Keep Your Distance, Mr. Warrington!

Ivy Ashford's morning began with the deliciously scandalous headline: "Hugo Sinclair, the primary heir of the Sinclair Group, reported for soliciting a prostitute at a hotel. Shockingly, the woman in question turns out to be Elise Ashford, the Ashford family's illegitimate daughter!"

Ivy found immense joy in this uproar. The most satisfying deed of her life? Calmly mailing photos of her ex-boyfriend's escapade to various media outlets. Imagining the little wretch's fury upon seeing the news brought Ivy unspeakable delight. She practically floated with glee.

In two words: Utterly satisfying.

She rolled out of bed, breezed through her morning routine, and descended the stairs humming a merry tune, her smile blooming outrageously.

"Good morning, Grandfather!" she chirped.

"Morning, Aunt Gwendolyn!"

"And a very good morning to you, Uncle Xavier!"

Master Ashford, seated at the breakfast table, seemed oblivious to her presence, absorbed in his smartphone screen. Ivy, ever observant, immediately sensed his mood was off. Aunt Gwendolyn’s meaningful glance confirmed her suspicions.

What now? Did he discover the flowers she'd stealthily clipped?

Ivy’s heart leaped to her throat as she sneaked a peek at Master Ashford's phone screen. The sight nearly sent her into a fit of laughter.

There it was, the salacious news of Hugo and Elise, the scandalous couple, directly resulting from her own crafty handiwork. The photos had gone viral, causing a sensation.

What an exquisite, artistic triumph!

Settling back into her chair, Ivy basked in her own coolness.

Master Ashford, his face a testament to years of shrewdness, shot her a piercing glance. "Feeling particularly cheerful today?"

Ivy, momentarily caught off guard, managed a sheepish chuckle. "I'm always in high spirits..."

"Your doing?" Master Ashford cut to the chase.

Choking on her bread at his directness, Ivy internally lamented. He had the uncanny ability to read her like an open book.

Admitting defeat, she confessed, "Yes, it was me. They had it coming."

Expecting a tempest of rebuke, she was instead met with approval.

Master Ashford nodded, seemingly impressed, "Well done, indeed."

He even rewarded her with a chicken leg on her plate.

Huh?

Indeed, this was her doting grandfather, a man who believed in settling scores—a lesson he'd instilled in her from a young age.

As Ivy savored her chicken leg, basking in the glow of familial approval, Master Ashford added, "However, regarding your father..."

"Ivy!"

Before Master Ashford could finish, Tristan Ashford's irate voice thundered through the room. Ivy nonchalantly dropped the chicken bone she was nibbling on and glanced towards the man storming down the stairs, his face ablaze with fury. Oh, was he on a righteous mission now?

Slamming his hands on the table, Tristan nearly deafened Ivy. "Elise can't get recognition from the Ashfords, that’s one thing. But now, you’re tarnishing her reputation, aiming to ruin her life?"

She's blamed for his ex-fling getting caught in the act? Really?

A frosty glimmer surfaced in Ivy's eyes, her smile sharp. "Was it me who delivered Elise into my fiancé’s bed?"

"Besides, it was the journalists who caught her, not me! Dad, I’m the victim here. How does it make sense to lash out at me?"

"But Elise said it was you who reported them!" Tristan, pale with anger, his lips trembling.

"You believe whatever she says?" Ivy remained composed, her smile unwavering. "So if she accuses me of arms dealing or drug trafficking to the police, am I to be executed on the spot?"

"Does she have evidence? Do you?"

She seriously doubted her father's sanity at this point. Setting aside the fact she left no trace, even if there was evidence, what of it?

One's a green tea bitch rolling in the sheets with her sister’s husband, and the other's a man who can't keep his pants zipped around women.

Ha...

Ivy would boldly call them both lowlifes to their faces, but that would be sullying her own mouth. They weren't worth the spit.

"You..." Tristan was seething, his teeth grinding as he raised his hand towards Ivy.

Seeing this, Master Ashford's eyes sparked with anger, and he coughed forcefully.

Tristan's hand froze mid-air, much to the relief of the servants around. With Master Ashford present, Tristan could hardly stir up any trouble.

Tristan fixed Ivy with a stern look, trying hard to contain his rage. "Ivy, regardless of whether it was you or not, you must come forward and prove it!"

"Prove? Prove what?" Ivy's gaze flickered with mockery, nonchalantly biting into another chicken leg her grandfather had served her.

Tsk, juicy without being greasy, if only that disgraceful duo hadn't spoiled her appetite.

Tristan exhaled deeply, his breathing still ragged from anger. "Prove that it was you in Hugo’s bed that night, not Elise."

Patience was a virtue Tristan lacked when it came to his daughter. Ivy had never once called him 'Dad' with any semblance of respect, always ready to challenge him.

Always trying to outdo him despite her tender age! How could she compare to Elise's sweet compliance...

Just thinking of Elise's voice, hoarse from crying, clinging to his arm and blaming Ivy for her plight, made him yearn to slap Ivy not once, but twice.

Ivy's eyebrows danced with scorn as she casually remarked, "Sure thing. If Dad's worried about the Ashfords becoming a laughingstock, how about having Elise come and apologize to me in person? Maybe, just maybe, I'll feel generous enough to let her off the hook." With that, she gave Tristan a glance, her face the picture of serenity, though her eyes were icy cold.

Tristan's complexion darkened alarmingly as he grabbed Ivy, his tone resolute, "Look at yourself! Do you even consider me as your father?!"

"I'm telling you now, as long as I'm here, you're making that proof!"

Ah, brandishing his paternal power as if it's a royal scepter? Expecting me, the aggrieved party, to humbly exonerate the interloper who dared to encroach on my territory?

