Undressed By His Arrogance Chapter 80: It’s Just A Formal Thing

"Do you want to stay, or do you want to co back to my place?"

"I..." Ivy hesitated, biting her lip as she considered. Her body scread to follow him. "I think staying here is the right thing. I’ll be coming back to work on Monday."

Winn nodded slowly, though disappointnt flickered in his eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels before shifting gears. "We need to hold our engagent party. It’s just a formal thing, to publicly announce our engagent."

"I don’t know how to do any of this." Ivy’s laugh was shaky, nervous. "I... I don’t even know where to begin from."

"If you don’t mind, I can tell my mother. She has been itching to have sothing to do."

"Okay. Okay." Ivy responded quickly. She wanted to sound breezy and unbothered, but instead it ca out clipped.

Winn gave her a tight smile, nodded once. "I’m gonna go." He said it with finality.

The door clicked shut, and Ivy sank into the sofa. She buried her face in her hands and groaned. "I love you? I love you? Who says that?" She kicked herself ntally, over and over, replaying the mont.

But if she was being honest with herself, that wasn’t the part that hurt the most. What cut deep, what gnawed at her ribs, was the fact that Winn hadn’t even acknowledged her outburst. He’d just... left.

Ivy stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling as her chest tightened. Her brain taunted her with cruel possibilities: Maybe he didn’t feel the sa way. Of course, he didn’t feel the sa way. She was just a convenient engagent, never enough to touch his heart.

She groaned again, this ti muffled against a throw pillow. "God, I’m pathetic."

*****

Monday ca too quickly.

At her desk, she tried to ignore the icy stare from Lydia. Cold. Dismissive. Judgntal. It was the corporate version of saying, you don’t belong here.

But Ivy didn’t give a shit. She powered on her computer, determined to keep her head down and survive. The screen flickered to life. She opened the House of Kane network, and her pulse kicked hard against her throat.

Her last log-in.

Dated two days ago.

Her brows knit together. "Wait, what?" she whispered to herself. She hadn’t been at work in a week. Her account should’ve been dormant, untouched. But soone had logged in using her ID, her password.

She looked up at Lydia, who was sprawled at her neighboring desk. "Did you use my computer?" Ivy asked.

"Why?" Lydia drawled, lifting her eyes from her phone with a smirk. "Because I don’t have mine?" She rolled her eyes so hard Ivy half-expected them to stick in the back of her head. Lydia leaned back in her chair.

Ivy pursed her lips, swallowing down the biting retort clawing at her tongue. Instead, she glanced at the clock in the corner of her monitor. Two minutes till eight.

She grabbed her notepad and pen and hurried downstairs.

As usual, he was right on ti. The low growl of the Maybach reverberated against the circular driveway. Reese stepped out, opening the door.

Ivy’s heart hamred so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs. She hadn’t seen him properly since that night. Since she’d made a fool of herself with those three words that had spilled from her lips without permission. I love you.

They’d texted here and there about engagent logistics—dry, polite, transactional. His mother had even called her once. And through all of this, Winn had acted like her confession never happened. Like she hadn’t handed him her heart on a trembling platter, only for him to quietly slide it back untouched.

Winn stepped through the glass doors, and the entire lobby seed to shift around him. His presence bent the air. He saw her instantly. Notepad, pen, standing straight-backed in her blouse and skirt. Why she only ever wore a skirt to work was beyond him.

He wanted—no, ached—to pull her into his arms. To crush her against his chest, bury his face in her hair, and kiss her. That was how much he had missed her. Every night since her confession had been torture, her words replaying in his head, unraveling his careful walls.

"Good morning, Mr. Kane."

"Morales," Winn replied. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said, trying to sound casual while keeping pace with his long strides. "Any tasks for today?"

"Uh, yeah. I still need you to check with Trinity Estate about that property. I don’t know why they’re dragging their feet. If that site isn’t going to work, we might as well start looking for another one." He spoke while climbing the steps, his hand sliding along the banister.

"Yes, sir," Ivy responded automatically.

Winn stopped mid-step. Whipped around. His gaze locked onto hers. "Sir?" he repeated.

"Did I—?"

"You should do that one of these days while we’re having sex."

Ivy’s face burned instantly. She glanced up the empty staircase to make sure no one was in earshot. "What?" she hissed.

"You should call sir," he said smoothly, leaning on the banister, eyes hooded and amused.

"Should we be talking about sex at work?" Ivy whispered, pressing her notepad to her chest as if it could block the ache starting low in her belly.

He smirked, leaning closer without closing the distance completely. "It’s my empire. I can do whatever the hell I want. Besides," he added, his gaze flicking to her lips, "you’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?"

"I’m not your wife yet." She raised an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed but feeling every inch of his proximity.

Winn stepped closer, closing the small gap between them.

"Doesn’t matter, Morales." His lips hovered a breath from hers, his eyes glinting with that dangerous mix of predator and lover. "My wife or not, I will have you whenever, wherever. Even on these steps."

Ivy’s heart tripped over itself. The stairwell was empty except for them, but the entire building humd — phones ringing, keyboards clacking, Kane employees bustling. She could almost see it: him pressing her against the cold marble. The thought made her dizzy.