Right as Nathaniel’s patience was wearing thin, a coarse laugh rang out from somewhere in the crowd.
“All dressed up like that, heading straight for the VIP floor come on, you’re clearly fishing for a rich man.
Sweetheart, with a waist and a face like that, you’re wasted on fantasy.
Skip the crowd, come with me instead.
I’ll take very good care of you.”
The man pressed a bank card and a business card against her chest, whistles rising around them, a dozen hungry stares crawling over her skin.
“Some other time.” Ivy pushed the card back without so much as a flicker of expression, tucking the business card into her palm instead.
She was disgusted, but she still hadn’t located her target, and she’d known walking in here meant dealing with exactly this kind of mess.
From the edge of the crowd, Chloe drifted closer, delighted to pour fuel on the fire.
“Wren’s charm really is something else, isn’t it?
Nathaniel, I had no idea this was your type back then…
sexy, wild, this kind of easy fun.”
Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
A perfectly pleasant voice, and not a single word out of it that wasn’t a knife aimed at someone’s back.
Something cold flickered behind Nathaniel’s eyes.
They weren’t divorced yet, and she was pulling a stunt like this in front of half the city?
Did she think that erased him entirely?
When the man reached for the hem of Ivy’s skirt with a smirk, Nathaniel started forward through the crowd before he’d even decided to move.
Clang.
A paring knife appeared in Ivy’s hand from nowhere, sliced clean through the cake sitting on the table, and she offered half of it to the man with a pleasant smile.
“I’m not on the menu tonight.
Have some cake instead, as an apology.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
The cut was so precise it looked less like dessert and more like something surgical.
The prettier the smile, the sharper the blade underneath it.
The man’s hand shook.
He dropped his half of the cake and bolted.
The lingering stares thinned out immediately, and the room’s attention scattered elsewhere.
Ivy felt someone watching her and was about to turn when a broad-shouldered man in black approached, formal and unhurried.
“Miss, my employer would like you to join him for a drink.”
She glanced past him toward the private room at the end of the hall room 2333 something sharpening in her eyes.
Sebastian Barrow.
Their elusive young heir had finally taken the bait.
She smiled and followed without hesitation.
The onlookers scattered.
Chloe put on a show of surprise.
“So that’s why she brushed off that man earlier, she was after a bigger game.
That room’s reserved for people worth well over a hundred million at Elysium.”
She twisted the knife further.
“Nathaniel, you’ve always taken such good care of her so why would Wren need money that badly?
Is something wrong with the Sinclairs?”
A dangerous stillness settled over Nathaniel, the kind that made strangers give him a wide berth, his eyes locked on Ivy’s retreating back like he wanted to close the distance and shake her.
Marcus made a quiet call to confirm what he already suspected, then steered Chloe gently out of the way and murmured, “Sir, that’s Sebastian Barrow’s private room.
Mrs.
Wolfe just landed his attention in about thirty seconds.”
Nathaniel glanced sideways at him.
“Interested in becoming her assistant?”
The tone was cold, but the usual edge of violence behind it had dulled somewhat.
“No, sir.
Absolutely not.” Marcus shook his head fast, plastering on a careful smile, privately thinking that ever since the divorce came up, his boss’s moods had become impossible to predict.
Inside the private room, a cluster of Ashford Falls’ most powerful young heirs lounged around low tables.
At the center sat a man barely into his twenties, sharp-featured without a trace of softness, a striking woman draped over one arm while two more massaged his shoulders from behind.
A younger, doe-eyed girl knelt beside him, feeding him wine.
Exactly as advertised Sebastian Barrow, having the time of his life.
“Mr.
Barrow, I..” Ivy started, but he cut her off before she could finish.
“You’re in a nightclub.
Drop the formality.
Can you actually drink, beautiful?”
She caught the irritation flickering behind his eyes and picked up a wine glass without missing a beat.
“Since I’m here, whether I can drink hardly matters.
You won’t even let me finish a sentence, Mr.
Barrow.”
He’d cut her off on purpose, clearly guessing exactly why she’d come, and just as clearly enjoying making her work for it.
She wasn’t about to back down now.
“One million.
Finish this entire table.” At a single glance from Sebastian, a bodyguard plucked the glass from her hand, dropped it in the trash, and replaced it with an entire unopened bottle of imported liquor.
“Drink first.
We’ll talk after.” The room erupted the second he finished speaking, a chorus of young heirs baying for a show.
“Drink!
Drink!
Mr.
Barrow’s given the order who’s brave enough to say no?”
The table was loaded with everything: spirits, wine, beer, all of it.
Even without the pregnancy, finishing it all would likely kill her outright.
Instead, she cracked the bottle open and, under a room full of stares, filled his glass instead.
“If you want to throw money around, Mr.
Barrow, I’m happy to play along.”
Sebastian swept his arm across the table, sending a glass shattering to the floor.
“If you’re not drinking, get out.”
The sudden outburst dropped the room into dead silence.
His bodyguards closed in around her, ready to escort her out at the slightest excuse.
Even braced for something like this, the sheer unpredictability of the man rattled her, and her hand moved instinctively to shield her stomach.
Amy had told her once Sebastian was difficult, but underneath the theatrics he was genuinely pragmatic, not just some spoiled playboy burning through his family’s money.
She needed one real opening.
One chance to make her case with actual work, not spectacle.
Swallowing down the nerves climbing her throat, she pulled out the gold card Nathaniel had left her, leaned down, and set it in front of him with a smile.
“Ten million.
I’m buying your company for one night.”
The room went completely silent for a beat then exploded into noise.
“This one’s got nerve!”
At the exact same moment, the door to the private room slammed open.
Nathaniel stepped through it, gaze locking onto Ivy that pose, that audacity, something violent twisting in his chest.
Unrestrained.
Reckless.
This is who she actually is.
She was never this loose in bed with me.
Now, before the ink’s even dry on the divorce, she’s showing everyone exactly who she’s been hiding.
“Is this how you close a deal with men?” Nathaniel grabbed her arm and hauled her aside, voice dripping with contempt.
“What exactly are you doing here?”
The more unaffected she remained, the angrier he got.
An unfamiliar panic tangled itself up with the fury in his chest, and by the time he registered it, he was even angrier still furious that a woman behaving this way could get under his skin at all.
Marcus tried to step in and smooth things over, but Chloe cut him off first, arriving right on cue to pour more fuel on the fire.
“Director Hart sold out the company and caused all this damage, and Nathaniel still wanted to give her a fair shot without holding it against her.
We really didn’t expect her to move on quite this fast cozying up to Mr.
Barrow like it’s nothing…”
She trailed off deliberately, tugging at Nathaniel’s sleeve with practiced affection.
“Honestly, given how capable she clearly is, maybe this isn’t really our business to interfere with.”
Ivy shot her a look cold enough to freeze the air between them.
Half the room recognized Nathaniel on sight, and curious eyes started bouncing between the two of them, gossip already writing itself in real time.
The attention only sharpened Nathaniel’s temper further, and his voice came out even colder.
“Go home.
Stop making a spectacle of yourself.”