The faint scent of antiseptic clung to the living room air. Dr. Michaels, the family physician who had been with the Bennetts for over a decade, tightened the cuff around Graham Bennett's arm. The monitor beeped in slow intervals, each sound like a quiet metronome echoing in the large, silent penthouse.
Graham sat still, his gaze distant, jaw tight. There was a faint tremor in his fingers that he tried to mask by clasping them together once the test was done.
Dr. Michaels removed the cuff with a professional calm. "It's still elevated. Not dangerously so, but more than I'd like it to be. You've been under stress again."
Graham gave a low, short laugh. "What's new?"
"I mean it," Dr. Michaels said, placing the cuff back in his bag. "You need to slow down, Graham. You've been lucky so far, but luck doesn't run forever."
Before he could respond, the front door opened.
Ivy stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Her eyes widened at the sight of Dr. Michaels and her father sitting together, the tension between them palpable.
"Dad?" she said, dropping her carry-on by the console table. "What's going on?"
Dr. Michaels turned with a smile that tried to mask concern. "Just your father's routine check-up. Nothing alarming."
Graham stood, brushing invisible dust from his slacks. "Don't start worrying. I'm fine. You're home."
But Ivy didn't look convinced. Her gaze flicked between the blood pressure cuff, her father's unusually pale complexion, and the physician's barely concealed worry.
Dr. Michaels gave her a brief hug. "Keep an eye on him. He listens to you more than he does to me."
"Not true," Graham muttered.
"True enough," the doctor said with a knowing smile before gathering his things and leaving.
As soon as the door shut, Ivy rounded on her father. "Are you really okay?"
Graham exhaled and sank into the leather couch. "Just a bit of pressure. Work stuff. It'll pass."
"You should rest. You shouldn't even have sent me on that trip."
"Ivy," he said, looking up at her with quiet pride. "You closed that deal. I heard from Marcus already. You made quite an impression."
She paused, surprised. "He called you?"
"Sent a message. Said you handled yourself with poise. Said you reminded him of me in my younger days."
A flicker of something passed over her face—pride, confusion, maybe something deeper—but she nodded and smiled faintly. "I just did what I had to do."
"You did more than that." Graham reached out and took her hand. "I'm proud of you, Ivy. But promise me something?"
She tilted her head. "Anything."
"Don't let anyone rush you into being more than you're ready for. In business. In life."
The words sat with her longer than he probably meant them to.
That night, Ivy wandered the halls of the penthouse long after her father had gone to bed. The city lights blinked below, casting quiet reflections on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her mind was a whirlwind—London, the dinner, Marcus's text, the hug that had lingered a bit too long.
She stared at her phone.
"Be my baby girl… I won't break your heart."
her phone clutched in her hand. The screen lit up.
Marcus: Are you safe home?
Ivy: Yes. Dad's fine too. Doctor says he just needs rest.
Marcus: Good. I've been thinking about you all day.
She hesitated before typing her reply. Her fingers lingered over the keys.
Ivy: Me too.
Her phone buzzed immediately.
Marcus is calling…
She answered, her heart skipping a beat.
"I missed your voice," he said, low and deep. "Tell me, was it strange coming home?"
Ivy tucked her legs under her and smiled. "A little. It feels like I've grown up in a week."
"You have," he said. "You walked into that summit like a storm. I've never seen someone own a room so quietly. And yet, all I could think about… was how much I wish I could have walked beside you, not just behind you."
She swallowed. "Marcus… this feels unreal."
"I know," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about you, Ivy. The way you looked that night. How proud I was. And how dangerous it felt to be so proud."
"I don't know what this is," she whispered. "But I've never had anyone say things like that to me. Ever."
He was silent for a beat. "Then maybe… it's time someone did."
They talked in hushed tones for another hour, the kind of conversation that revealed little yet hinted at everything. When the call finally ended, Ivy didn't sleep.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how love—if this was love—could arrive so quietly. And yet, so forcefully.
Downstairs, her father paced in his study, oblivious. In another house, Marcus poured himself a drink, staring at a photograph of his family.
The Next Morning
The household buzzed with usual activity. Staff moved between rooms, handling breakfast service and meetings. Ivy walked through the halls of the penthouse with grace and purpose, but inside she was spiraling.
Graham called her from the breakfast table. "Come sit. You've barely eaten."
"I'm fine," she replied, placing a kiss on his cheek and pouring herself tea.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Marcus again.
