As Ivy gazed at her composed expression, anger welled up within her.

"Tilda, do you enjoy being hit?"

She raised her hand again, aiming for another slap to Tilda.

But before she could strike, her wrist was firmly caught.

She found Lyndon giving her an icy stare.

What brought Lyndon to this place?

Ivy's expression shifted, quickly masking her previous boldness.

"Lyndon."

“Miss Ivy Larson, I hardly know you. Please address me as Mr. Fernandez."

Lyndon released Ivy's wrist and uttered in a frigid tone.

Ivy extended her hand to grasp his, her expression one of distress.

“Lyndon, I truly have feelings for you, so I..."

Lyndon's icy gaze met hers, the chill in his eyes causing Ivy's hand to freeze midair. Eventually, she pulled back her hand in an awkward motion.

"Miss Ivy Larson, my family holds a distinguished status. My elders have always emphasized the importance of marrying a virtuous wife.

Thus, I cannot consider a woman whose values and thoughts are questionable. I advise you to keep your distance!"

Lyndon's ruthless sarcasm and obvious contempt turned Ivy into an embarrassment.

She stamped her feet and fled, crying in shame.

Lyndon cast a glance at Tilda, the coldness on his face fading.

Seeing the glasses on the ground, he bent down to pick them up.

Tilda happened to pick it up at the same time, their hands accidentally touching.