The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 799

He was a strapping man, six foot three, yet his wife could twist him around her little finger without even trying. It was infuriating, really.

At the hospital, everyone in the department had noticed that Professor Ludwig had been out of sorts for days. But it didn’t seem like the aftermath of a marital spat, so the staff could only whisper and speculate in confusion.

———

Ivy’s days grew even busier as the Windsor Group project reached its critical stage. Baillie, caught between the demands of the Windsor family and his own career, was stretched thin. No matter how hard he tried, he kept making mistakes, never able to keep both sides happy.

Then, to make matters worse, the news came: Adkins had died.

Four days after being admitted for emergency treatment, Adkins had lost his battle in the dead of night, heart failing before dawn.

Ivy received the news the following morning.

She’d already asked Boyd to send half a million over—a final gesture to settle the last threads of their father-daughter relationship.

Still, when the news hit, she froze for a moment.

Jamison found her standing in the entryway, one shoe half on and motionless, phone in hand. He stepped close, concern in his voice. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

Ivy looked up, slowly collecting herself. “Adkins passed away… Baillie messaged me late last night.”

Jamison’s brow furrowed. “Do you want me to go with you?”

He understood how she must feel.

No matter the anger, the dead deserve respect—especially when it’s your own father.

Resentment means nothing now.

Ivy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. They probably don’t want to see me, anyway.”

If they had, someone would have called last night, asked her to come for a final goodbye—instead of sending a text after he was gone.

Jamison crouched to help her with her shoes, then stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let me drive you to work.”

“Okay.” Ivy nodded, and together they left the apartment.

On the way, Ivy stared silently out the window.

She wasn’t exactly heartbroken, but there was no lightness in her mood.

Soon, Jamison’s phone rang.

“Uncle, Adkins passed away in the early hours,” Boyd reported. “The Windsor family’s issued an obituary. The funeral’s in three days.”

Boyd had been away on business and only just caught wind of it that morning.

Jamison gave a quiet reply. “I know. We’ll decide about the funeral later.”

After hanging up, he reached for Ivy’s hand, his voice gentle. “The funeral’s in three days. If you want to go, I’ll be with you. If not, don’t feel pressured.”

He’d promised to support her, no matter what.

Ivy nodded. “Let me think about it.”

“Just glad I’ve finally won you over,” he teased.

Ivy rolled her eyes in silence.

He always knew, even without her saying it—he’d become her anchor. Her living, breathing lullaby.

Jamison insisted on picking her up at school. She refused, telling him to wait at the restaurant; the bodyguard would bring her straight there.

By the time she arrived, night had settled in. Her bodyguard escorted her through the busy square toward Jamison’s table.

As they passed a large window, Ivy suddenly stopped in her tracks.

At first, she thought she was mistaken.

But as she looked closer, she was sure—the woman dining at the window with a young, handsome man was none other than Baillie’s wife, the fabulously wealthy socialite.

Ivy lingered just a moment, watching them laugh together—their chemistry unmistakably close.

When she sat down across from Jamison, she lowered her voice and asked, “Guess who I just saw?”

Jamison knew his wife too well; one look at her expression and he’d already guessed. “Baillie?”

“Close. His wife.”

“Oh? They’re both here for dinner?” Jamison frowned. Adkins had just died, and Baillie and his wife were out on the town?

“No, Baillie wasn’t there. The socialite was dining with another man. Young, early twenties, and honestly—quite good-looking.”