The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 87

Ivy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You really think If I went back to the Windsor family, someone would actually take car

Jamison fell silent, offering no massurance.

Given how the Windsors treated her like an outsider, going back would be pointless. Yet sending her to the Golden Maple Este S and injured, was hardly safe either.

But that wasn’t his problem, so he let the matter drop.

Twenty minutes later, Ivy’s phone rang.

“Ivy, I’m in the car now! Don’t worry about me, okay? How are you feeling? Any better? Is your head still spinning? Katrina’s anxious voice came through as soon as she’d settled into her ride–she was worried sick about her best frierid, afraid Ivy’s injuries were sull acting up.

“I’m fine,” Ivy murmured, her voice soft. “Just glad to hear you’re on your way.”

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

The car grew quiet again. Jamison, overhearing bits of the call, finally realized her friend would be coming to look after her.

He drove on. The luxury sedan’s smooth ride was a small comfort, but Ivy, still suffering from a mild concussion, swayed gently with the motion and soon drifted off to sleep.

Nearly an hour later, Jamison pulled into the underground garage of the estate. He parked and glanced over at the passenger seat. Ivy was slumped against the window, her pale face scrunched up in pain even as she slept, cheeks drawn and colorless.

A doctor’s instinct kicked in. Without thinking, he reached over and touched her forehead.

Just as he suspected–a low fever.

His expression darkened, voice cool and crisp as he called her name. “Ivy… Ivy?”

On the second try, she startled awake with a jolt.

“Huh? We’re here?” She blinked, looking around in confusion

à before realizing they were in the garage. “Alright, I’ll get out…”

Still half–asleep, she muttered the words, then fished around in her bag, pulling out three crisp hundred–dollar bills. “Here–your fare. Is that enough?” She set the money on the console, her tone flat, and reached for the door handle. Jamison stared at the cash, teeth clenched in silent irritation. “What, you think you can pay off a chauffeur with pocket change?”

One foot already out the door, Ivy paused and looked back. “How much do you want, then?”

She rummaged through her bag again but came up empty. She’d used up her cash earlier that week, covering repair costs for Emma’s broken necklace.

Awkward, she offered her phone. “Fine. Name your price–l transfer it to you.”

Jamison said nothing. He simply stared at her with those cold, deep–set eyes, his chiseled features as unyielding as stone.

The silence in the underground garage pressed in, making the narrow car feel even more suffocating.

Ivy, usually fearless, found herself rattled by the intensity of his gaze. The air seemed to thicken with a dangerous tension, and for a moment she wondered if he might just lunge at her and snap her in two.

Her mouth went dry. She swallowed hard and stammered, “If you don’t want it, fine. I’ll just go.”