Is he an idiot?

Watching him stand there, so full of himself, as if he's the only right one in the world, Ivy couldn't help but feel a surge of laughter bubbling inside.

Effortlessly shrugging off Tristan's grip, Ivy's lips twisted into a frosty smile, "Sorry, I call my own shots. Black or white, right or wrong, I know the score. And as I said, if you want me to let her off the hook, she can come and grovel for my forgiveness herself."

Ivy's words were deliberate, her gaze icy, daring anyone to challenge her. Yet, paradoxically, her smile, sweet with dimples, was disarmingly charming.

Tristan, trembling with fury, seemed on the verge of an apoplexy, his voice thick with rage, "You... scoundrel!"

But alas, by then, Ivy had already turned and left, leaving nothing but her chilling silhouette. Behind her, Tristan continued to bellow, "If it weren't for your negligence with your fiancé, Elise wouldn't be in this mess!"

"It's because of you she even met Hugo, that unreliable man who's ruined Elise. You share the blame for this debacle!"

"Father, do you see what your granddaughter has turned into? Won’t you discipline her?"

Sorry, but Grandpa had just praised her for a job well done.

Ivy, harboring a cold sneer for her father's blatant favoritism and idiocy, had grown indifferent over the years. No declaration of hers would come to fruition, not with the Ashford family's backing.

"Alright, alright! Such a good daughter of mine!" Tristan, seeing Ivy disappear at the corridor's end and knowing his efforts were futile, stormed out of Ashford Manor, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Master Ashford, with a look of mixed emotions, made his way to Ivy's room. "Ivy, accompany your grandfather today to meet someone; consider it a breath of fresh air."

"Who might that be?" Ivy, already worn thin by Tristan's antics, showed little interest.

"A business associate." Master Ashford's eyes crinkled mischievously, a slyness in his gaze.

Ivy felt a shiver down her spine under his scrutiny, her alarm bells ringing. Was there something more to this meeting?

Her guard went up. "Grandfather, can I perhaps not..."

Before she could finish, Master Ashford's menacing look had her promptly zip her lips.

Ivy felt like biting someone out of frustration.

"Grandpa, can we not do the whole solemn act...?"

Master Ashford's face wrinkled up with his smile, clearly amused, "Go change into something else... no, allow me to pick something for you!"

Ivy: "..."

After a moment, in the bedroom.

She looked down at her dress, which seemed to exude an ethereal charm constantly, and couldn't help but twitch at the corners of her mouth.

Anyone would think she was off to get hitched!

"Grandpa, are you sure... it's just a business associate we're meeting?" Ivy felt something was off as they sat in the car, getting an eerie chill.

Master Ashford glared, "What, you think your grandpa would sell you off?"

Well, he wasn't wrong.

He didn't sell her, but he sure left her in the lurch!

"Dear granddaughter, your grandpa suddenly feels a bit unwell, I'll have to trouble you..."

Right at the restaurant's entrance, as soon as Ivy got out of the car, Master Ashford perfected the art of ditching with a swift door slam.

Leaving nothing but the smoking tailpipe of the car.

So... he just ran off?

Ivy stood dumbfounded at the restaurant's entrance.

"Blind date?" A cold voice interrupted her stupor.

Blind date? What blind date?

She looked up to meet the gaze of the man before her, his features strikingly handsome in a dazzling sort of way.

He was stunning! She was at a loss for words.

By the time Ivy collected herself, the man, Cecil Warrington, holding a photograph, seemingly comparing it with her, then uttered the nearly infuriating remark, "You've overdone the beauty filter."

"..."

"I think you're the one who's severely vision impaired!" Ivy retorted with a cold smile, "I don't need filters for my photos!"

Handsome but tactless.

She was already in a foul mood, and this man seemed keen on making it worse.

Yet, recalling Grandpa's odd behavior and the man's pretentious demeanor, she guessed the bitter truth.

She was probably duped into this blind date by her grandpa...

Cecil's eyebrows quirked up sharply, "So vain?"

"Sir, since we're strangers, I'd appreciate if you could keep your unsolicited opinions to yourself." Ivy narrowed her eyes, clearly not interested in further conversation.

"Strangers?" Cecil scoffed, turned, and started to walk away. Noticing she wasn't following, he glanced back, challenging her with a look, "Scared to come?"

Ivy raised an eyebrow, scoffing, "Trying to provoke me?"

But it worked like a charm on her.

Hoisting her cumbersome skirt, she hurried after the man.

They navigated through the restaurant, arriving at a table set above a swimming pool, its surface shimmering under the warm, orange lights, surrounded by roses and fragrant air.

This man, it seemed, had put effort into this blind date setup.

Just as Ivy was mentally drafting her review, she found her chin abruptly seized, tilting her head up.

Cecil's sharp gaze surveyed her, a half-smirk playing on his lips, casually remarking, "Stop looking; it wasn't set up for you."

Was he too dragged here against his will for a blind date?

Regardless, she thought, if he dared to mess with her, he wouldn't get off easily.

Ivy turned her head away from his grasp, chuckling lightly, "Sir, please keep your hands to yourself, or I might accuse you of harassment."

Ivy wasn't fond of being dominated or controlled.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Cecil glanced at her, nodding, "Well, it's not too late to learn... you're my fiancée."

At that, Ivy nearly choked, her ears must have deceived her.

Fiancée? Is this some kind of joke?

Cecil watched her face, a masterclass in astonishment, struggling to keep his smile in check.

"What, you really didn't know?"

Ivy's face darkened to the point of dripping water, grinding her teeth, "You can mess around with food, but not words. Do you know what happens when you mess with me?"

Cecil's eyes narrowed slightly, a dark gleam flickering within as he stared pointedly at her.