Chapter 3 THE MOTHER'S BLESSING

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and dying flowers.

Ivy stood in the doorway of her mother's private room at Mount Sinai, struck by how small she looked in the hospital bed. Catherine Monroe:once Catherine Sutton, before they'd both changed their names and fled their old lives-had always been a force of nature. Sharp-tongued, brilliant, a political strategist who'd helped elect senators and shape policy before everything collapsed. Now cancer had whittled her down to bones and papery skin, her dark hair gone thin from treatments.

But her eyes were still sharp when they landed on Damien Blackwood standing beside Ivy.

"Well," Catherine said, her voice weak but dry with amusement. "This is unexpected."

Damien moved forward with easy confidence, the perfect devoted fiancé. He'd dressed down for the visit-still expensive, but dark jeans and a black sweater instead of a suit, an attempt at casual that somehow made him look even more devastating. "Mrs. Monroe. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Damien Blackwood."

"I know who you are." Catherine's eyes narrowed. "I made it my business to know after my daughter called saying her 'new job' involved moving into a penthouse overnight." She looked at Ivy. "Did you think I wouldn't ask questions, sweetheart?"

Ivy's stomach dropped. She should have known her mother would investigate. Catherine might be dying, but she wasn't helpless. "Mom-"

"Sit down, both of you." Catherine gestured to the chairs beside her bed. "And tell me what's really going on here."

Damien sat with easy grace, apparently unfazed. Ivy remained standing, her mind racing through possible explanations, ways to spin this that wouldn't worry her mother, wouldn't reveal the contract, wouldn't-

"We're getting married because I need a wife and Ivy needs money for your treatment," Damien said calmly. "It's a business arrangement that benefits us both. We're both aware of what this is. No one is being deceived."

Ivy's head snapped toward him. What the hell was he doing?

Catherine was silent for a long moment, studying Damien with an intensity that had once made politicians squirm. "At least you're honest about it."

"I don't see the point in lying to a woman clearly intelligent enough to see through it," Damien replied. "You want to know if I'm going to hurt your daughter. The answer is no, not intentionally. We have a contract. Clear terms. Clear benefits. At the end of one year, Ivy will walk away financially secure, and your medical care will continue to be fully funded regardless of our marital status."

"How generous." Catherine's voice dripped sarcasm. "And what about her heart? What about the year of her life you're buying? What happens when this business arrangement gets messy, as these things always do?"

"It won't," Damien said firmly. "We're both going into this with our eyes open. No false expectations. No romantic delusions."

Catherine looked at Ivy. "Is this what you want, sweetheart?"

Ivy sank into the chair, taking her mother's thin hand. The IVs and monitors made her look so fragile, so mortal. "I want you to live, Mom. I want you to get the treatment that will actually work. This is how I make that happen."

"By selling yourself to a stranger?"

"By making a strategic choice," Ivy corrected. "Isn't that what you always taught me? That sometimes survival requires making hard decisions?"

Catherine's eyes glistened. "Not like this. Not sacrificing your future for me."

"I'm not sacrificing anything." Ivy squeezed her mother's hand gently. "It's one year. And at the end, I'll have enough money to actually build a future,for me and for the baby."

"The baby." Catherine's gaze sharpened, moving between Ivy and Damien. "That part of the arrangement too?"

"No," Ivy said quietly. "That was my mistake before any of this. But Damien has agreed to claim the child as his, to provide for it. The baby gets a secure future too."

Catherine was silent, absorbing this. Then she looked at Damien with an expression Ivy recognized-the one that had once made her father confess to affairs, made campaign managers admit to embezzlement, made truth spill out in self-defense.

"You know who we really are," Catherine said. It wasn't a question.

Damien nodded. "Ivy Sutton. Daughter of Richard Sutton. Yes, I know."

"And you're not concerned about the scandal? About your pristine reputation being linked to a disgraced family?"

"I'm more concerned about my cousin seizing control of my company," Damien replied. "Everything else is manageable. Besides, your ex-husband's crimes aren't Ivy's responsibility. She was a victim of his actions, not a co-conspirator."

