The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 478

She’d chosen a mature–sounding username for herself, all because she didn’t want people to see her as a kid and start doubting her abilities or talent. The moniker “Enchantresslvy” was, in fact, inspired by Mrs. Smith–tailor–made for her, really.

And as expected, she’d managed to fool quite a few people.

“Ivy, just how many secrets and surprises are you hiding from me?” Jamison turned to face her, gently pulling her closer so they were eye to eye. He took both her hands in his, his voice warm and full of curiosity.

Ivy’s expression turned just a touch smug, her eyes sparkling with a cool, teasing light. “Why should I tell you? Aren’t you supposed to be so clever? Figure it out yourself.”

Jamison lowered his eyes with a quiet chuckle. “Alright, how about I ask and you answer?”

Ivy said nothing.

“At the gallery the other day, there was that oil painting–‘Lock. The one with the haunting, almost suffocating atmosphere. The artist was listed as Jasmine. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Her eyes widened, startled, gaze fixed on his face.

“Curious how I figured it out?” he smiled.

Ivy frowned, keeping silent–but inwardly, she had to admit: this man was terrifyingly sharp. How did he know everything? The way he saw through her left her feeling oddly exposed, and a little afraid.

“I remember the time I stopped by the Golden Maple Estate to see you. I happened across some paintings in the attic–they had the same style as ‘Lock.‘ Then at the gallery, I saw your reaction to that piece. And when we went to Westshire, I saw the place where you’d been taken as a child. All the clues lined up. Even without asking, I knew you were the artist.”

Ivy let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders slumping. She stared down at her hands and murmured softly, “It’s been a long time since I picked up a brush…”

“If you want, I can turn one of the rooms in my apartment into a studio for you. That way, whenever you feel like painting, you’ll have the space. I did some research on your old work–you used to paint with such bold colors and dazzling confidence. It suited your reputation back then, as the city’s ‘it girl.‘ If you ever start

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again, I hope you’ll return to that brilliant style.”

Ivy was genuinely surprised. He’d even studied her past paintings?

After a moment, another thought struck her. She looked up and asked, “If you knew all along that I was Jasmine, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Jamison grinned, arching an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be asking why you kept it from me? I was already courting you by then, but you still treated me like an outsider, never telling me a thing.”

Ivy had no comeback. Now that he put it that way, she really was the one at fault.

“I just… didn’t think it was worth mentioning. It felt like bragging or something,” she

muttered.

Jamison said, “I looked into it–you started painting when you were four, had a real gift for it. You held exhibitions in middle and high school, and by college, your paintings were selling for a pretty penny. The seed money you used to start trading stocks–that was from selling your artwork, wasn’t it?”

“You sure know a lot. What else have you been digging up about me?” Ivy asked, not entirely pleased.

“Relax. I just want to understand you better, so I can look out for you. That’s all.”

Ivy pressed her lips together, her voice suddenly subdued. “Seems like you know everything about me–but I barely know anything about you.”

“Well, what do you want to know?” he asked lightly.

She hesitated for half a second, then her pride returned. “Forget it. I’m not that

interested.”

The two of them kept talking, the conversation drifting into that gentle, intimate territory that only comes with real trust, until Ivy’s phone rang, breaking the spell.

“Hey, Katrina…”

“Ivy, are you still not done with your exams? When are you coming back?” Katrina was calling from the duplex at Golden Maple Estate, wondering why her best friend hadn’t returned yet.

“Or are you heading straight to Dr. Ludwig’s place?”

“No, I’ll come home in a bit. I’m staying in tonight,” Ivy answered without hesitation.

Jamison’s brow furrowed, his hand gripping hers a little tighter.

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She shot him a look, then pulled her hand away and turned her back to him.

Watching her sulk like a little kid, Jamison couldn’t help but smile, amusement softening his features.

When the call ended, Ivy stood up. “Come on, take me home.”

“Still mad at me? We only see each other twice a week, and now it’s the weekend–you’re not going to spend it with your husband?”

“Maybe after I’ve cooled off.”

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