Chapter 4 - A NEW CLOTHING
The next morning at seven o'clock, Ivy woke up in a small, comfortable room in the staff quarters.
Her shoulder was sore, but the soothing ointment had taken away the burning pain. She sat up in bed, looking at the navy blue silk gift box sitting on the wooden table at the foot of her bed.
A note resting on top bore Ronan’s sharp, masculine handwriting:
Wear this today. Your new office is on the top floor. — R.B.
Ivy approached the box cautiously, untying the white ribbon. She lifted the lid and let out a soft gasp.
Inside lay a stunning, high-end business ensemble tailored specifically for her curves: an emerald green silk blouse, a high-waisted black pencil skirt made of stretch Italian wool, and a tailored black blazer. Beside the box sat a pair of designer leather pumps and a leather shoulder bag.
There was no uniform. No apron.
Twenty minutes later, Ivy stood in front of the full-length mirror, her breath catching in her throat. The clothes fitted her perfectly—not hiding her figure, but highlighting her waist, her soft hips, and her long legs with refined, breathtaking elegance. Her dark hair was styled in soft waves over her shoulders, concealing the bandage on her neck.
She looked... powerful.
She stepped out of the staff quarters and walked up the grand staircase to the executive floor.
As she walked through the polished marble corridors, the other staff members stared at her in shock. Three junior maids stopped cleaning to whisper, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"Is that Ivy?" "Look at what she's wearing..." "Mr. Blackwood bought her designer clothes?"
Ivy kept her head held high, though her heart was pounding. She reached the double mahogany doors of the master office at the end of the hall.
Malcolm stood outside, smiling warmly. "Good morning, Miss Lancaster. Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Malcolm opened the door, and Ivy stepped inside.
The master office was vast, lined with mahogany bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate, and a high-end steel-and-glass desk in the center.
Ronan was sitting behind the desk, reading a financial report. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a silver tie.
When the door clicked shut, he raised his head.
His gray eyes locked onto Ivy. For three long seconds, Ronan Blackwood—a man who had faced armed cartel leaders without flinching—forgot how to breathe.
The girl who had been hidden beneath a baggy, gray maid’s uniform was breathtaking. The emerald green blouse brought out the warm gold flecks in her dark eyes, and the tailored skirt sculpted her voluptuous curves into an image of pure, irresistible beauty.
"Good morning, Mr. Blackwood," Ivy said softly, holding her briefcase.
Ronan slowly stood up from his desk, walking around the polished mahogany surface until he stopped two feet in front of her.
"Good morning, Ivy," he said, his voice lower and richer than usual. "The clothes fit you well."
Ivy blushed, looking down at her skirt. "Thank you, sir. It’s... too much. I don't know how to repay you for all of this."
"You don't repay me," Ronan said, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Your brother, Leo, was transferred to the Boston Children’s Spinal Institute at six this morning. Dr. Marcus, the chief surgeon, has already taken his case."
Ivy’s eyes filled with tears. "Leo... he's at the Boston clinic?"
"All expenses are covered," Ronan added smoothly. "He will have the best care in the country."
Ivy couldn't contain her emotion. She stepped forward and impulsively wrapped her arms around Ronan’s broad chest, burying her face against his neck. "Thank you... thank you so much, Mr. Blackwood!"
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Ronan froze for a fraction of a second, surprised by the sudden touch. Then, his large arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her soft body flush against his hard frame. He held her close, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lavender from her hair.
"You're safe now, Ivy," Ronan whispered into her ear, his hand gently resting on the small of her back. "Nobody in this city will ever hurt you again."
