The ring sparkled in Ivy Langston’s palm as she handed it to Knox’s secretary, her manicured fingers closing around the velvet box like a quiet promise.
“Tell him I’ve already picked the dress too,” she said with a confident smile before turning on her heel and walking away, heels clicking with the finality of a sealed fate.
Inside his office, Knox sat frozen, his gaze locked on the file in his hands. The photo of the note Aria had received—Your father isn’t dead. Yet—glowed faintly from his screen, but it was Ivy’s sudden appearance and her audacity that churned his stomach. Ivy, with her practiced poise and self-assured elegance, was a ghost of the world he thought he’d escaped—one built on appearances, expectations, and cold-blooded deals.
Then his phone rang.
“Langston,” he answere
