Chapter 62 Ivy

Chapter 62 Ivy
The gates close behind us with a deep, final sound that settles into my bones.

Home should feel safe. Familiar. But now it feels like a chessboard.

I step out of the car, adjusting the strap of my satchel like the weight of fresh herbs is all that occupies my thoughts. Mark and Finley spread out instinctively, scanning the grounds. Olivia stays close enough that I can feel her presence without being smothered by it.

I don’t look shaken.
That’s important.

Inside, the estate hums as usual—polished floors, quiet footsteps, the faint scent of tea and wood polish. Nothing out of place. 

And then I see her.

Rose is seated in the sitting room, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in her lap like she’s been waiting. Her smile brightens the instant she notices me.

“Ivy,” she says warmly, standing. “You’re back already.”

Already.
Not welcome back. 
I file that away.

“Yes,” I reply cheerfully. “Town was kinder than expected.”

Her eyes flick—quick, involuntary—to the satchel at my side.

“So soon?” she asks. “I thought you’d be gone longer. Town can be… unpredictable.”

I smile wider. “Not today. It was rather peaceful.”

She relaxes just a touch. Too soon.

“And the herbalist?” Rose continues lightly. “Did Mara still have that dreadful smell clinging to everything?”

I pause, just long enough to feel her attention sharpen.

“No,” I say. “Actually, it smelled lovely.”

Her brows lift. “Oh?”

“Yes,” I reply, tilting my head. “Winter jasmine. Very fresh.”

There it is.
Her pupils flare—only for a heartbeat—but I see it. 

“Winter jasmine?” she repeats, a bit too quickly. “That’s unusual for this season.”

I nod. “That’s what I thought too.”

Silence slips between us like a blade.

Then Rose laughs softly, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her sleeve. “You’ve always had such a sensitive nose. I barely notice scents anymore.”

I hum thoughtfully. “It’s useful. Especially when things don’t belong.”

Her fingers tighten in the fabric.
Good.

I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “You’re wearing something different today.”

Rose stills.

“Am I?” she says, smile brittle now. “Just my usual perfume.”

I shake my head gently. “No. Yours is sweeter. Less sharp.”

Her breath catches—barely—but it does.

“I suppose I’ve been experimenting,” she replies, forcing a light tone. 

William enters the room then, his presence heavy even when he says nothing. His eyes find me instantly, scanning—whole, steady, alive. Only then do they move to the guards, not even sparing a glance at Rose.

“Report,” he says calmly.

“Quiet,” Mark answers. “One possible tail. Lost him.”

William’s jaw tightens. He looks to me. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” I reply easily. “Productive.”

I turn back to Rose as if the conversation never broke. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I should rest. Town air is more tiring than I remembered.”

Rose nods quickly. “Of course. You should.”

Her eyes linger on me too long as I walk away.

As I pass Luca, I let my fingers brush his sleeve—just once.
Did you see it?
He did.

I don’t look back at Rose, but I feel her watching until I leave the room. That’s all the confirmation I need.

I didn’t accuse her.
I didn’t confront her.
I let her react.

And in doing so, she told me everything she didn’t mean to.
Someone close to me made a mistake.

And now they know that I know—even if they don’t know how much.
The game has shifted.
And this time, I’m not the one being hunted.

Rose

I keep smiling until Ivy is out of sight.

Winter jasmine.

The words echo once in my head. Of all the things to go wrong, it had to be something so avoidable. A careless variable. A detail that should have been controlled.

Ivy didn’t accuse me. She didn’t confront me.
She tested me.
And I resent that more than anything.

I excuse myself from the sitting room with measured calm, nodding politely to William as I pass. Servants bow. The world continues exactly as it should. Only when my door shuts behind me do I allow my smile to drop.

I don’t lock the door in a frenzy. I turn the key deliberately.

Then I exhale—slow, controlled—and roll my shoulders like I’m shedding a poorly tailored coat.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

I cross to the vanity, catching my reflection. Perfect. Composed. Not a hair out of place. Ivy may think she’s clever, but she hasn’t won anything yet.

I sniff lightly at my wrist, frowning.
Jasmine.
Faint—but present.

Those imbeciles Aaho hired, they are idiots! I thought they were professionals! They should have known after meeting me they should shower and change to not tie it back to me. 

My jaw tightens.

This is what happens when work is outsourced to people who mistake silence for competence.

I open the hidden drawer and retrieve the communicator, already annoyed enough that my thumb presses harder than necessary when I initiate the call.

Aaho answers on the second ring.

“Yes?” Her voice is smooth, unhurried—exactly as it should be.

“They were sloppy,” I say immediately. “Ivy noticed.”

A pause. Not alarmed. Calculating.

“Noticed what?” Aaho asks.

“My perfume,” I reply coolly. “Winter jasmine. She mentioned it casually—but she was watching for a reaction.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“That suggests suspicion, not certainty,” Aaho says. “Which means the operation is intact.”

“It suggests your people failed at something basic,” I snap. “They were meant to blend, not announce themselves like amateurs.”

“That wasn’t them,” Aaho replies evenly. “That was proximity. Ivy wasn’t supposed to return early.”

I scowl. “She did. With guards. And Luca.”

Now Aaho pauses—not in irritation, but adjustment.

“Luca complicates optics,” she admits. “But not outcomes.”

I lean against the vanity, folding my arms. “Ivy is sharper than you anticipated."

“Yes,” Aaho says calmly. “She has always been. She even figured out how to get away from my family. Which is why she didn’t accuse you.”

That gives me pause.

“She smiled,” I say. “She probed. She wanted me off-balance.”

“And were you?”

I scoff. “Hardly.”

“Good,” Aaho replies. “Then nothing has changed.”

“Something has changed,” I correct. “She’s hunting.”

Aaho’s tone doesn’t shift. “Let her.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m accounting for it,” she says. “Emotion clouds judgment. Curiosity narrows focus.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. “Your people still need correcting.”

“They’ve already been reassigned,” Aaho replies. “Different routes. Different markers. No jasmine.”

“See that they stay invisible,” I say sharply. “I won’t clean up another preventable mess.”

A faint amusement enters Aaho’s voice. “You won’t have to.”

“And if Ivy pushes?” I ask.

Aaho’s answer is immediate. “Then we allow her to.”

I straighten. “Allow?”

“She believes she’s in control,” Aaho says. “That belief will dictate her moves.”

The line goes quiet for a moment before she adds, cool and precise, “You remain where you are. Comfortable. Visible. Annoyed, if necessary.”

A smile curls slowly across my lips.

“That,” I say, “I can do.”

The call ends.

I set the communicator down carefully.

Ivy thinks she rattled me.
What she actually did was expose poor workmanship.
And that is something I will correct.