"That's not how the world saw it," Catherine said bitterly. "They destroyed her. A twenty-one-year-old girl, and they tore her apart in the press."

"They did," Damien agreed. "Which is why if her past comes to light, we'll control how it's presented. Ivy rebuilt herself through honest work and determination. That's admirable, not shameful. Any media outlet that tries to make it otherwise will find themselves dealing with my legal team."

Despite everything, Ivy felt a flicker of warmth toward him. He was defending her strategically, yes, as part of protecting his investment, but still. It was more than anyone else had done five years ago.

Catherine studied Damien for another long moment. Then she sighed. "You're cold, Mr. Blackwood. Calculating. Everything about you screams danger." She looked at Ivy. "But he's honest about what he is. That's rarer than you'd think."

"I'm not going to hurt her, Mrs. Monroe," Damien said quietly. "That's not part of our agreement."

"Hurt comes in many forms," Catherine replied. "Not all of them are intentional."

The door opened, interrupting the moment. A nurse entered with medications, and the conversation shifted to treatment protocols and schedules. Damien listened with apparent interest, asking intelligent questions about the experimental therapy Catherine was starting, the expected timeline, the side effects.

He was good at this, Ivy realized. The performance of caring. He looked like a concerned future son-in-law, attentive and supportive. If she didn't know better, she'd believe he actually gave a damn.

But she did know better. This was just another role, another strategic play.

After thirty minutes, Catherine's energy was clearly flagging. Damien stood smoothly. "We should let you rest. But I'll ensure you have everything you need-anything at all, just tell the staff. They have instructions to accommodate any request."

Catherine's eyes softened slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood."

"Damien," he corrected gently. "We're family now."

The word 'family' hung in the air like a beautiful lie. Ivy kissed her mother's forehead, promising to return tomorrow, and followed Damien into the hallway. They walked in silence to the elevator, and Ivy waited until they were inside, doors closed, before rounding on him.

"Why did you tell her the truth?"

"Because she deserved it," Damien said simply. "And because she would have figured it out anyway. Your mother is sharp, Ivy. Lying to her would have only created more problems."

"You could have jeopardized everything! The NDA-"

"Includes provisions for immediate family," Damien interrupted. "Your mother is covered under confidentiality requirements. She can't reveal the arrangement without facing legal consequences, which she won't risk because it would void your contract and end her treatment." His voice was matter-of-fact. "I read the fine print, Ivy. Did you?"

She had, actually, but she'd missed that particular clause. Ivy sagged against the elevator wall, suddenly exhausted. "I thought you'd be angry. About her knowing."

"Why would I be angry about honesty?" Damien's gray eyes studied her. "The whole point of this arrangement is that we both know what it is. Pretending otherwise helps no one."

The elevator opened onto the hospital lobby. Damien's driver was waiting at the curb, the black Mercedes gleaming in the afternoon sun. But as they approached, a commotion erupted:cameras flashing, reporters appearing from nowhere, shouting questions.

"Mr. Blackwood! Is it true you're only marrying to satisfy your grandmother's will?"

"Ivy! How does it feel to go from housekeeper to billionaire's wife?"

"Are you pregnant with Damien's baby or someone else's?"

Damien's hand found the small of Ivy's back, guiding her forward through the chaos with security materializing around them. His face was a mask of cold displeasure, but he said nothing, just moved with purposeful authority toward the car.

They were almost there when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Ivy! Ivy Sutton!"

Ivy's blood turned to ice. She turned slowly, and there he was-Reese Winters, older but still recognizable. Handsome in that polished, preppy way, wearing a suit that screamed family money. His blue eyes held malicious satisfaction.

"It is you," Reese said, loud enough for every camera to hear. "I thought so when I saw the engagement photos. Ivy Sutton, daughter of the criminal Richard Sutton. Looks like you've found another family to gold-dig your way into."

The cameras went absolutely insane. Ivy stood frozen, five years of carefully constructed identity crumbling in seconds. Beside her, she felt Damien go still, his body radiating lethal tension.

