“If I’ve made up my mind about someone, no one’s going to change it,” Jamison said, his voice firm and unyielding.
Carla was so furious she could barely get a word out. She spun around and grabbed her son by the arm. “Come on, we’re going home!”
“Mom… Uncle can’t be with Ivy-”
“Shut up!” Carla, seething but unable to take it out on her brother, lost it when her son kept talking back. She slapped him, hard.
The smack echoed in the hallway.
Micah’s head snapped to the side, and he turned back to her, whining, tears welling up. “Mom, you hit me… You’ve never laid a hand on me before… It’s Uncle who made you mad, so why are you hitting–ah!”
He didn’t even get to finish complaining before Carla landed another slap, then another. She didn’t care where they landed; she just kept swinging, venting all her pent–up frustration.
“I’m hitting you, that’s who! I spoiled you rotten and look what you’ve become! All for Emma, your father had to give up land to the Windsors. And now you want to drag Ivy into this mess? I’m warning you–don’t you dare get tangled up with the Windsors again! Do you hear me?”
“Ah–Mom, you’ve lost your mind! Uncle, help! She’s gone crazy! Ow, it hurts!”
Micah stumbled around, dodging as best he could, wailing at the top of his lungs. Carla, completely losing control, kept hitting and shouting, years of resentment pouring out.
Jamison just watched from the sidelines, clearly amused and making no move to intervene. He even threw in a barb: “Good, this should make up for what he missed out on
in childhood.”
As expected, plenty of bystanders at the museum caught the commotion on video and posted it online. Luckily, most people these days weren’t so easily swayed by a single clip.
Human trafficking had long been an outrage in the public eye, and once people learned about Ivy’s past, their sympathy was entirely with her.
Sure, in the video, Emma was the one kneeling, looking pitiable–almost as if Ivy were being cruel and unforgiving.
But the internet wasn’t fooled. Instead of piling on Ivy, people showed remarkable
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understanding: “Don’t urge kindness until you’ve suffered what they have.”
The ones under fire were the heartless traffickers and the cold–blooded Windsor family.
For two straight days, the Windsors trended at the top of the newsfeeds, infamous as
ever.
Ivy scrolled through the headlines while eating breakfast, unable to keep a small smile from her lips as she watched the Windsors‘ troubles unfold.
Her phone suddenly lit up and began to ring.
She glanced at the caller ID, frowning in confusion.
Property management?
What did they want with her?
She answered with a hint of suspicion. “Hello?”
“Miss Windsor, you have visitors here claiming to be your parents. Should we let them in?” The property manager’s voice was polite but cautious.
Ivy’s surprise deepened.
How did Adkins and Rosetta know where she lived?
A moment’s thought, and she understood.
Micah had been here before–he’d even brought Emma with him
If Jamison hadn’t given the front desk strict instructions, they would’ve shown up at her door a long time ago.
And if Emma knew her address, of course Adkins and Rosetta could find it, too.
Ivy didn’t hesitate. “No, I don’t want to see them. Please ask them to leave.”
“Understood.”
But hardly a minute after she hung up, Adkins called her directly.
Ivy’s frown deepened. Annoyed, she put the phone on silent, stared at the screen for a few seconds, then finally picked up. “Yes?”
“Ivy, your mother and I are here to see you, but security’s not letting us in. Could you let them know?” Adkins‘ voice was unusually calm and gentle.
Ivy gave a brittle laugh. “And who are you, exactly? Why would you need to visit me?”
At the gated entrance, Adkins sat in the car, about to explode at her tone, but Rosetta quickly squeezed his arm, warning him to keep his temper.
He swallowed his anger. “Your last name’s Windsor. Who do you think we are?”
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“There are plenty of people named Windsor in this world. Am I supposed to care about
every single one of them?”
