Chapter 4 - The Whispering Manor
By afternoon, the news of the confrontation in the dining room had spread through every corner of Blackwood Manor like wildfire.
In the lower kitchen quarters, the staff was in a state of absolute disbelief.
Ivy walked down the stone stairs into the kitchen, wearing a simple, comfortable burgundy wool sweater and dark trousers provided by Ronan. She carried a small tray of tea, intending to return to her normal duties, but the moment she entered the room, every cook, dishwasher, and butler froze in place.
Mrs. Higgins, the elderly head housekeeper who had worked at the estate for thirty years, set her wooden spoon down and stared at Ivy with wide, emotional eyes.
"Ivy... child," Mrs. Higgins whispered, rushing over and grabbing Ivy’s hands, her eyes brimming with tears. "Is it true? Did Mr. Ronan really break the engagement with that evil Hale woman?"
"Yes, Mrs. Higgins," Ivy said softly, setting the tray down on the wooden counter. "It’s over. The Hale family has been banned from the grounds."
Lily, the young catering assistant, ran out from the pantry and threw her arms around Ivy’s waist, weeping openly. "Ivy! Oh god, Ivy, I’m so sorry! It was all my fault! If I hadn't slipped—"
"Shh, Lily, no," Ivy smoothed the girl’s hair gently. "It wasn't your fault. Vivienne was looking for a reason to hurt someone. It could have been anyone."
"It wasn't just anyone, though," a sharp, bitter voice called out from the back of the kitchen.
Clara, a senior maid who had long sought promotion to house manager, stepped forward with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in deep jealousy as she looked at Ivy’s high-quality wool sweater.
"Let's not pretend you're a martyr, Ivy," Clara sneered, tossing her polishing cloth onto the counter. "You played your cards perfectly, didn't you? You knew Mr. Ronan was coming through those doors early. You took a light whip strike to look like a victim, and now you’re wearing designer clothes and sleeping in the West Wing while the rest of us scrub toilets!"
"Clara! That is enough!" Mrs. Higgins barked furiously. "Ivy almost had her shoulder shattered!"
"She's a gold-digger!" Clara shouted, stepping right into Ivy's face. "Look at her! She thinks she’s going to be the mistress of Blackwood Manor? A big, plain girl who used to haul laundry bags? The boss is just using her to annoy the Hale family! Once the syndicate council vote is over, he’ll toss her right back into the gutter where she belongs!"
Ivy felt a cold prickle of insecurity hit her heart.
Despite Ronan’s fierce protection, Clara’s words tapped directly into Ivy’s deepest fears. Was she just a pawn? Was Ronan using her to break a treaty he already hated? How could a man like Ronan Blackwood ever truly want a woman like her?
Before Ivy could answer, a shadow fell over the kitchen doorway.
The room plummeted into sub-zero temperature as Ronan stepped down the stone stairs. He wasn't wearing his jacket; his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dark, intricate mafia tattoos covering his forearms.
Clara turned pale as sheet, stepping backward until her spine hit the pantry shelf.
"Mr... Mr. Blackwood..." Clara stammered, her voice shaking violently. "I... I was just—"
Ronan walked past her without a word, his heavy boots echoing on the flagstones. He stopped directly in front of Ivy, his large frame blocking Clara completely from her view.
"Are you alright?" Ronan asked Ivy softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register meant only for her ears.
"I’m fine, Mr. Blackwood," Ivy said quietly, looking down at her shoes.
Ronan reached out, gently lifting her chin so she had to meet his eyes. He saw the doubt floating in her brown eyes, and his jaw tightened with quiet anger at the servants who had put it there.
"Mrs. Higgins," Ronan spoke aloud to the room, his eyes never leaving Ivy’s face.
"Yes, sir?" the housekeeper responded instantly.
"Clara is terminated immediately," Ronan instructed coldly. "Pack her bags, forfeit her severance pay, and have security escort her off the property within fifteen minutes."
"Please, Mr. Blackwood!" Clara sobbed, dropping to her knees on the stone floor. "I’ve worked here for five years! I was just jealous! Please don't fire me!"
"You insulted the woman who holds my heart," Ronan said, his voice flat and brutal, causing everyone in the kitchen to gasp in shock. "You are lucky I am letting you walk out of this estate on your own two feet."
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Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared at Ronan. The woman who holds my heart?
Ronan didn't care about the shocked faces of his staff. He wrapped his arm around Ivy’s waist, pulling her soft body flush against his solid side, and led her up the stairs, leaving the gasping kitchen staff behind.
