The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 201

But for her to harbor such malice–even murderous intent–over that so–called “truth“? There was just no justifying it.

This time, Ivy Windsor couldn’t bring herself to be forgiving, nor could she find it in her heart to pardon Emma Windsor.

After hanging up, Ivy sat in silence for a long while, her mind in turmoil. Unable to calm herself, she did what she always did: headed upstairs and picked up her paintbrush.

She lost track of time, only to be startled by Katrina Lester’s voice echoing from

downstairs.

“Ivy, Dr. Ludwig’s here!”

Ivy froze in place. Jamison Ludwig? What was he doing here?

Worried he might come upstairs to find her, she quickly covered her easel with a canvas

and hurried toward the stairs.

She had barely rounded the landing when she nearly ran into him coming up.

Jamison was standing a few steps below, which meant he had to look up to see her.

He caught the faint annoyance in her expression and the hurried way she was coming down, and broke into a lopsided smile. “What’s the rush? Eager to see me?”

Ivy couldn’t help but laugh, looking down at him from above. “Where did you learn to be so

shameless?”

“Self–taught,” he replied without missing a beat.

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “What are you doing here? And who said you could come upstairs? Did you forget whose house this is?”

“I’m here to take you to the hospital, remember? We agreed I’d go with you to see Professor Brown today.”

Ivy blinked, suddenly recalling their plan.

But then she hesitated. “But Dr. Brown isn’t seeing patients today.”

She’d checked his schedule earlier and hadn’t managed to get an appointment.

Jamison grinned. “You’re adorable. I’m bringing you to see him, not to sit in the waiting room like everyone else.”

He climbed another step, so they were nearly eye to eye despite their height difference

He studied her for a moment, and then, without warning, reached out toward her face.

Chapter 20T

Ivy instinctively flinched away, suddenly wary. “What are you doing?”

He just smirked, his hand undeterred, and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb.

Her skin was smooth and soft–like porcelain.

Ivy glared at him, her eyes wide with indignation.

She was just about to call him a creep when he held up his thumb, showing her the smudge he’d wiped off. “What’s this on your face?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

She touched her own cheek, then realized what it was. “Paint. I must’ve gotten some on me while I was working.”

Jamison raised an eyebrow. “You can paint?”

Ivy’s heart skipped a beat–she hadn’t meant to let that slip–but she kept her expression calm. “Who can’t paint? Didn’t you ever take art classes as a kid?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Would you mind showing me your work, then?”

“I would, actually,” Ivy said bluntly, brushing past him and heading downstairs. “Didn’t you say we’re going to the hospital? Let’s get going.”

Jamison watched her go, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, still examining the paint.

As it happened, he knew a thing or two about art supplies.

This was natural mineral pigment–expensive stuff, mostly used in oil paintings.

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