"I'm no Giselle. I don't know your past, and as for what you do day-to-day, Mr. Howard, I'm in the dark," Ivy said with a hint of frustration.
"I'd appreciate it if you could have Quinton send me a brief. Otherwise, the next time we have to put on a show in front of Grandma... Well, it could get messy if we slip up."
The man's face darkened.
She was playing hard to get now, was she?
"Ha, Ms. Dunhill, if you'd only pay a little more attention to me, you'd know everything there is to know. But you're right; we're alone now, so there's no need for pretense. Keep to yourself. I've got paperwork to deal with."
With that, he left without a backward glance, striding straight to his study.
Ivy turned away, picking up the script and flicking through it as if she had not heard him leave. The room was left with just her, the still air, and the fading scent of Balfour's cologne.
They both busied themselves with their own tasks, but only Ivy was acutely aware that she had not turned a single page of the script in ages. Her mind was a mess, consumed with thoughts of him.
"Love across different worlds never ends well."
That line from the script leaped out at her, perfectly capturing her current plight.
Ivy could not help but laugh bitterly. Her affection for Balfour had always been a quiet flutter in her heart, and he had not done anything wrong. In fact, he had been nothing but helpful, lending her money and solving her troubles.
He had not done a single thing wrong. He just... He just did not like her, that's all.
And most importantly, they were worlds apart—she from a humble background, and he from high society.
Setting the script aside, Ivy curled into a ball. Her knees pulled up to her chest in anguish.
To him, she was just an actress he had hired.
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