Chapter 26
“Ting!” The familiar chime of her phone pulled Ivana’s attention.
Winston had messaged: [I thought it might cause problems if I came up, so I’ll wait downstairs. Let me know if you need anything. I’ve made oxtail soup with corn, your favorite. Come home soon.]
A small smile played on her lips. He was always so thoughtful. Though they hadn’t spent much time together, he seemed to understand her in a way that felt like they’d known each other for years.
After class, she headed home, nerves slightly on edge, fearing that Ernest might suddenly appear out of nowhere.
But as she neared her apartment building, she spotted Winston waiting for her. Just seeing him there melted her fear away. She jogged up to him, grinning, “Why did you come down to wait for me?”
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He said, “If you don’t come back, the soup
will be cold.”
Later that evening, a warm bowl of
soup
soothed the chaos of her day. She watched Winston, back to her, washing dishes. Unbidden, his words floated into her mind: “Ivana, will you choose me?”
She lowered her gaze, a faint smile curving her lips. Perhaps… I will.
The doorbell rang suddenly, jolting her thoughts. Her nerves instantly spiked. She rarely had visitors in Paris, even her landlady was seldom around. At this hour, there was only one person it could be, Ernest.
From the sofa, Ivana instinctively curled into herself. Winston dried his hands and
looked at her, “I’ll get it.” She nodded.
“Where’s Ivana?” someone said.
When the door opened, it wasn’t Ernest, but someone even more imposing, Miranda Gilmore. The older woman swept
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an icy, dismissive gaze over Winston, clearly unimpressed.
“I’m Ernest’s mother,” she said briskly.
“We’ve met before. May I come in to speak with you?”
Ivana hesitated. This iron–fisted mother had once left a deep shadow on her.
Her tone, though polite on the surface, allowed no room for refusal. Before Ivana could respond, Miranda stepped inside, claiming a seat across from her with the kind of commanding presence that always left an oppressive impression.
Winston stood silently to one side, his expression unreadable.
The atmosphere was hostile, though neither Ivana nor Winston offered tea or greetings, they made no attempt to hide. how unwelcome the visit was.
With practiced ease, Miranda produced a card and slid it across the table, “Here’s five million. If you go back to my son, I’ll give
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you an additional five million.”
It was a replay of her actions five years ago. But as before, Ivana returned the card without hesitation, “I won’t go back to him.”
“You’d better think this through,” Miranda warned, her tone sharp. “A man like him, what can he offer a woman? Today, he’s sitting here. Tomorrow, he might not
survive.”
Ivana met her gaze without flinching. “Then, Mrs. Gilmore,” she said evenly, “What were you hoping for back then with Mr. Gilmore? What could a man like him offer a woman like you?”
Ivana was a person who protects her own people. As long as someone was included in her circle, she would not stand being bullied and she would not say a few words.
The jab hit its mark. For a moment, Miranda’s poised mask cracked and anger flickered in her eyes. “My life is none of your concern,” she hissed.
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“My life is not yours either,” Ivana’s voice was calm yet resolute.
Miranda scowled, furious but unable to retort. Tossing the card at Winston, she sneered, “Think carefully. Putting out fires for a lifetime, you’ll never see five million.”
Her voice dripped with disdain as she spat, “And you, little bastard, you dare challenge the Gilmore Family?”
Winston’s face remained impassive, though his fists clenched tightly at his sides. It was agony, the murderer of his mother
standing right before him, yet he was powerless to act.
Ivana noticed and gently squeezed his hand, grounding him. She stood and began. closing the door, only to pause when she caught sight of Ernest standing at the
stairwell.
He was disheveled and bruised, his face a mess of cuts and swelling. His usually meticulous appearance had completely
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crumbled, leaving him looking like a homeless vagabond on the streets of Paris.
