Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath

"Nobody sent me!" Ivy snapped, her patience fraying. "I don't even know who you are."

That was a lie. Everyone knew Auguste Randall. But she needed him to believe she was just a bystander.

She tried to gently pry Ara's fingers off her hand. "Sweetie, I have to go."

Ara whimpered. It was a high, broken sound that tore at Ivy's heart. The girl looked up, her eyes pleading. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small notepad and a crayon.

She scribbled furiously and held it up.

STAY.

Ivy bit her lip.

Auguste watched the exchange, his mask of indifference slipping for a moment. "She spoke to you?"

"She wrote to me," Ivy corrected.

Auguste reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He uncapped a fountain pen.

"How much?" he asked.

Ivy blinked. "Excuse me?"

"To stay," Auguste said, not looking up as he began to write. "For an hour. Until she falls asleep. My nanny is... unavailable. I need to finish some calls."

He ripped the check out and held it toward her. It was blank.

Ivy stared at the paper. Then she looked at his face. He thought she was a prostitute? Or an escort?

She laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound.

"I'm not for sale, Mr. Randall," she said.

She pushed his hand away.

"I have my own son waiting for me," she said, her voice softening as she looked down at Ara. "I can't stay."

Auguste paused. "You have a child?"

"Yes."

Ara's shoulders slumped. She looked defeated. She let go of Ivy's hand and trudged toward the velvet sofa in the corner, curling up into a miserable little ball.

Ivy turned to the door. She put her hand on the handle.

She looked back.

The room was vast and cold. Auguste had already turned back to his phone. The little girl looked so small, so lonely on that giant sofa.

It reminded her of Albion in the early days, when they had nothing.

Ivy cursed under her breath.

She walked back to the sofa. She sat down on the edge, avoiding Auguste's surprised glance.

"I can't stay long," she whispered to Ara. "But... do you know the song about the moon?"

Ara shook her head, her eyes wide.

Ivy began to hum. It was a simple, melancholic lullaby she used to sing to Albion when the thunder scared him. Her voice was low and rich, filling the silence of the room.

Sleep, little star, the night is your friend...

Ara's eyelids fluttered. Her breathing slowed. Within minutes, her grip on the cushion relaxed. She was asleep.

Ivy stopped humming. The silence returned, but it felt less hostile now.

She stood up, smoothing her dress.

Auguste was watching her. He hadn't made a single call. He was just... watching.

"You have a nice voice," he said. It sounded like an accusation.

"You owe me an apology," Ivy said quietly. "Not money."

She walked to the door.

"Wait," Auguste said.

But Ivy didn't wait. She slipped out into the hallway, her heart racing, leaving the check on the table untouched.