Chapter 66 William

Chapter 66 William
Afternoon tea is supposed to be formal.

In this family, it never is.

I take my usual position near the fireplace, arms folded, watching the room the way I watch everything else—quietly, completely. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, catching on the porcelain cups Mother insists on using and the silver tray Father polished himself this morning. They’re both already hovering around Ivy like she might dissolve if they look away too long.

She won’t.
But they don’t see that yet.

They have been so worried since they finally found her again. Like one wrong move and she will disappear again. I see otherwise. In the last twenty-four hours Ivy has shown me her strength. She will never leave us willingly. 

Edward sprawls into a chair with all the subtlety of a man who knows he will never be reprimanded seriously. Zeus sits opposite him, composed, unreadable, tea already in hand. Rose arrives last, as expected—perfect posture, polite smile, eyes already calculating where to place herself.

Ivy sits between Mother and Father, small but centered, her denim overalls an unspoken declaration of defiance against fragility. She looks… well. Alert. Focused.

Good.

Mother pours the tea herself. “Now,” she says brightly, “Zeus, Edward tells us Ivy had quite the lesson.”

Edward grins like he’s been waiting for his cue. “That’s one way to put it.” 

I shift my attention fully to Zeus. “Go on.”

Edward opens his mouth, but Zeus speaks first.

“Ivy exceeded expectations,” he says calmly.

Father’s brows lift. Mother’s hand pauses mid-pour.

“That’s a strong statement coming from you,” I say evenly.

Zeus inclines his head. “It’s an accurate one. She demonstrated a level of theoretical understanding and applied reasoning that most practitioners don’t reach for years.”

Edward nods enthusiastically. “She corrected him.”

Mother gasps softly. “Edward! Don’t be rude!”

“What? He said it himself.”

I look at Ivy. She shrugs, far too casual for what Zeus just implied.

“You didn’t overexert yourself,” I say, watching her closely.

“No,” she replies honestly. “We worked through concepts. Tea blends. Old medicine.”

Zeus adds, “She didn’t recite information. She evaluated it. Improved formulations. Questioned assumptions.”

That earns my full attention.

Father leans back, pride clear in his eyes. “You hear that?”

“I do,” I say quietly.

Rose lifts her teacup, voice smooth. “I didn’t realize Ivy had studied so extensively.”

Ivy meets her gaze with a polite smile. “I like understanding things properly.”

Rose’s smile tightens—barely. Enough.

Edward leans toward me. “I told you she was dangerous.”

I don’t respond. I’m watching Ivy. The way she holds herself. The way she listens without shrinking. This isn’t recklessness. This is preparation.

“Zeus,” I say after a moment, “are you confident she’s ready for more advanced instruction?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The certainty in that single word matters more than any praise.

I nod once. “Then we proceed carefully.”

Mother reaches for Ivy’s hand, squeezing it. “We’re so proud of you.”

Father smiles. Edward beams. Even Zeus allows himself a faint look of satisfaction.

Rose watches with a grim expression.
I note that too.

The conversation lulls as our teas gold cold, Mother fusses over pastries and Father listens with that quiet, pleased expression he gets when something has gone right without his intervention.

Zeus’s words still hang in the air.
Exceeded expectations.
Improved formulations.
Ready for more.

I watch Ivy as the praise settles on her. She doesn’t preen. She doesn’t deflect either. She simply absorbs it—calm, grounded, eyes bright with something that isn’t arrogance but certainty.

That, more than anything, convinces me.

“I’d like to add something,” I say.

The room stills immediately.

Edward stops mid-reach for another pastry. Mother turns toward me with interest. Father lifts his gaze. Even Rose’s posture sharpens, her attention snapping into place.

I set my cup down deliberately. “Ivy.”

She looks at me, eyebrows lifting slightly. Curious. Wary. She’s learned to be both with me.

“You handled yourself well today,” I continue. “Not just in your lesson—but in how you approached it. You showed restraint. Discipline. Judgment.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction.

Zeus inclines his head in agreement. Edward grins openly now.

“I’ve spent a long time trying to protect you by limiting your exposure,” I admit, choosing my words carefully. “That was necessary once.”

I hold her gaze. “It isn’t anymore.”

The room is silent enough that I can hear Rose’s breath hitch.

“I don’t give empty praise,” I say. “And I don’t give small gifts to mark large milestones.”

Edward’s grin widens. Mother’s hand flies to her mouth.

“I’ve had something prepared that I thought could be a welcome home gift but now with this it is for your achievements,” I continue. “For you.”

I reach into my jacket and remove a folded set of plans, sliding them across the table toward Ivy.

Her eyes flick down. Then widen.

“It’s a greenhouse,” I explain calmly. “Custom-built. Reinforced glass. Climate-controlled. Isolated water lines. Separate access.”

I glance briefly at Zeus. “Suitable for both traditional and experimental cultivation.”

Ivy stares at the plans like they might disappear if she blinks.

“It’s being finished on the south grounds,” I add. “Close enough for security. Far enough for autonomy.”

Edward lets out a low whistle. “You built her a fortress for plants.”

Father chuckles. Mother presses her hands together, eyes shining. “Oh, William.”

Ivy finally looks up at me. “You… did all this?”

“Yes,” I say simply. “You’ve earned the space.”

For a moment, she looks genuinely speechless.

Then she smiles.
Not polite. Not restrained.
Real.

“Thank you,” she says softly. She then runs up to me and hugs me without hesitation. I was surprised at first but then returned the embrace. 

This alone is worth the expense.

Across the table, Rose’s smile has frozen into something brittle. Her fingers tighten around her teacup, knuckles whitening before she catches herself. I see the flicker of irritation she fails to fully bury—the calculation, the resentment.

A gift this large shifts balance.
She knows it.

“That’s… very generous,” Rose says carefully. “A greenhouse is quite an investment.”

“It’s an investment in Ivy,” I reply without looking at her. “There’s a difference.”

The silence that follows is sharp.

Edward, oblivious or pretending to be, claps his hands together. “Well, now she’s officially unstoppable.”

Zeus allows himself a rare smile. “With the proper environment,” he says, “she will surpass most practitioners.”

I stand, signaling the end of the moment before it can be picked apart. “Tea was pleasant,” I say. “Ivy—your greenhouse is all ready and you can start planting what you need tomorrow. Let me know if you need me to order anything, even the seeds you plant.”

Her smile widens again, something fierce and grateful shining through.

As the conversation resumes and Mother pulls her into an embrace, I take in the whole room—the pride, the envy, the shifting lines of power.

Rose is upset. She hides it poorly.
Good.
Because this gift isn’t just encouragement.

It’s a declaration.
Ivy is no longer on the margins of this family’s future.
She is at its center.
And anyone who hasn’t realized that yet—
Will soon.