly?"
"My care," he said quietly. "My estate. My decisions—if I'm incapacitated."
Ivy stared at him. "So you ou married me so I could sign papers if you couldn't." she said accusingly.
"I married you," he corrected, "because I needed someone outside my family's control."
The admission stunned her.
"Your family?" she repeated.
"They don't trust easily," Adrian said. "And they don't relinquish power willingly."
"So they chose me," Ivy said bitterly. "Someone with no backing. No leverage."
"Yes," he said simply.
The honesty stung more than lies would have.
"And what's wrong with you?" Ivy asked. "Medically."
He hesitated.
"That's not relevant yet," he said.
"Yet?" she echoed.
"You'll know when it's right." Adrian replied.
Ivy laughed softly, without humor. "You really do see this as a transaction, right?"
"I see it as survival," he said.
"So do I," she said. "But survival doesn't mean surrendering my right to without knowing what I'm tied to."
His gaze sharpened. "You want out?"
She faltered.
The truth was complicated.
"No," she admitted. "I want clarity... from you"
"Then you'll have it," he said after a pause. "In time."
The conversation ended there, unresolved.
Over the next week, tension settled into the estate like a silent guest.
Adrian became more distant, his schedule packed with meetings and calls Ivy wasn't privy to. Ivy, in turn, explored the estate, learning its rhythms, its quiet corners.
She found solace in the garden.
One afternoon, as she knelt to examine a cluster of roses, a voice startled her.
"They're hybrid."
Ivy turned to see an older man standing a few steps away. He smiled politely.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"The roses," he said. "They're a hybrid strain. Very delicate."
"I didn't know," Ivy said.
"I'm Thomas," he introduced himself. "Mr. Blackwood's personal physician."
Her heart skipped. "Like his personal doctor?"
"Yes."
Ivy rose slowly. "You oversee his health?"
Thomas nodded, studying her carefully. "You must be Ivy."
"Yes… I'm Ivy" she answered, partly surprised he knew about her
"You have questions," he said.
It wasn't phrased as one.
"I do," Ivy admitted.
"Not ones I can answer freely," he said gently. "But you should know—your presence here is not accidental."
She swallowed. "I figured that much already."
"He trusts you," Thomas added.
She nearly laughed. "I doubt that."
"Trust doesn't always look like warmth," Thomas said. "Sometimes it looks like necessity."
Before she could respond, Adrian's voice cut in sharply.
"That will be all, Doctor."
Adrian stood at the edge of the garden, his expression unreadable.
Thomas nodded respectfully and left.
"What were you discussing?" Adrian asked.
"Flowers," Ivy replied lightly, turned to look at the hybrid roses again.
His eyes narrowed. "Be careful who you speak to."
"I'm not a child" she said.
"No," he agreed. "You're something far more dangerous." he added.
She met his gaze. "So are you."
That night, Ivy received a call from her aunt.
"Ivy," her aunt said breathlessly. "We need to talk."
Her chest tightened. "About what?"
"Things are… complicated," her aunt said. "The company—"
"Is this about another favor?" Ivy interrupted.
Silence.
"Ivy," her aunt said softly. "We didn't realize—"
"Don't," Ivy said. "Don't pretend to be concern now, it's late alright."
Her aunt sighed. "The Blackwoods are powerful. We thought—"
"You thought I'd be expendable," Ivy said. "Just say it."
The call ended shortly after.
Ivy sat alone in her room, anger and hurt tangling in her chest.
When she went downstairs later, she found Adrian in the living room, staring out the window.
"My family called," she said.
"I assumed they would," he replied.
"You knew?"
"They won't stop trying to benefit from this," he said. "They never do."
Something in his tone softened her anger slightly.
"Does anyone ever choose you?" Ivy asked quietly. "Not for power or protection—but because they want to?"
He didn't answer.
Days passed.
The estate buzzed with preparation for another event. This one was larger, more public.
"I need you there," Adrian said one evening. "My family will attend."
Ivy stiffened. "Your family?"
"Yes."
"Will they know why I'm here?" she asked.
"They'll assume what they want," he said. "Ignore them."
Easy for you to say, she thought.
The event was held at a grand hall, filled with people who looked at Ivy with thinly veiled curiosity. Whispers followed her steps.
Adrian's hand settled lightly at her back—just enough to guide her, not enough to comfort.
She met his mother first.
Evelyn Blackwood's smile was sharp. "So you're the wife."
Ivy inclined her head. "Mrs. Blackwood."
"How… unexpected," Evelyn said, her gaze scanning Ivy as if assessing merchandise. "But suitable."
The word sent a chill down Ivy's spine.
Adrian's grip tightened. "Mother."
Evelyn smiled sweetly. "I'm only curious. We were so concerned about your health."
Ivy's breath caught.
Health?
Adrian's expression hardened. "That won't be discussed."
"Oh, of course," Evelyn said. "We wouldn't want secrets revealed."
The rest of the evening blurred.
By the time they returned to the estate, Ivy was exhausted.
"You should have warned me," she said.
"I did," Adrian replied.
"No," she snapped. "You didn't warn me they'd see me as a solution."
He turned to face her. "You are a solution."
The words hung between them, sharp and unyielding.
"And what happens," Ivy asked softly, "when I stop being useful?"
Adrian hesitated.
"That won't happen," he said finally.
She laughed bitterly. "That's what everyone says."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"Ivy."
She paused.
"You're not disposable," he said. "Not to me."
She looked back at him, searching his face for a tmy bit of insincerity, it failed
"Then stop treating me like an insurance policy," she said.
Silence answered her.
That night, Ivy stood on her balcony, staring at the city lights in the distance.
She realized something then.
This marriage wasn't just binding her to Adrian.
It was placing her in the center of a war she didn't understand yet—one fought with contracts, secrets, and silence.
And whether she wanted it or not, she was already involved.
Deeply.
Indelibly.
Because beneath the glass walls of wealth and power, cracks were forming.
And Ivy was standing right at the center of them.