"I don't believe we've met," Damien said, his voice dangerously soft. "You are?"

"Reese Winters. I used to date Ivy, back when she was still pretending to be someone respectable." Reese smiled, all teeth and venom. "Did you tell him, Ivy? About how you tried to trap me into marriage? About how your family bilked millions from honest donors?"

"That's enough," Damien said flatly.

"Oh, I don't think so." Reese stepped closer, and Ivy could smell his expensive cologne, could see the cruel satisfaction in his eyes. "The public deserves to know who you're really marrying, Blackwood. This girl is-"

He didn't get to finish. Damien moved with shocking speed, his hand shooting out to grip Reese's wrist in what looked like a friendly handshake but was clearly painful based on Reese's sudden grimace.

"Listen very carefully," Damien said, his voice low enough that only Reese and Ivy could hear. "My fiancée's past is exactly that-past. If you value your family's business connections, their social standing, or your ability to walk without a limp, you'll get out of my sight right now and never speak to or about Ivy again. Are we clear?"

Reese tried to pull away, but Damien held firm. "You can't threaten-"

"I'm not threatening. I'm making you a promise." Damien's smile was terrifying. "Your family's investment firm has three major clients that happen to be my subsidiaries. How long do you think Winters Financial survives losing all three contracts? And that's just the beginning of what I can do to you."

He released Reese's wrist with a slight shove. Reese stumbled back, his face red with humiliation and anger. But he said nothing else, just glared at both of them before disappearing into the crowd.

Damien turned to the cameras, his expression shifting to polite boredom. "My fiancée's father made mistakes that hurt many people. Ivy was not responsible for those mistakes. She was a victim of them. She's spent the last five years rebuilding her life with integrity and hard work. I admire that greatly. Anyone who attempts to smear her because of her father's crimes will be dealing with me directly. That's the last I'll say on the subject."

He guided Ivy to the car, and the security team finally got the door open. They slid inside, and the Mercedes pulled smoothly into traffic, leaving the chaos behind.

Ivy sat rigid in her seat, her hands shaking. Everything was falling apart. The contract, the arrangement, her carefully hidden identity,all of it exposed in seconds because Reese Winters was a vindictive bastard who couldn't stand seeing her potentially happy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. This is going to destroy everything-"

"Stop." Damien's hand covered hers, startling her. His palm was warm, solid, real. "This changes nothing."

"How can you say that? My identity is exposed! The gold-digger accusations, my father's crimes, all of it is going to be front-page news-"

"Good," Damien interrupted. "Let it come out now, all at once, when we control the narrative. I meant what I said-you're not responsible for your father's actions. And the fact that you rebuilt yourself from nothing only makes you more sympathetic."

Ivy stared at him. "You're not angry?"

"Why would I be?" Damien's thumb moved absently across her knuckles, and Ivy wondered if he even realized he was still holding her hand. "I knew about your past before I made the contract. This was always a possibility. The question is-can you handle this? Can you face the media storm and hold your head high?"

Could she? Ivy thought about the girl she'd been at twenty-one, terrified and broken, fleeing in the middle of the night. She thought about the woman she'd become, surviving through sheer determination, working herself half to death to save her mother.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I can handle it."

Damien nodded, something like approval flickering in his eyes. "Then we'll face it together. United front, remember? You're not alone in this, Ivy."

The words were probably strategic, part of the performance. But sitting in the back of the car with his hand still holding hers, the city blurring past the tinted windows, Ivy let herself believe them anyway.

Just for a moment.

The media storm hit before they made it back to the penthouse.

Ivy's phone exploded with notifications:texts from numbers she didn't recognize, social media mentions that quickly overwhelmed her locked-down accounts, news alerts with headlines that made her stomach churn.

*"BILLIONAIRE'S BRIDE REVEALED AS DISGRACED POLITICIAN'S DAUGHTER"*

*"IVY SUTTON: FROM SCANDAL TO CINDERELLA?"*

*"BLACKWOOD'S PREGNANT FIANCÉE EXPOSED: THE TRUTH ABOUT IVY MONROE"*

Margot was waiting in the penthouse, tablet glowing with damage control plans. "It's manageable," she said immediately, seeing Ivy's pale face. "We're pushing the survivor narrative hard. Your mother's illness, your honest work, the fact that you were twenty-one and blameless when the scandal hit. Public sentiment is actually trending sympathetic."

