Chapter 817
In that moment, a flicker of Baillie’s conscience was rekindled. After losing two family members and everything he had ever owned, he had finally woken up.
A small smile touched Ivy’s lips. Perhaps the forty–five million hadn’t been a complete waste after all. It had bought her peace and resurrected a man’s soul. A contribution to society, in a way,
“Good. I hope you can turn your life around,” she said. She looked up at her husband, her expression softening. “Honey, I’m starving. Can we go get dinner now?”
Jamison nodded, his voice full of affection. “What are you in the mood for?”
“That hot pot place we went to last time.”
“Alright,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at her. They walked out of the room, hand in hand.
Boyd stayed behind to clean up. He looked at the duffel bag with the remaining 1.5 million in cash and called out, “Ivy, what should I do with the rest of this money?”
“Take it with you. We’ll deposit it tomorrow,” she called back without turning around.
“You got it,” Boyd said with a grin. He zipped up the bag and couldn’t resist a final dig at Baillie. “Mr. Windsor, it’s probably been a while since you’ve seen this much cash, huh?”
Baillie said nothing.
As they reached the door, Jamison asked, “So what’s this thing you have that’s more valuable than money?”
Ivy laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s you, Mr. Ludwig.”
Jamison’s grin widened. He leaned in and stole a sweet kiss from his wife.
Baillie’s eyes were fixed on the bag of money, a desperate hunger in his gaze. But after Boyd’s jibe, he quickly looked away. He heard the happy chatter from the doorway and couldn’t help but look. The sight of his sister and her husband, so carefree and in love, was like a knife to his heart.
If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, so conniving. If only he had known how to be content, how to be grateful… he wouldn’t have ended up like this.
His hand, the one clutching the loan agreement, began to tremble. The thought of having nothing, of being forced to leave his home, was overwhelming. The only thing left to do was to weep, to let the despair and resentment pour out of him…
The New Year arrived with a festive bang. Ludwig Manor was a dazzling display of lights and decorations. Adela Ludwig’s health had been declining, and though no one said it aloud, they had all worried she wouldn’t make it through the holidays. But ever since Carla had moved back in, Adela had been so busy worrying about her daughter that she seemed to have grown stronger. It was a testament to the power of a mother’s love–a force both beautiful and tragic.
The entire Ludwig clan had gathered at the estate. The grand banquet hall was filled with the happy
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Chapter 817
chatter of two large, boisterous tables. The children, barely touching their food, were already running around, performing for gifts.
Ivy’s memories of the New Year were of receiving gifts, not giving them. It was a strange feeling to have moved up a generation. The children, ranging in age from six to sixteen, were clever little things. They bowed and wished her a “bountiful year and many children,” making it sound more like a wedding than a holiday celebration. Ivy’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“See? It’s not just me,” Adela said, seizing the opportunity. “Even the children are hoping for a new cousin. Jamison, you’re thirty now. It’s time you had an heir.”
Jamison, ever the contrarian, shot back, “Isn’t taking care of Aunt Carla enough to worry about? Besides, it’s not like the Ludwig family is lacking for heirs.”
Adela’s face darkened. She looked like she wanted to throw a chopstick at him from across the table. Ivy, having just finished handing out gifts, turned with a smile still on her face. “Don’t worry, Mom. We have a plan.”
“A plan?” Adela’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean you’re trying?”
Before Ivy could answer, Jamison interjected, “We’ll talk about it after the New Year. You can’t rush these things.”
“I know it’s up to fate, but you have to be proactive! Stop being so obsessed with work, with staying late at the hospital. If you’re always coming home in the middle of the night, how are you supposed to get anything done?” Adela was on a roll now, practically demanding they conceive a child that very night.
Jamison’s face turned bright red. “Mom, there are children in the room! What are you talking about?” Ivy, equally embarrassed, looked down at her plate.
Davina Foster, who was sitting next to her, leaned in and whispered, “Are you trying? Have you fully recovered? After having your spleen removed and surgery on your uterus… you have to be careful. Pregnancy is hard enough on a healthy body.”
Davina, a mother of three, was an expert on the subject.