She didn't dare read the message now.
Graham sipped his coffee, flipping through his tablet. "By the way," he said, "Marcus was impressed. Said you handled yourself like a pro."
Her hand froze mid-air. "He said that?"
"Mmm," her father murmured, still distracted. "Said you had the makings of a CEO."
Ivy bit back the rising blush. "That's... kind of him."
"I was proud too," he added. "I've been thinking about your future lately. About the company. About everything."
Ivy's heart raced.
But before she could reply, a loud knock came at the front door—sharp and urgent.
One of the housekeepers answered it, then came running in. "Sir! Someone from the press is downstairs. They're asking questions about the investor trip—and about Mr. Hale."
Ivy's breath hitched.
Graham stood quickly, his brows pulled low. "What questions?"
"They say there's a rumor. Something... personal."
Ivy's world tilted slightly.
Graham narrowed his eyes. "I want security to clear the lobby. Now."
Ivy stood frozen, unable to meet her father's gaze.
A rumor.
Already?
How?
Her phone buzzed again. Marcus.
"Don't panic. I'll handle it."
She turned to the window, heart thundering.
The living room was already crowded with hushed voices and tense footsteps. Security personnel flanked the perimeter while staff rushed between calls, newspapers, and television broadcasts.
Ivy descended the stairs slowly, a frown etched into her face. The air was heavy, as though the walls themselves braced for impact. Her father's trusted assistant, Eliza, met her at the base of the staircase with a tablet in hand and eyes wide with anxiety.
"It's all over the media," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Ivy took the tablet and scrolled through the headlines, her breath catching as she read:
BENNETT HEALTH SCARE SHAKES INVESTOR CONFIDENCE
WHO'S RUNNING THE EMPIRE NOW?
IS GRAHAM BENNETT STILL FIT TO LEAD?
Photographs of her father being checked by their longtime family doctor flashed across the screen. Another image showed him seated, looking tired—an unguarded moment snapped without permission.
Eliza's voice cut through her thoughts. "Someone leaked it, Ivy. This didn't come from the hospital. Someone close."
Ivy's heart thundered. The memory of her father's routine check-up just days earlier replayed in her mind—the doctor's concerned eyes, the blood pressure monitor, the quiet conversation in the study. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It was supposed to stay private.
She looked past Eliza, through the wide glass doors that opened to the courtyard. Reporters already crowded outside the estate gates. Cameras flashed. Drones hovered.
Her father's empire wasn't just under scrutiny—it was on fire.
She turned sharply. "Where is he?"
"In his study. He doesn't want to see anyone."
Ivy handed the tablet back and walked with purpose. She stopped before the study door, braced herself, and knocked.
No response.
She pushed the door open. Her father sat at his desk, the curtains drawn, casting the room into dim shadow. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and tired, but still proud.
"Don't worry about it," he said before she could speak. "They've spun worse before."
"But never like this," Ivy said, walking toward him. "They're saying you can't manage the business anymore. That the board is looking to vote on transferring power."
He exhaled sharply, the sound more weary than annoyed. "Let them talk."
She sat down across from him. "They won't stop unless we stop them. Let me do something. A press conference. A statement. Let me be seen."
He hesitated. "And feed them more? Ivy, you're not a shield."
"No. But I'm your daughter."
There was silence between them for a moment, dense with unspoken truths. Finally, he nodded slightly.
"I'll speak to Marcus," he said. "He's already making calls. Trying to contain the fallout."
Marcus.
She hadn't seen him since returning home. There had been a brief text, checking in, but the tension of the moment had kept them apart. Now, hearing his name, she felt something shift inside her—comfort, and something heavier.
As if on cue, Eliza stepped into the room again. "Marcus Hale is on the line, sir."
Graham gestured to patch him through.
The speaker buzzed to life.
"Graham."
"Marcus," her father replied. "Thanks for calling."
"I've already spoken to Henderson at The Tribune. He's pulling the story from their front page. The TV networks are harder to pin down, but I'll manage. I've arranged a roundtable meeting with the key board members by noon. We'll steady the waters before market close."
Ivy listened silently, impressed by the swift coordination. This was why her father trusted Marcus above all. He wasn't just loyal—he was competent, calculated, and in full command of any crisis.
"We'll recover," Marcus added. "Just stay quiet and let us handle the public side."
Graham nodded, then ended the call. Ivy watched him closely.
"You trust him that much?" she asked.
"With my life," her father answered.