"How is that possible?" Ivy asked numbly.

"Because Reese Winters looked like an asshole on camera," Margot said bluntly. "Ambushing a pregnant woman at her mother's hospital? Bad optics. And Damien's defense of you is playing very well;the protective fiancé, standing by his woman despite her past. It's romantic."

"It's strategic," Damien corrected, but his voice lacked its usual edge. He was watching Ivy with an intensity she didn't understand.

"Romance and strategy aren't mutually exclusive," Margot replied. "The Atlantic piece just posted-'Damien Blackwood Finds Love Beyond Status: How Ivy Sutton Proves Character Over Background.' It's viral."

Damien took the tablet, scanning rapidly. His expression remained neutral, but something tightened around his eyes. "Who wrote this?"

"Amanda Pierce. She's generally reputable, no history of hit pieces."

"Get her on the phone. I want to know her source."

While Margot made the call, Ivy moved to the windows, staring out at the city that was currently tearing her life apart on social media. She felt Damien approach, his presence warm at her back.

"This is temporary," he said quietly. "In three days, something else will be the story. In a week, you'll be old news. That's how the cycle works."

"Unless they keep digging," Ivy replied. "Unless they find something else. Unless-"

"Then we deal with it." Damien's voice was firm. "Together. That's the point of this arrangement, Ivy. You don't face this alone anymore."

She turned to look at him, this cold, calculating man who'd bought her presence in his life but was now defending her like she actually mattered. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Damien's expression flickered-surprise, maybe, or something more complicated. "I'm protecting my investment."

"Bullshit." The word surprised them both. "You could have thrown me under the bus back there. Claimed you didn't know about my past, positioned yourself as a victim of my deception. It would have been cleaner for you."

"Cleaner," Damien agreed. "But wrong."

"Since when do you care about right and wrong?"

"Since-" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "You're carrying a child, Ivy. Whatever else this arrangement is, I won't let a pregnant woman be destroyed by vultures. That's the line I won't cross."

It was the most human thing she'd heard him say. Ivy felt something shift in her chest, a dangerous softening toward this man who claimed to have no heart.

Margot cleared her throat. "Amanda Pierce is on the line. She wants to schedule an interview with both of you. A chance to tell your story properly."

Damien and Ivy exchanged glances. "Together?" Ivy asked.

"Together," Damien confirmed. He took the phone from Margot. "Ms. Pierce? Damien Blackwood. My fiancée and I will grant you one exclusive interview. Tomorrow, six p.m., at my office. One hour, no cameras, just you. Agreed?" He listened, then nodded. "Good. See you then."

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Margot. "Cancel everything on my schedule tomorrow after five. And get me everything on Reese Winters:financials, business dealings, personal life. I want to know every vulnerability he has."

"You're going after him?" Ivy asked.

"He came after you," Damien replied, his voice cold. "That makes him my problem. No one touches what's mine without consequences."

*What's mine.* The possessive words sent a shiver down Ivy's spine that she absolutely should not be feeling. This was fake. A transaction. Damien didn't actually think of her as his.

Except he'd defended her like she was. Threatened Reese like she mattered. Was looking at her now with an intensity that made her skin feel too tight.

"I should prepare for tomorrow," Ivy said, needing distance. "The interview."

"We'll prepare together," Damien said. "After dinner. We need our stories perfectly aligned."

Of course. Back to strategy. Back to the performance.

But as Ivy walked to her room to change, she couldn't shake the memory of Damien's hand covering hers in the car, his quiet assurance that she wasn't alone. It was dangerous to read meaning into calculated gestures. Dangerous to want them to be real.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling the slight flutter of nausea that had become familiar. "Your father is complicated," she whispered to the baby. "And this is all going to be very, very messy."