Once Downtrodden; Now Divine

Chapter 6

Ivy handed Donald an ultra-luxurious suit.

It was a masterpiece from the house of Aurelius Atelier, the kind of garment that commanded admiration.

The blazer was midnight black.

He frowned slightly. “Miss Harrington, this is far too extravagant. I don’t need—”

Ivy cut him off with a cool glance.

“This isn’t about need, Mr. Smith. It’s about ensuring no Tom, Dick, or Harry thinks they can look down on you in my presence.”

Before he could protest again, Ivy reached up and draped the blazer over his shoulders.

The fabric shimmered faintly, smooth as silk.

She adjusted the lapel herself, her fingers brushing his collarbone and lingering there longer than either of them expected.

“Look in the mirror,” she said.

He sighed but obeyed.

For a moment, even he couldn’t find words.

The reflection staring back at him looked like someone else entirely. The cut of the suit accentuated his tall frame and broad shoulders.

Before long, they were seated together in the back of her sleek black sedan and they rode toward the glittering heart of Boston’s business district.

Even though the suit had cost Ivy a fortune, she didn’t mind.

She glanced at Donald, noticing how effortlessly it fit him—like he was born into elegance.

In that moment, Ivy realized there was more to Donald than met the eye.

Reaching into her clutch, she pulled out a slim black envelope and handed it to him with a knowing smile.

“This is your invitation for tonight. Not just any invitation. It’s VVIP.”

Donald took the envelope, his fingers brushing over the raised gold seal.

“Thank you, Miss Harrington,” he said politely.

 “I’ve heard these are nearly impossible to get. Even the wealthiest families have to fight for a regular invitation.”

Ivy’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile.

“That may be true for small players scrambling for scraps,” she replied smoothly. 

“But for someone like you—an honored guest chosen by my father himself—an invitation like this deserves to be delivered personally, by my own hand.”

Donald accepted the sleek, gold-embossed envelope with his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. 

The touch was accidental, but it sent an unexpected current through the air.

Her perfume lingered between them, and his gaze lifted to meet hers. “Then it’s only right that you did,” he said with a smile.

Ivy replied without hesitation, her eyes holding his just a heartbeat too long. 

“I'm glad you will be standing beside me tonight.”

Donald couldn’t help the slight arch of his brow. There was something both commanding and disarming about her.

He’d met countless women in his life, but none who carried beauty like a weapon the way Ivy Harrington did.

For a moment, he almost forgot to breathe. He had once thought Jane was the kind of woman who could captivate a room; yet beside Ivy, Jane’s charm felt shallow — all glitter and no depth. 

As Ivy turned away to give her next instruction to the driver, Donald found himself watching her reflection in the car window.

Just then, the car jolted violently.

The driver cursed under his breath, quickly maneuvering it to the side. 

“Flat tire, Miss Harrington.”

Before he could step out, another vehicle screeched across the lane, blocking them from the front. 

Almost immediately, they noticed a third car slid in behind them, sealing their path.

Ivy stiffened, her eyes flashing cold. 

“What the hell is this?” she murmured under her breath. 

Just then, the doors of the surrounding cars burst open, and a dozen rough-looking men emerged with baseball bats and knives glinting in their hands. 

Their leader, a broad man with a scar across his cheek, banged on the driver’s window.

“Miss,” he drawled, “our boss wants to see you. Come quietly, and we won’t have to make this messy.”

Ivy’s face went hard as the armed men closed in, circling the car like vultures.

Who were they to demand she come with them? Didn’t they know a Harrington when they saw one?

She lowered her sunglasses slowly, calm as ice. 

“Who sent you? Do you even know whose car you’ve stopped?”

A thug grinned and swaggered toward the window. “Doesn’t matter who you are, Miss. You’re coming with us! Make it easy and nobody gets hurt.”

Something like a sneer ghosted across her mouth. 

“Hurt me?” she echoed. 

“You must be new to Boston. People who threaten a Harrington don’t live long enough to regret it.”

The words landed and the men blinked, unsettled for a beat — but they had been trained to face anything, even an icy young woman.

“Big words!” one of them snarled. “Let’s see how loud you shout when we take you to our boss.”

He nodded to his men, and one of them suddenly reached inside his jacket. 

Ivy’s sharp eyes caught the motion instantly—she saw the glint of a gun before it was even raised. 

In one fluid movement, her hand slipped into her clutch and her fingers curled around the cold metal of her pistol.

“Enough!” she said icily, drawing her weapon halfway. 

