Chapter 4 Awkward Breakfast

If Ivy had known how weird her morning was going to be, she would've called in sick and blamed food poisoning or a sudden existential crisis. But no-she had showed up, hair damp, shoes squeaky, determined to survive another day in the mansion of emotional dysfunction.

"Take this to the east veranda," Mrs. Santiago barked, handing her a tray with eggs, toast, and a coffee that smelled like punishment.

Ivy took the tray. "Veranda? You mean the balcony thing that looks like a Bond villain should be monologuing from it?"

The housekeeper gave her a long-suffering look. "Don't spill the coffee."

"Got it. Liquid danger to the villain's lair. On it."

By the time Ivy reached the veranda, the tray was trembling from her nerves and the three near-misses with decorative vases worth more than her soul.

She found Amira already seated at the edge of the table, staring at the horizon like it owed her something.

"Breakfast," Ivy announced like she was presenting an offering to a bored queen.

Amira turned, eyes clearing. "You again."

"You sound surprised."

"I thought Elias said you'd be fired by noon."

"He tried. Mrs. Santiago threatened to quit. I'm a cockroach. I survive."

That made Amira smile. "Sit with me."

"I'm staff. I'm not allowed to sit."

"I'm the wife. I'm allowed to break rules."

Ivy hesitated, then perched on the stone bench. "You sure you want people seeing this?"

"They already think I'm a gold-digger. Might as well add rebel to the list."

They shared a quiet moment as Amira poked her eggs and Ivy snagged a piece of toast.

"You always like this?" Amira asked. "Sarcastic. Unbothered. Unfirable."

"Pretty much. I grew up with four brothers. Sarcasm's a defense mechanism and a survival trait."

"Explains the toast theft."

"Explains why I haven't run screaming from this place yet."

Amira chewed slowly. "Why haven't you?"

Ivy stared out over the lawn. "Because I've got a plan. And a deadline. And this job, for all its 'marry-your-boss' soap opera energy, pays more than anything else I can get with no degree and a smart mouth."

"Fair."

A beat passed.

"So, how's your fake honeymoon?" Ivy asked innocently.

Amira shot her a look. "There was no honeymoon. Unless you count tense dinners and cryptic stares across the library."

Ivy grinned. "Sounds romantic."

**

Downstairs, Elias wasn't in a romantic mood.

He was in a Damien mood-which meant he was pacing, frustrated, and deeply irritated that someone was five minutes late for their usual morning update.

Damien finally entered, unbothered, coffee in one hand and a smug look in the other.

"You're late," Elias said flatly.

"You're married," Damien shot back. "We're all adjusting."

Elias ignored the jab. "Is the file ready?"

"Yup. Bank mergers, stock performance, one bribed official, and your wife's social media history."

"I said no background checks."

"I said curiosity would win. I was right."

Elias flipped through the folder anyway. Amira's past was cleaner than expected-no scandals, no drama, just a regular, scrappy sort of life. She'd lived alone most of her twenties, worked three jobs at one point, had a taste for bad TV and older books.

Normal.

Too normal.

"She's hiding something," Elias muttered.

Damien raised a brow. "You married her because she wasn't hiding anything."

"I married her because she didn't know anything."

"Same thing, boss."

**

Back on the veranda, Amira had finished most of her breakfast and was now helping Ivy polish a pair of wine glasses "for the vibes."

"You're different," Ivy said suddenly. "Not just from the usual girls. From everyone here. You don't act like this life impresses you."

"It doesn't."

"That's either really honest... or a red flag."

Amira looked at her. "I'm not here to play a role."

"Then what are you here for?"

A pause.

"I haven't figured that out yet."

**

Later, in the hallway, Ivy passed Elias.

He didn't speak. Just looked at her in that calculating way he did with everyone.

But this time, Ivy smiled first.

"Morning, sir," she chirped. "Lovely day to brood in expensive silence."

Elias blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said it's nice out."

And with that, she slipped away.

Elias watched her go. Then muttered under his breath, "Trouble."

**

Meanwhile, in the far wing of the house, Amira found herself face-to-face with a door she hadn't opened yet.

The music room.

She stepped inside. Light filtered through stained glass, catching dust in the air like tiny floating secrets. A grand piano sat in the center-quiet, untouched.

She walked over.

Ran a finger along the edge.

And sat.

Her fingers hovered over the keys. She hadn't played in years.

Then, slowly, she pressed one note.

Then another.

Then a chord.

It wasn't perfect. But it wasn't bad.

She closed her eyes.

And played.

Not because anyone was listening.

But because it felt like the one part of herself she still remembered.