Chapter 9
The morning light poured through the tall arched windows, casting a warm golden glow across the polished parquet floors of the dining hall.
Ronan leaned against the back of an empty chair, sipping his coffee while watching Ivy organize the remaining guest files with swift, precise movements. The fragility she had shown while protecting the young catering assistant was entirely gone, replaced by an ironclad resilience and sharp intellect that continuously surprised him.
"You know," Ronan said, breaking the quiet hum of the room, "Vivienne’s father is calling an emergency meeting of the corporate board for this afternoon. They think they can pressure me into reinstating the engagement by threatening our shipping contracts."
Ivy stopped typing on her tablet. She looked up, meeting his steady gaze without a hint of fear.
"Let them try," Ivy said, echoing his own words back to him with a confident, sharp edge. "While they were busy planning high-society parties, I spent the last three years auditing the supply chain logistics for half of this city's conglomerates—including the Vance family holdings."
Ronan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Is that so?"
"Filing cabinets don't lie, Mr. Blackwood," Ivy said smoothly, walking around the table and stopping just steps away from him. "If they want to play corporate warfare, I happen to know exactly where their weak points are buried."
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Ronan set his coffee cup down on the mahogany table with a soft clink. He stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between them until the air grew thick with a sudden, electric tension.
"It seems," Ronan murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register, "that bringing you into this house wasn't just rescuing a maid. It was the best tactical decision I've ever made."
