Chapter 5 A Cold Welcome

As Ivy and Anna approached, they saw three people were already seated in the dining room.

Olivia sat at the head of the table, stern and dressed impeccably. Her piercing eyes that could slice steel.

Isabella was unmistakable in a cream blouse, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. Next to her, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties lounged in his chair with a smirk on his face, a navy blazer hanging carelessly off one shoulder. He oozed arrogance.

Ivy didn't need a formal introduction to know who he was. She greeted everyone politely but barely received any acknowledgement.

Anna pulled out a chair for Ivy, and she sat stiffly on the seat reserved for her opposite her in-laws.

"Ivy, this is my husband, Ken," Isabella said blandly, referring to the man slouching in his seat.

"Pleasure," Ivy murmured, offering a nod.

"Sorry, I missed the wedding," Ken said with a smirk. "I had some very important business to attend to yesterday. Although I heard the event was quite... spectacular."

Ivy wasn't sure if she was required to offer a polite response to Ken, but she remained silent. The guy was insufferable and reminded her of her slimy stepfather.

"I must say, though, Lorenzo's taste appears to be evolving," Ken said with a catty grin, eyeing Ivy like she was a new accessory.

Ivy raised a brow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Ken chuckled and sipped his coffee without answering.

Isabella shot him a glance that could freeze water. "Ken," she said, her voice sweet but sharp.

"Just making conversation," he said, shrugging.

A waiter appeared with a silver tray and laid out a full breakfast: fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a delicate spinach quiche.

Ivy had never eaten anything this fancy for breakfast. Heck, she was a cereal-and-coffee girl, and even that was a stretch most days.

She noticed everyone used cloth napkins and tiny utensils, cutting everything into perfect bites. Ivy did her best to imitate them, but she could feel their eyes on her. Judging. Measuring.

"So," Olivia began, breaking the silence, "what are your intentions with my son?"

Ivy nearly choked on her orange juice. "Excuse me?"

Olivia folded his hands and continued, "This arrangement came together quickly. You're a stranger to us, yet you now carry our name. I want to understand your purpose here. How did you convince my son to choose you of all people?"

Isabella sighed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Mother, we should probably respect Lorenzo's decision."

"I didn't ask Lorenzo. I asked her," Olivia retorted.

Ivy straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze evenly. "With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not here to prove myself to anyone. Lorenzo and I have an understanding. That's between us."

Olivia pinned Ivy with a hard look. "Marriage is a serious commitment, and I hope you are fully aware of that. Nobody in this family will tolerate any sort of disrespect or disorderly behavior from you. Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Ivy responded flatly.

Ken whistled softly. "Feisty. I like her."

"Do you always flirt with your sister-in-law at breakfast?" Ivy asked sweetly, tilting her head.

Isabella choked on her coffee, coughing into her napkin.

Ivy calmly returned to her meal. The rest of breakfast passed in awkward silence.

Olivia barely spoke, Ken smirked whenever Ivy made eye contact, and Isabella looked like she was silently begging God for patience.

When she finally escaped back to her suite, Ivy collapsed onto the velvet chaise and let out a long sigh.

This world was cold, glittering, and filled with landmines. And Lorenzo? Nowhere to be found.

Ivy picked up her phone, hesitating before opening her texts. Still nothing. No message. No call. Not even a cryptic emoji.

Ivy tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. She had agreed to this arrangement because she thought she could handle it, but so far, all she'd done was survive. And surviving in silk sheets was still just surviving.

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The days slipped by like whispered secrets through the grand hallways of the Martinelli mansion. Ivy, once a woman of humble means and noisy mornings, now woke up to the muffled elegance of too many pillows and a bed too large for one.

Her suite was a cocoon of luxury: silk drapes, marble floors, gold-gilded furniture. Yet each ornate detail only made her feel more like a prisoner of someone else's fantasy.

Anna, her primary maid, treated her with a deference that felt awkwardly regal. She would enter each morning with a gentle knock, draw the curtains to let in the soft daylight, and lay out Ivy's clothes on the chaise by the window.

Ivy tried, at first, to make small talk, asking Anna where she was from, how long she had worked here, and whether she liked it. But Anna only responded with polite smiles and short, careful sentences, as if she feared becoming too familiar.

Breakfast was sometimes served in the solarium, a glass-walled room overlooking the garden. Ivy sat at a long, glossy table that could seat twenty, but most mornings it was just her, Isabella, and occasionally, Giulia. Their mother would join when it suited her, wrapped in silk robes and silence.

The conversations, if they could be called that, were clipped and chilly. Giulia would scroll through her phone, occasionally commenting on fashion trends or pop-culture gossip. Ivy was always left out of the conversations, as if she were invincible.

Sometimes, Ken would join them for breakfast, looking slightly drunk or high, or both. He oozed the kind of arrogance that didn't require words - it hung around him like bespoke cologne.

Ivy always dreaded his presence because of the lewd looks he directed at her and his consistently rude remarks. He once called her "Lorenzo's little project" with a smirk so oily it could've fried eggs.

Ivy always looked forward to the end of these humiliating daily rituals. This morning, she excused herself from the breakfast table as soon as it was polite to do so.

Back in her suite, she stood by the window and stared out at the garden. Lorenzo was still a ghost in her new life. She had not seen him since their wedding night.

At first, she thought perhaps he was giving her space. Then she rationalized that he must be busy. But now, four days in, his silence felt like a cruel joke.

Despite the glamor of the estate and the endless luxury that surrounded her, Ivy felt like a ghost gliding through someone else's life.

Each night, she waited, foolishly perhaps, hoping he might come to her door. He never did.

Anna, always kind but always careful, never said much. But Ivy had learned to listen. She knew Lorenzo came home late. She heard his voice in the hallway sometimes, low and steady, sometimes sharp with urgency. Always muffled. Always distant.

One night, she had stood behind her door and listened. It was around midnight, and his voice floated in like a secret. He laughed lightly at something someone said on the phone, his tone relaxed in a way Ivy had never heard before.

Ivy waited, breath held. But the footsteps never approached her door. The silence became unbearable.

She had explored parts of the estate just to keep from going insane. The library became a refuge. Giulia had shown it to her once with a casual, "I guess you read, right?"

Ivy simply had nodded, too exhausted to explain that she used to devour books at the public library in between her odd jobs.

The books didn't judge. The walls didn't whisper. Still, none of it filled the void Lorenzo had left.

It wasn't love she craved, at least not yet. It was decency. Acknowledgment. Proof that she wasn't just some pawn in a rich man's game.

Later that night, Ivy couldn't take it anymore. It was nearly one in the morning. She hadn't heard him come in, but she sensed his presence in the house. The subtle shift in the air, the sudden quiet.

Ivy stood in front of her mirror, brushed her auburn curls back, and slipped on the satin robe Anna had left out. Her blue eyes shone with determination.

Tonight, she would confront her husband. Enough was enough!

With a deep breath, Ivy adjusted her robe and checked her reflection one more time in the mirror before leaving her suite. Her bare feet padded across the carpeted hallways as she made her way silently to Lorenzo's suite.