Chapter 5: Your Grandfather Has Sold You to Me

Cecil's gaze lingered on her delicately pink lips, instinctively leaning in until his lips were almost upon hers, then abruptly halted. Like a shock of electricity, Ivy's mind went blank! She instinctively closed her eyes. "Seems you're quite taken with me. Were you hoping for a kiss?" His voice, devilishly teasing, carried a note of mockery. Ivy's eyes snapped open, meeting his amused gaze. Realizing she'd been played, her expression darkened, "Cecil, is it? Developed a taste for toying with me, have you?" Ivy entertained thoughts of strangulation. Cecil lifted her chin, his lips curving, "Your grandfather has already sold you to me." What?! Ivy was thunderstruck, barely believing her ears. Cecil's eyes twinkled with mischief as he took his seat, legs crossed, fingers idly tapping on the table. "Though, I suppose the deal isn't too shabby." Ivy's mouth twitched. What did he mean, 'not too shabby'? She hadn't agreed to this marriage! Casting Cecil a sidelong glance, a cold smile played on her lips, "Alas, my grandfather's vision isn't what it used to be. As his dutiful granddaughter, it's my responsibility to cut our losses!" Cecil's eyes narrowed at her response, then chuckled coldly, "As my fiancée, I'd expect you to take responsibility for your actions." "Are you hard of hearing?" Ivy retorted, "I said, even if this marriage is real, it doesn't count without my consent!" Cecil's gaze sharpened, a warning unspoken: "Ivy!" Clearly, she had touched a nerve. Ivy grabbed her bag and stormed off, wondering why she'd wasted so much time with this delusional man. Her priority was to confront her grandfather about this whole mess. Just as she was about to leave, her phone pinged with a message: "Ivy, your grandfather has been feeling the strain lately. Your thoughtful fiancé has whisked me away for a restful break abroad. Be sure to show your gratitude, and don't let down your grandfather's kind intentions!" Silence fell. Ivy's spine stiffened. Dear old granddad! Fuming, Ivy tried calling Master Ashford, only to be met with the cold embrace of voicemail. Meanwhile, Master Ashford was leisurely enjoying iced tea under the sun abroad, living the dream. "Master Ashford, are you sure leaving madam with Mr. Warrington is wise?" Yves Granville, Master Ashford's loyal bodyguard, voiced his concern, seeing Ivy as a sister after years of service. Master Ashford sipped his tea with an air of nonchalance, a spark of shrewdness flickering in his clouded eyes, "Ivy's spirit, unyielding like mine, could do with a bit of tempering. Else, she's bound to face setbacks." Ivy confronted the man nonchalantly sipping his coffee with her phone in hand, "Your doing?" Cecil nodded, his sensuous lips forming a thin line, "Your grandfather's right. It'd be a shame to disappoint his expectations." Really now? Ivy's temper flared, hurling her purse at him, "Cecil! You're despicable!" The surrounding crowd glanced over, startled by the commotion. Cecil remained unfazed, casually sipping his tea, "A couple in love can hardly be called despicable." His cold gaze swept over the onlookers, who quickly averted their eyes. "You'll find yourself secretly delighted to have landed such an exemplary husband." Narcissist! Ivy bit back a slew of choice words, grinding her teeth, "Fine, you win!" Cecil's gaze softened, his deep eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions, in stark contrast to his outward calm as he met her gaze. "You're not pleased?" His seemingly indifferent question was laden with barely concealed anger. Ivy's response was icy, "No kidding!" He paused, pondering, then seemingly half-conceded, "How about this? Have a child with me, and our engagement is off. How does that sound?" Ivy clenched her fists, her voice cold, "In your dreams. Dreams where anything's possible!" She left her purse behind, striding out of the restaurant in her heels. Cecil didn't stop her, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure, a slight smile curving his lips. ... Upon returning to the ancestral home, Ivy was met with chaos. Could they have been burgled? "Without Master Ashford and Madam's permission, no one can move in!" Uncle Xavier's voice was icy, brooking no argument. Tristan, his anger burning fiercely, retorted, "You insolent servants, losing sight of your place! Daring to block my way?" "Sir, perhaps wait for Madam's return before inviting guests," Aunt Gwendolyn suggested, undeterred by his threats. Elise and her mother played the part of damsels in distress behind Tristan, desperately trying to squeeze out tears, "It's okay, Tristan..." "Wynn, Elise, don't worry. I'll ensure you're admitted into Ashford Manor today!" ... Tristan's words drilled into Ivy's ears without missing a beat, her grip tightening on her phone as she stormed towards Ashford Manor with a dark expression. Upon arrival, she was greeted by the sight of Tristan, exuding faux tenderness while comforting Elise and Wynn Quinton—who, in reality, was already Wynn Ashford. The scene was so cringe-worthy, Ivy nearly succumbed to the urge to pelt them with a half-dozen eggs. With a frosty demeanor, she remarked, "I thought we had burglars, but it's just you lot?" Aunt Gwendolyn's eyes lit up with relief upon seeing Ivy, "Madam, upon hearing Master Ashford was out, Mr. Ashford insisted on inviting these guests in." Her tone was laden with indignation, clearly appalled by Tristan's audacity. "Please, don't be upset, sister..." Elise tried to smooth things over. Aunt Gwendolyn, an elder who never spared Elise and her mother a kind glance, suddenly softened at Ivy's arrival. Elise, nearly tearing Ivy's flawless skin with her glare, feigned sweetness as she grasped Ivy's hand, squeezing it surreptitiously. Ivy recoiled from Elise's touch, stating, "My mother only had one daughter. Sister, you say? Do you really think you qualify?"