For a brief second, Ivy just stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up with the words he had just spoken, the meaning behind them settling in slowly but heavily. Then something inside her snapped, sharp and sudden, like a thread pulled too tight for too long finally giving way. “I hate you!” she burst out, her voice raw, sharp, and completely unrestrained, carrying every ounce of anger she had been holding back. The words cut through the room like a blade, leaving no space for anything else. Adrian didn’t move. Not a step. Not a flinch. But the shift in his expression was immediate, subtle yet unmistakable, like a shadow passing over something already dark. “I would rather marry a madman than ever marry you!” Ivy continued, her voice rising higher now, fueled more by anger than fear, each word coming faster than the last. The chains around her wrists rattled loudly as she struggled against them, the sound clashing harshly against the tense silence, her eyes blazing with fury.

As soon as Adrian entered the room where Ivy was held, the atmosphere shifted instantly, as though the air itself recognized his presence and tightened in response. The dim bulb overhead flickered faintly, casting uneven, unstable light across the cold, bare walls, making the shadows move in irregular patterns that added to the suffocating feeling of the space. Ivy was seated on the edge of a narrow metal bed, her posture rigid and defensive, her back straight even though exhaustion clung to her. Her hands were clenched tightly together in her lap as she watched him enter, her eyes tracking every step with guarded intensity. Adrian didn’t hesitate. He closed the door behind him with quiet finality, the sound soft but decisive, and walked forward as though he already owned the space, as though nothing in the room could oppose his presence. His expression was calm, almost controlled to perfection, but there was something unsettling in that calmness—something that made it feel less like

The two guards were still on the ground when Donald crouched slightly in front of them again, his presence looming over them with quiet intensity. Their earlier arrogance had completely evaporated now, replaced with pain, confusion, and fear that showed clearly in their expressions. One clutched his ribs tightly, breathing in short, uneven gasps, while the other tried to steady himself, blood visible at the corner of his mouth as he struggled to process what had just happened. The sudden shift from confidence to vulnerability was stark, almost humiliating. Donald’s voice was calm, but there was nothing gentle about it. “Where is Ivy Harrington?” he asked again. The men hesitated. One of them tried to speak, but only a weak groan escaped, his body too shaken to form proper words. The other swallowed hard, his eyes darting away nervously as if searching for an escape route that simply did not exist. Donald’s expression hardened. He stood up slowly, deliberately, letting the silence

Seeing that Adrian was nowhere to be found inside the mall, Donald’s expression hardened. He stood still for a moment in the central atrium, scanning the surrounding corridors once more with slow, deliberate precision. His eyes moved sharply from one possible exit route to another, calculating angles, movement paths, and blind spots as if reconstructing the entire building in his mind. But the more he observed, the clearer the conclusion became—Adrian had already slipped away. No trace. No movement. Nothing that could be followed. Donald exhaled slowly through his nose. “He’s gone,” he muttered under his breath. There was no frustration in his tone anymore, only certainty. He turned and walked out of the mall without hesitation. Outside, the air felt cooler, quieter compared to the chaotic brightness inside. The distance from the building seemed to pull the tension back into focus rather than erase it. Donald moved directly toward the car where Ivy had been left. Ivy was still

Adrian leaned back slightly in his chair, studying Ivy’s ex with quiet precision, as though measuring exactly how far the man could be pushed before he broke—or agreed to what was being placed in front of him. His gaze did not wander. It remained fixed, controlled, deliberate, as if every subtle shift in expression mattered more than the conversation itself. The restaurant around them remained calm, almost indifferent to the weight of their exchange. Soft music played overhead at a steady volume, blending with the low murmur of distant conversations. Waiters moved between tables with practiced silence and efficiency, balancing trays and orders without drawing attention. But at their corner table, something far more calculated was unfolding beneath the surface of normality. Adrian spoke again, his tone lower now, more intentional, stripped of unnecessary softness. “I want us to work together,” he said. The ex blinked once, processing the statement slowly. “Work together?” he repeat