Chapter 55 Ivy

Chapter 55 Ivy
I stretch my arms above my head as I slowly wake, a long sigh slipping out as the last traces of sleep fall away. For the first time in what feels like ages, my body doesn’t feel heavy. My mind isn’t buzzing.

Honestly, with everything that happened yesterday, I expected to toss and turn until morning. But Zeus had slipped into my room late last night—silent as always—and handed me one of his sleeping tinctures.

It was surprisingly delicious.

People always say, If it tastes good, it isn’t good for you, but whoever said that clearly never tried Zeus’s blend. Lavender, lemon balm, chamomile… warm, floral, comforting. Like drinking a garden at dusk. 

Maybe I should ask him for the recipe.
If he’s willing to share it.

I spring out of bed with a sudden spark of energy. It’s my first full day with Zeus here, teaching me. The thought alone has me buzzing as I pull open my wardrobe.

Now… what do I need to get done?

I should start with shopping. I never got the herbs to resupply the apothecary for Zeus yesterday—thanks to Rose and Aaho derailing my entire afternoon. Maybe that was for the best, though. Now I can get a list from him.

Still…

I had really wanted to lock myself and Zeus in the apothecary and just play with new mixtures all day. That fantasy will have to wait.

I let out a sigh as I scan my clothing options.

If I were staying home, I’d choose comfort.

But if I’m going out… I probably need to look a bit more put‑together.

And—if I’m being honest with myself—
there’s a small chance I might see Luca walking around.

I’m not sure when I started caring what he thought of me, or how I looked walking past him. But something he said last night hasn’t left me. It keeps replaying in my mind, warm and steady:

You deserve that. Someone who won’t ever hurt you. Someone who sees you.

The words sink deeper the more I remember them.

And for the first time in a long time…
I want to be seen.
And with Luca, it’s hard not to feel seen.

The man literally chose to work for my father again just to have a chance to see me.

Who does that?

I turn back to my closet, hands on my hips, scanning the meager selection of clothes with a thoughtful hum. Then, like lightning striking, a fabulous idea comes to me.

A beaming smile stretches across my face as I grab one of my favorite comfy dresses. It’s simple but chic—a black t‑shirt dress with a loose, easy fit. I slip it over my head, the fabric cooling against my skin. The chest panel is my favorite part: a sheer black mesh strip just above my bust, subtle enough to be tasteful but enough to add personality. The soft cotton falls to my knees.

Next: shoes.

I pull on my black combat boots, their weight grounding me, the matte leather giving the whole look a casual edge. A black crossbody bag follows—sleek, practical, and perfect.

But the outfit needs color unless I want people to assume I’m attending a funeral.

So I grab my vibrant purple sunglasses. Oversized. Dramatic. Unapologetic. They’re perfect for sunshine—if England decides to be kind today. But considering the weather here changes moods faster than I do, they might end up protecting me from rain instead of sun.

I head to the bathroom, flick on the light, and pull my wavy black hair up into a ponytail. The velvet purple scrunchie adds the perfect matching pop of color. I study my reflection in the mirror.

I look… perfect.

Comfortable, but intentional. Casual, but polished.
Not trying too hard—but definitely trying a little.

A version of myself I don’t mind being seen by Luca.

The hallway smells faintly of toast and something warm—maybe cinnamon—and my stomach grumbles loud enough that I wince. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows paints golden rectangles across the corridor, and the soft murmur of voices grows louder as I approach the dining room.

I step into the dining room—and immediately freeze.

Everyone is already there.

Zeus sits closest to the head of the table, white hair combed back, already sipping an herbal tea that smells suspiciously like the tincture he gave me. He glances up first, offering a small, approving nod.

My mama sits beside him, perfect posture, her soft blue dress matching her eyes. Rose then sits beside her and looks disgusted that I even entered the room. My papa is not at the head of the table for once but sitting across from mama, deep in conversation with Edward—who pauses mid‑sentence the moment I walk in.

Edward smiles. “Morning, baby sister.”

But my attention snags on the figure at the head of the table. A man I don’t recognize.

Broad‑shouldered. Tall. Dark black hair, a bit tousled like he ran a hand through it on the way here. A heavier, older presence than Edward. Hands clasped calmly on the table. His gaze lifts slowly.

Warm brown eyes.
Assessing.

And then it hits me.

“William?” I ask.

I don’t know what I expected from seeing my older brother again…
But it wasn’t this.

Edward was so warm and enthusiastic that I was hoping all my brothers were like that. But William is the head of our mafia family so he can’t exactly be warm with everyone. 

William’s eyes meet mine across the table, and instead of warmth or recognition or even surprise, what I see in them is… 
Calculation. Something unreadable that pinches sharply in my chest.

“…Ivy,” he says.

His tone is colder than the morning air creeping through the windows.
I stop in my tracks.

“William,” I manage.

Mother glances sharply at him as if she’s hearing that tone for the first time too. Father straightens, expression tightening. Edward’s eyes widen slightly. Even Zeus pauses, mug halfway to his lips.

Only Luca doesn’t move. He just watches William with a look sharp enough to cut stone.

I force a shaky smile. “It’s… good to see you.”

William doesn’t return it.

His gaze sweeps over me, almost assessing, and for a flicker of a second I swear there’s disapproval hiding behind his eyes.

“Come here,” he states, it is a little warmer but not much.

And the room reacts instantly.

Mother adds, “Ivy is our beloved princess."

Edward nods, chiming in, “William, please go easy on baby sis.”

Father clears his throat, his tone a warning. “Son, watch your next words.”

Zeus sets down his cup with a soft click, glaring at William. 

And Luca—
Luca steps forward, just enough to stand slightly between me and William, as if on instinct. His voice is calm, low, and dangerous in its quiet.

“She is perfect.”

My breath catches.

Rose then chimes in to defend William, “Brother only is only being himself.”

William’s expression flickers — irritation? — but he masks it quickly.
“Rose, who said you can speak? ”

Rose looks at him shocked and the whole room goes silent.