"Everyone in Harbor City knows I don't take losses lying down. Anyone who makes me uncomfortable for a single moment, I make sure they never know comfort again."
Fear flickered through Nellie's eyes, but she stiffened her neck and held her ground. "Jocelyn Henson, things are different now! You lay a hand on me, and Ivor will never let you get away with it!"
As if to prove her point, the front door slammed open. Ivor stormed in, his gaze landing on Jocelyn first, his expression a tangle of emotions. "Jocelyn, let me explain. It's not what you think—"
But before he could reach her, Nellie threw herself into his arms, eyes brimming red. "Ivor, thank God you're here! I was so scared... She was going to throw me into some gutter in Harbor City. She said someone as filthy as me only deserved to serve beggars covered in dirt!"
Ivor's entire body went rigid. He looked down at the woman sobbing in his arms, tears streaking her face like rain on pear blossoms, and the urgency in his expression melted into raw tenderness.
He turned to Jocelyn, whose face had gone white, and his voice dropped to a warning. "Jocelyn. Nellie is mine."
"Stay in your lane. Play the dutiful Mrs. Sanchez, and we can all coexist in peace. But from this day forward, if she loses so much as a single hair, if anything goes wrong at all, don't blame me for forgetting whatever we once had."
Jocelyn stood where she was, watching him shield that woman.
The scene was painfully familiar.
Years ago, when the Henson family relocated their operations inland, every socialite in Harbor City had lined up to mock and exclude her. Ivor had stepped in front of her just like this, time after time. Flipping tables. Seizing shares. Making threats. Making sure the entire city knew that Mrs. Sanchez was untouchable.
Now she finally understood. All that desperate protection had only ever served one purpose: to keep her content inside her cage. To make her the willing shield for the woman he truly loved. To raise the children. To stay quiet.
Every tenderness had been a lie.
Every act of protection, a calculation for better use.
Something inside Jocelyn went flat. Dead. Utterly spent.
"Ivor Sanchez. I've committed every word you just said to memory. I hope you never forget them either."
She turned and walked toward the staircase.