CH 8

The following morning, Ivelle squinted as a ray of light fell into the room. Her eyes flew open immediately as she realized she wasn't in her room. She tried to get up but found she was caged to the bed by someone's arm. Alarm filled her body, and she looked up to see who it was.

“Damian? But how?”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember how she got into the room. All she could recall was the wedding and, yes, the drink—there must have been something in it. That had to be why she felt so foggy. Arden and Elena must have planned to destroy her completely this time. And now… she didn’t even know if her current predicament was better.

She glanced up at Damian’s face again. He slept on his side, facing her, his features softened in sleep. He looked even more handsome than he had as a child. Despite herself, a small smile crept onto her face. His breaths came in a steady rhythm, the even rise and fall of his chest almost comforting. Then, she noticed he was mumbling in his sleep.

“I will never let you go, Ivelle.”

Her eyes widened as reality snapped back into focus. No one could see her like this. If anyone found out, everything she had worked for would be ruined—her reputation, her sponsors, her investors, her entire business. The headlines would be brutal. She looked around the room quickly, noting the way her clothes were discarded on the floor. Carefully, she lifted Damian’s heavy arm and slipped out from under it, her heart racing.

Then she saw it—a bright red bloodstain on the white sheets. Her breath caught as a pang of regret and shame twisted her stomach. But there was no use crying now; the deed was done.

She dressed quickly, grabbing her things and stuffing them into her handbag, then tiptoed out of the room. Just as she was about to leave, her bracelet fell from her hand and afraid to make any noise, she slowly bent over to pick it from the floor, her eyes never leaving Damian's sleeping figure. Once outside, she sighed with relief and fished her phone from her bag, calling John.

"Hello?"

"Have you sorted out the final clearing?"

"Yes, Miss Ivelle. Everything is ready. We're waiting for you at the company."

"Alright, I’ll be there in an hour."

"Don't forget we have an appointment with Mr. Romano today."

"Of course I didn’t forget. Clear my desk before I arrive, and push any pending meetings to tomorrow. I have things to deal with today."

"Okay, Miss."

She hung up and limped back to her room in the hotel. After gathering her belongings, she walked out with another sigh of relief. She could finally head home.

---

Elena paced back and forth in her room, pressing her phone against her ear.

“This is all your fault, Elena. I told you to watch her. That was all you had to do.”

“Do not blame me for what happened. I was taking an important call. If you want to point fingers, maybe blame yourself for buying a drug that wasn't strong enough to work on her.”

“But—”

“Now’s not the time to shift blame, Arden. We need a solution. But first, I need to know exactly what happened last night.”

“Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know either, but—”

"Miss Ivelle is back!” the butler announced from downstairs.

“Hold on, Arden. I think she's here. I’ll call you later."

Elena ended the call and descended the stairs, the click of her designer heels resonating through the mansion. When she arrived in the foyer, she found Ivelle being questioned by her parents.

"Ivelle, I know you're an adult now and have your freedom, but we're still your family, and we have the right to know where you were,” her aunt demanded. “You suddenly disappeared, and Arden searched everywhere for you. The poor boy was worried. I don’t even know why he cares about you so much.”

“Cares indeed,” Ivelle thought, a frown crossing her face as an image of the previous night flashed before her eyes.

“I was busy, Aunty. I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

“Busy with what?” her uncle asked, his brow raised.

“Work. I planned the wedding, remember?”

“Are you trying to insult my intelligence? Of course, I know you planned the wedding. But we asked your coworkers, and even they had no idea where you were.”

She took a deep breath. “I wanted to be alone. The engagement… I needed to process everything.”

Her uncle’s face softened slightly, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. But then—

“But I saw Ivelle enter a room that wasn’t hers yesterday, Father.”

Ivelle turned to see Elena standing at the end of the staircase. Clad in a sleek, high-neck Chanel dress that hugged her figure, her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she wore her signature bright red lipstick. Not a single hair was out of place in her glossy waves, her makeup fresh and flawless, as if she hadn’t even slept.

Ivelle’s stomach churned as she compared Elena’s perfect, composed appearance to her own wrinkled dress and smudged mascara. A flush of embarrassment warmed her face, her fingers instinctively reaching up to smooth her tangled hair. Where Elena stood poised and radiant, Ivelle felt painfully aware of how disheveled and unrefined she must look, the evidence of a sleepless night written across her face and attire. She could practically feel Elena's gaze lingering on the creases.

“You what?” her aunt exclaimed, surprise etched on her face.

“Aunty… it’s not what you think. I just stopped by a friend’s room to say hello. Remember, Mr. Stefan owns the hotel.”

“So, you’re telling me you spent the night with Mr. Stefan? And you still have the nerve to stand here and say it?”

“Mother, leave it be. There’s no point getting so worked up about this. Maybe he invited her over,” Elena said, her words dripping with fake sympathy.

“But, Aunty…” Ivelle began, but before she could finish, her aunt’s hand connected with her face in a sharp slap.

“I dare you to say one more word!”

The sting of the slap radiated through her cheek, but the pain went beyond physical. It was the same shame and helplessness that had haunted her since she was a child. She fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

“I didn’t spend the night with Mr. Stefan. I went to see someone else. I was only—”

“It’s already clear what kind of girl you are, Ivelle,” her uncle, Gabriele, spat, anger flashing in his eyes. “Bringing shame to this family, seducing your cousin’s prospective fiancé…”

Ivelle closed her eyes, blinking back tears. She couldn’t afford to let them see her break. Not now. “I—I didn’t do anything,” she stammered, holding her stinging cheek.

“Just get out of my sight,” her aunt hissed.

Ivelle backed away slowly, then glanced briefly at Elena, who watched her with a knowing, satisfied look.

“Elena was there when—”

“I said, leave!” her aunt’s voice cut her off sharply.

Nodding, Ivelle turned and made her way up the stairs, her face throbbing. Inside, she felt a mix of anger and despair. She knew she was running out of time in this house, and soon, she would have to find a way to locate her grandmother. But until then, she needed them. She turned to look at them one last time, anger fleeting through her eyes.

'Just a little more time'

Gabriele watched her leave, his face contorted with disgust. He turned to his wife, his voice low but seething with anger. “It’s bad enough that we have to accommodate her in this house. And now, she has the audacity to bring us trouble. Useless girl.”

It won't be good to anger her too much, dear. Come, let's go inside."

Elena’s smirk widened as she turned to leave, satisfaction evident in her expression. Her eyes darkened as she recalled Stefan's lingering glance toward Ivelle during the wedding. That peasant didn’t deserve his attention—or his bed. Even if she managed to escape this time, she wouldn’t let her go scot-free.

'This is just the beginning,' she thought, smiling to herself.