Ivor's entire body went rigid. He looked down at the woman sobbing in his arms, tears streaking her face like rain on pear blossoms, and the urgency in his expression melted into raw tenderness.
He turned to Jocelyn, whose face had gone white, and his voice dropped to a warning. "Jocelyn. Nellie is mine."
"Stay in your lane. Play the dutiful Mrs. Sanchez, and we can all coexist in peace. But from this day forward, if she loses so much as a single hair, if anything goes wrong at all, don't blame me for forgetting whatever we once had."
Jocelyn stood where she was, watching him shield that woman.
The scene was painfully familiar.
Years ago, when the Henson family relocated their operations inland, every socialite in Harbor City had lined up to mock and exclude her. Ivor had stepped in front of her just like this, time after time. Flipping tables. Seizing shares. Making threats. Making sure the entire city knew that Mrs. Sanchez was untouchable.
Now she finally understood. All that desperate protection had only ever served one purpose: to keep her content inside her cage. To make her the willing shield for the woman he truly loved. To raise the children. To stay quiet.