When Ivy Delacroix opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the soft, golden light streaming through an ornate chandelier above her.
The unfamiliar surroundings had an air of sophistication, high ceilings, polished floors, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum.
She blinked, trying to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through the back of her neck.
She winced, letting out a low groan as her hand instinctively reached for the sore spot.
Itook a moment for the haze in her mind to clear.
Where am I?
What happened?
She scanned the room, taking in the luxurious furnishings.
The bed she lay in was enormous, with silken sheets and plush pillows, and the bedside table held her bag and sunglasses.
The last thing she remembered was the old lady, the attempted kidnapping, the fight, and then... darkness.
Her gaze lingered on the finely crafted details of the room.
Could this be the old lady's home?
Did her people bring me here after I fainted?
Ivy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of house slippers thoughtfully left beside the bed.
She grabbed her bag and sunglasses, slinging the strap over her shoulder before heading toward the door.
When she stepped out, she nearly bumped into a young servant carrying a tray of tea.
"Excuse me," Ivy said politely, flashing her brightest smile. "Can you tell me how to get to the exit?"
The servant froze, momentarily stunned by Ivy's dazzling grin.
After a second of awkward silence, the servant pointed down the hallway.
"Go straight, take a left at the first corner, then a right, and you'll see the stairs."
"Thank you," Ivy said warmly. "And could you let your old lady know I'm leaving now?"
Tlhe servant nodded quickly. "Of course, miss."
Without waiting for further questions, Ivy followed the servant's directions.
Her footsteps were light and quick as she navigated the grand corridors of the house.
Soon, she found herself outside, hailing a taxi. As the vehicle pulled away from the driveway, she glanced out the window.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce passed by in the opposite direction, its windows tinted dark.
Ivy paid it no mind, her thoughts preoccupied with piecing together what had just happened.
Meanwhile, inside the sprawling mansion of the Northcott family, a tall, broad-shouldered figure entered the grand foyer.
Valerian Northcott, dressed in a sharp tailored suit, handed his coat to the butler, Sawyer Clarke.
"Master," Sawyer greeted, bowing slightly as he took the jacket.
Valerian's expression was unreadable, his voice low and steady. "Where is Grandma?"
"She's resting in her bedroom upstairs," Clarke replied.
Valerian's steps were long and purposeful as he headed for the staircase, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor.
Sawyer hurried to keep up with him.
"How is she?" Valerian asked without breaking his stride.
Sawyer hesitated for a moment. "She hasn't woken up since returning home. The doctor says she's stable but needs rest."
They had just reached the second floor when a servant rushed toward them, her face pale with nervousness.
"Master Northcott!" she called, her voice slightly breathless.
Valerian stopped, turning his sharp gaze toward her. "What is it?"
The servant swallowed hard. "The old lady has just woken up, but… she's asking for someone."
Valerian frowned slightly. "Who?"
"She keeps asking for someone named Miss Vivi," the servant replied hesitantly, glancing between him and Sawyer.