Grace?
This woman was Grace?
To these reporters, Grace had become an "old acquaintance" over the past couple of years.
Plagiarism, divorce, a triumphant comeback, and her remarriage to the CEO of the Clarke family—they had reported on every single story.
Grace herself wasn't terrifying, but the ruthless Damien Clarke was.
At the thought of Damien, the once-aggressive reporters exchanged glances and unconsciously began to back away.
"Let's go."
Without another word, Grace took off her own coat, draped it over Ivy's head, and walked her briskly to the car.
It wasn't until they were inside the vehicle that Ivy seemed to come back to life, grabbing Grace's arm and bursting into tears.
"Grace… I want to go home…"
Grace held her tight, letting Ivy soak the shoulder of her blazer with tears, her own gaze fixed on the gray, overcast sky outside. For the first time, a murderous rage welled up in her eyes.
She had once been weak and easily bullied, unable to protect herself or the people she cared about.
But now, she was awake.
Grace drove directly back to the Clarke estate.
The security at the hillside villa was tight; the reporters couldn't get in.
Ivy took a hot shower and changed into a clean set of pajamas, but she still huddled in the corner of the bed, shivering.
She clutched her phone tightly, the screen displaying her chat history with Lucian Chow.
The last message was from the previous night.
[Baby, see you tomorrow. I'm going to give you a surprise you'll never forget.]
Unforgettable, indeed.
It was a fatal blow.
Grace came in with a glass of hot milk. Seeing her friend's lost and broken state, her anger flared, but it was mixed with a deeper feeling. "Drink something."

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