“If you think you can drag me anywhere, you’re welcome to try. But I guarantee only one of us will walk away from this road!"

The thugs burst into cruel laughter. Of course, a Harrington without a guard was an easy mark. 

“She’s bluffing! Take her!” the man with the gun barked.

But then, a voice split the air.

“You’d be wiser to walk away,” the male voice said.

They turned around to see a young man yank the car door open and step out. He stood tall and calm but imposing with his eyes unreadable.

“Now!"  Donald barked. 

“Before I decide none of you live to regret this!”

The gangsters burst into ugly laughter.

“Who is this clown?” the scarred leader spat, sneering. 

“Some pretty boy in a suit? Get him!”

The first thug charged at Donald with a baseball bat raised high.

Donald moved fast—too fast for anyone to follow. 

He caught the man’s wrist mid-swing and twisted it sharply. 

A sickening crack followed, and the bat fell to the ground. Before the thug could even scream, Donald snatched up the bat and swung it back, slamming it into his attacker’s ribs. 

The man dropped like a stone.

Another man came at him with a knife, yelling. 

Donald ducked low, sidestepped, and drove his elbow into the thug’s jaw. 

The man spun backward and hit the pavement hard with blood spilling from his mouth.

Two more rushed in at once, trying to pin him but Donald kicked one in the stomach, sending him crashing into the other. 

Then he spun and slammed the bat across the second thug’s shoulder with a dull thud. Both went down groaning.

Ivy, still standing by the car, couldn’t look away. 

Her hand froze around her clutch with her eyes wide in shock and awe. 

She had seen plenty of fighters before—bodyguards, mercenaries, trained professionals. 

But Donald was different. He moved with a calm confidence. And beneath that calm, was control. 

He single-handedly fought with a dozen men.

That kind of strength was rare.

For the first time, Ivy understood why her father had spoken so highly of him.

Hw was reliable… strong… perhaps even more than he realized himself.

To her, this… this was something else. Every move he made was clean, controlled, and brutal.

When the last thug stumbled to his feet and tried to run, Donald reached out, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him against the car hood. 

The man slid down, moaning, clutching his arm.

In less than five minutes, they were all on the ground, bruised and moaning in pain.

Donald seized the scarred leader by the collar and yanked him upright.

“Who sent you?” He growled.

The man spat blood, glaring defiantly. 

“You really think I’d tell you that?” he spat, trying to sound tough even as blood dripped from his mouth.

Donald’s eyes hardened and his grip tightened until the man’s face twisted in pain. 

“Last chance!” he said coldly.

Panic flickered through the thug’s eyes as sweat mixed with the dirt on his face. 

Finally, his defiance cracked.

“I-It was Bill Milton!” he stammered. “The Milton family patriarch! He said Miss Harrington needed to be… taught a lesson!”

Donald dropped him to the ground with disgust. 

The man scrambled away, dragging his injured companions with him.

Ivy stepped out of the car at last, looking around at the defeated gangsters, then back at Donald.

Her heart stirred. 

She had seen plenty of fighters before—bodyguards, mercenaries, trained professionals. 

But Donald was different. He moved with a calm confidence. And beneath that calm, was control. 

He had taken down a dozen men without killing a single one. 

That kind of restraint was rare.

For the first time, Ivy understood why her father had spoken so highly of him.

Hw was reliable… strong… perhaps even more than he realized himself.

She allowed herself a faint smile and stepped closer.

Ivy could see now that her father was right about Donald.

“With you here, tonight’s challenges might not be so difficult after all.” Ivy said cooly.

Donald met her gaze and offered a calm smile.

The way she looked at him sent ripples through his body, but he forced himself to stay composed. 

Her beauty was sharp and refined like glass sculpted by fire. 

Even the faint curl of her lips was soft enough to draw him in.

Compared to her, his ex-wife seemed ordinary and forgettable. 

Ivy was the kind of woman who could silence a room with a glance.

“It was nothing,” he said evenly.

Ivy’s smile deepened. 

Once the driver replaced the tire and the road was cleared, the car continued its journey. 

Inside the car, Ivy leaned slightly toward him and said softly,

“When we arrive at the venue, I’ll need to circulate among the guests first. Many of them are potential partners, and I must maintain appearances. 

During that time, I'd like you to observe quietly.

Watch their expressions, their alliances, the way they speak to me and to each other. Then, when the time comes to choose whom I should ally with, I will call you over.”

Donald nodded. 

“Understood.”