"His Fiancée Struck the Plus-Size Maid Before Everyone — Then the Mafia Boss Did Something No One Expected

Over the next four weeks, Blackwood Manor transformed into a battlefield of high-society gossip and corporate warfare.

Ivy adapted to her new role as Ronan’s personal assistant with astonishing speed. She was brilliant, organized, and possessed an incredible memory for detail. Within two weeks, she was managing Ronan’s complex international schedule, organizing private syndicate ledgers, and sitting beside him during high-level board meetings.

Despite her efficiency, the upper class of Boston was merciless.

During a corporate summit at the Boston Harbor Hotel, Ivy walked through the lobby carrying Ronan’s legal briefs. She was wearing a stunning plum-colored dress that hugged her gorgeous curves.

Grouped near the fountain were three wealthy socialites—former friends of Vivien Hail.

"Look who it is," whispered Lady Clara Vance, fanning herself with a brochure. "The former maid."

"Unbelievable," sneered Victoria Sterling, a tall, thin heiress. "Ronan threw away the Hail family for that? She’s huge! Look at her hips!"

"He must be using her as a temporary plaything," added the third woman with a snicker. "A street girl wearing expensive silk is still a street girl."

Ivy heard every word. She felt a sharp sting of humiliation in her chest, lowering her head as she tried to walk past them quickly.

Before she could take five steps, a heavy, warm hand rested firmly on the small of her back.

Ronan stepped up beside her. He was flanked by six tall, imposing Blackwood security guards in dark suits.

The three socialites instantly stopped laughing, their faces turning pale as Ronan’s cold gray eyes settled on them.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" Ronan asked, his voice carrying through the quiet hotel lobby like a crack of thunder.

"Mr. Blackwood!" Victoria Sterling stammered, putting on a fake, nervous smile. "We... we were just admiring your assistant’s dress!"

Ronan walked up to Victoria, stopping inches from her face. His height and massive build completely shadowed her.

"Miss Sterling," Ronan said coldly, "your father’s firm currently holds a twelve-million-dollar credit line with Blackwood Global Bank. If I hear your voice directed at my assistant again, I will call that loan due by five o'clock today."

Victoria gasped, turning pale as paper. "Mr. Blackwood, please—!"

"Get out of my sight," Ronan ordered flatly.

The three women scrambled away like frightened mice, their heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.

Ivy looked up at Ronan, her eyes swimming with emotion. "You didn't have to do that, Mr. Blackwood. I'm used to people talking about my weight."

Ronan turned to face her, taking both of her small hands into his large palms.

"I don't give a damn about society’s sick standards of beauty, Ivy," Ronan said, looking into her eyes with intense, fiery sincerity. "To me, you are the most beautiful, captivating woman in this city. Never lower your head for anyone."

Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. "Ronan..."

It was the first time she had spoken his first name without the title.