Chapter 4 - The King's Private Sanctuary
The top floor was Ronan’s private sanctuary: dark mahogany woods, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the stormy ocean, and deep leather furniture.
Ronan led Ivy into a luxurious private lounge and guided her to sit on a plush leather sofa. He immediately walked over to a marble wall, pressed a hidden button, and called for Dr. Harrison, his private family physician.
"Sit," Ronan commanded softly when Ivy tried to stand up out of nervous habit. "Do not move."
Ivy pulled the heavy coat tighter around herself, feeling self-conscious. She knew how she looked—a curve-blessed, broad-hipped woman in a ruined servant's dress, sitting in the pristine lair of a billionaire crime lord.
"Mr. Blackwood," Ivy began softly, looking down at her hands. "You didn't have to do that down there. Vivienne Hale is the daughter of Julian Hale. Ending your engagement over a maid... it will start a war."
Ronan walked over to a side table, poured a glass of amber bourbon, and handed it to her. When she hesitated, he pressed it gently into her hands.
"I don't care about Julian Hale," Ronan said, his voice deep and absolute. "And you are not 'just a maid.' I know who you are, Ivy."
Ivy’s heart stopped. She looked up, her soft brown eyes wide with alarm. "What?"
Ronan pulled up an antique armchair, sitting directly across from her. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, closing the distance between them.
"Ivy Lancaster," Ronan said smoothly. "Daughter of Arthur Lancaster, former CEO of Lancaster Logistics. Three years ago, your father was betrayed by his chief financial officer, framed for fraud, and pushed into bankruptcy. He died of a heart attack two months later, leaving you with his debts and two younger twin brothers to put through university."
Ivy swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. She had tried so hard to bury her past, working sixty hours a week under an assumed middle name to keep her family afloat.
"Who was your father's chief financial officer, Ivy?" Ronan asked, his eyes darkening.
Ivy clenched her fists. "Julian Hale. Vivienne’s father."
"Exactly," Ronan said grimly. "Julian Hale stole your father's company, wiped out your inheritance, and forced you into domestic labor. And tonight, his spoiled daughter tried to whip you in my house."
Ronan stood up, pacing the floor like a dangerous predator trapped in a cage. "I agreed to marry Vivienne strictly as a business arrangement to acquire Hale shipping routes. But tonight... tonight she showed me her true nature. And I do not tolerate cruelty under my roof."
Dr. Harrison, a gentle elderly physician, rushed into the room carrying a medical bag. "Lord Ronan, I came as fast as—"
"Fix her shoulder," Ronan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If it leaves a single scar, I’ll fire you."
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"Of course, sir," the doctor stammered, immediately opening his supplies.
As the doctor carefully cleaned the deep welt on Ivy’s skin, Ronan never left the room. He stood by the window, watching her quietly, his shadow covering her like a protective shield.
