Chapter 1: Well Done, Indeed

Ivy Ashford's morning began with the deliciously scandalous headline: "Hugo Sinclair, the primary heir of the Sinclair Group, reported for soliciting a prostitute at a hotel. Shockingly, the woman in question turns out to be Elise Ashford, the Ashford family's illegitimate daughter!" Ivy found immense joy in this uproar. The most satisfying deed of her life? Calmly mailing photos of her ex-boyfriend's escapade to various media outlets. Imagining the little wretch's fury upon seeing the news brought Ivy unspeakable delight. She practically floated with glee. In two words: Utterly satisfying. She rolled out of bed, breezed through her morning routine, and descended the stairs humming a merry tune, her smile blooming outrageously. "Good morning, Grandfather!" she chirped. "Morning, Aunt Gwendolyn!" "And a very good morning to you, Uncle Xavier!" Master Ashford, seated at the breakfast table, seemed oblivious to her presence, absorbed in his smartphone screen. Ivy, ever observant, immediately sensed his mood was off. Aunt Gwendolyn’s meaningful glance confirmed her suspicions. What now? Did he discover the flowers she'd stealthily clipped? Ivy’s heart leaped to her throat as she sneaked a peek at Master Ashford's phone screen. The sight nearly sent her into a fit of laughter. There it was, the salacious news of Hugo and Elise, the scandalous couple, directly resulting from her own crafty handiwork. The photos had gone viral, causing a sensation. What an exquisite, artistic triumph! Settling back into her chair, Ivy basked in her own coolness. Master Ashford, his face a testament to years of shrewdness, shot her a piercing glance. "Feeling particularly cheerful today?" Ivy, momentarily caught off guard, managed a sheepish chuckle. "I'm always in high spirits..." "Your doing?" Master Ashford cut to the chase. Choking on her bread at his directness, Ivy internally lamented. He had the uncanny ability to read her like an open book. Admitting defeat, she confessed, "Yes, it was me. They had it coming." Expecting a tempest of rebuke, she was instead met with approval. Master Ashford nodded, seemingly impressed, "Well done, indeed." He even rewarded her with a chicken leg on her plate. Huh? Indeed, this was her doting grandfather, a man who believed in settling scores—a lesson he'd instilled in her from a young age. As Ivy savored her chicken leg, basking in the glow of familial approval, Master Ashford added, "However, regarding your father..." "Ivy!" Before Master Ashford could finish, Tristan Ashford's irate voice thundered through the room. Ivy nonchalantly dropped the chicken bone she was nibbling on and glanced towards the man storming down the stairs, his face ablaze with fury. Oh, was he on a righteous mission now? Slamming his hands on the table, Tristan nearly deafened Ivy. "Elise can't get recognition from the Ashfords, that’s one thing. But now, you’re tarnishing her reputation, aiming to ruin her life?" She's blamed for his ex-fling getting caught in the act? Really? A frosty glimmer surfaced in Ivy's eyes, her smile sharp. "Was it me who delivered Elise into my fiancé’s bed?" "Besides, it was the journalists who caught her, not me! Dad, I’m the victim here. How does it make sense to lash out at me?" "But Elise said it was you who reported them!" Tristan, pale with anger, his lips trembling. "You believe whatever she says?" Ivy remained composed, her smile unwavering. "So if she accuses me of arms dealing or drug trafficking to the police, am I to be executed on the spot?" "Does she have evidence? Do you?" She seriously doubted her father's sanity at this point. Setting aside the fact she left no trace, even if there was evidence, what of it? One's a green tea bitch rolling in the sheets with her sister’s husband, and the other's a man who can't keep his pants zipped around women. Ha... Ivy would boldly call them both lowlifes to their faces, but that would be sullying her own mouth. They weren't worth the spit. "You..." Tristan was seething, his teeth grinding as he raised his hand towards Ivy. Seeing this, Master Ashford's eyes sparked with anger, and he coughed forcefully. Tristan's hand froze mid-air, much to the relief of the servants around. With Master Ashford present, Tristan could hardly stir up any trouble. Tristan fixed Ivy with a stern look, trying hard to contain his rage. "Ivy, regardless of whether it was you or not, you must come forward and prove it!" "Prove? Prove what?" Ivy's gaze flickered with mockery, nonchalantly biting into another chicken leg her grandfather had served her. Tsk, juicy without being greasy, if only that disgraceful duo hadn't spoiled her appetite. Tristan exhaled deeply, his breathing still ragged from anger. "Prove that it was you in Hugo’s bed that night, not Elise." Patience was a virtue Tristan lacked when it came to his daughter. Ivy had never once called him 'Dad' with any semblance of respect, always ready to challenge him. Always trying to outdo him despite her tender age! How could she compare to Elise's sweet compliance... Just thinking of Elise's voice, hoarse from crying, clinging to his arm and blaming Ivy for her plight, made him yearn to slap Ivy not once, but twice. Ivy's eyebrows danced with scorn as she casually remarked, "Sure thing. If Dad's worried about the Ashfords becoming a laughingstock, how about having Elise come and apologize to me in person? Maybe, just maybe, I'll feel generous enough to let her off the hook." With that, she gave Tristan a glance, her face the picture of serenity, though her eyes were icy cold. Tristan's complexion darkened alarmingly as he grabbed Ivy, his tone resolute, "Look at yourself! Do you even consider me as your father?!" "I'm telling you now, as long as I'm here, you're making that proof!" Ah, brandishing his paternal power as if it's a royal scepter? Expecting me, the aggrieved party, to humbly exonerate the interloper who dared to encroach on my territory? Is he an idiot? Watching him stand there, so full of himself, as if he's the only right one in the world, Ivy couldn't help but feel a surge of laughter bubbling inside.