Silver Ivy Estate stood like a forgotten relic in the Scottish Highlands, its once-pristine façade weathered by time. In an age of skyscrapers and smartphones, the estate seemed almost untouched by the modern world. Its mysterious owner, Alastair Ivy, fueled internet gossip—dubbed the “Beast of Ivy” by tabloids for his reclusive lifestyle and rumored temper.
For Charlotte “Charlie” Greer, a struggling freelance journalist, the estate was more than just a story—it was an opportunity. After years of hustling for small gigs, this was her chance to uncover the truth behind the man and his mysterious family legacy. An exclusive about Alastair could finally catapult her career to the next level.
Armed with her camera and a barely-charged phone, Charlie arrived at the estate. The wrought-iron gates, flanked by overgrown ivy, stood like the entrance to another era. She hesitated for a moment, her city upbringing clashing with the eerie quiet of the countryside. Brushing off her nerves, she pushed the gate open and stepped inside.
The estate was eerily beautiful. Tall hedges lined the driveway, leading to a mansion that seemed to whisper its secrets. But before Charlie could take another step, a deep voice broke through the silence.
“You’re trespassing.”
Charlie froze, her pulse quickening. Turning around, she came face to face with Alastair Ivy himself. He was tall, his broad frame outlined by the setting sun. His gray eyes held an intensity that made her want to look away—but she didn’t.
“I—uh—was just admiring the estate,” she stammered, clutching her camera tightly.
“You’ve got ten seconds to turn around and leave,” he growled, stepping closer.
Before she could answer, a voice interrupted them. “Alastair, stop scaring people.”
A woman in her sixties emerged from the house, her silver hair pulled back into an elegant bun. “I’m Eleanor Ivy,” she said warmly, ignoring Alastair’s glare. “And you are?”
“Charlie Greer,” she said cautiously. “I’m a journalist.”
Eleanor’s smile widened. “Well, then. You’ve come at just the right time. Come inside.”
“What are you doing?” Alastair hissed, but Eleanor waved him off.
Before Charlie could fully process what was happening, she found herself stepping into the grand hall of Silver Ivy, her camera slung over her shoulder and her curiosity piqued. Whatever she had just stumbled into, it was more than she’d bargained for.
As Eleanor explained over tea in the sprawling parlor, the Ivy family was hosting a charity gala in a month. “It’s our chance to show the world that Silver Ivy isn’t just a crumbling estate,” she said. “But my dear nephew here could use some help with the finer points of public relations.”
“I don’t need help,” Alastair muttered, leaning against the doorway.
“You most certainly do,” Eleanor countered, her tone firm. Turning to Charlie, she smiled. “And you, my dear, could help him.”
“Me?” Charlie blinked. “I’m just here for a story.”
“And you’ll get one,” Eleanor said. “But I’ll pay you handsomely to stay and make sure this gala goes off without a hitch. Alastair may not like it, but I’m confident you’ll handle him just fine.”
Charlie glanced at Alastair, whose expression was dark enough to make her second-guess herself. But the promise of both a paycheck and an exclusive was too tempting.
“Alright,” she said, ignoring the glare Alastair shot her way. “I’ll do it.”
The following weeks were a whirlwind of activity. The estate was as outdated as its owner, with spotty Wi-Fi and flickering lights that made modernizing the gala a challenge. Charlie found herself juggling guest lists, catering plans, and social media campaigns while dodging Alastair’s gruff remarks.
“You can’t just hide in the corner and scowl at people,” she told him during one of their many arguments. “This isn’t the 19th century.”
“I’m not interested in putting on a show for them,” he shot back. “Let the estate speak for itself.”
“If you want to keep the estate,” Charlie said, hands on her hips, “you need to show people why it’s worth saving.”
Her words seemed to hit a nerve, and for the first time, Alastair didn’t argue. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Charlie to wonder what had caused the flicker of pain in his eyes.
As the days went on, Charlie began to see glimpses of the man behind the reputation. Late one night, she found him in the library, staring at an old photo album. The pages were filled with faded pictures of a young boy and a woman with kind eyes.
“Is that your family?” she asked, hesitating in the doorway.
He nodded, his expression softening. “My mother. She used to throw galas like this all the time. She loved this place.”
“What happened to her?” Charlie asked gently.
Alastair’s jaw tightened. “She died. And the estate… it’s been falling apart ever since.”
Charlie didn’t know what to say, but she felt a pang of sympathy. For all his rough edges, Alastair was carrying a weight that no one else seemed to notice.
The gala arrived faster than Charlie expected. The estate was transformed, its grand hall glittering with fairy lights and chandeliers. Guests from across the country mingled, their laughter filling the air as they admired the restored beauty of Silver Ivy.
“You did it,” Alastair said, stepping up beside her as she watched the crowd.
“We did it,” Charlie corrected, her smile soft.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Alastair turned to her, his gray eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything.”
Charlie’s heart fluttered, but before she could respond, Eleanor appeared and whisked her away to meet a guest. The night passed in a blur, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Alastair.
When she finally found him, he was in the garden, the lavender bushes swaying gently in the moonlight.
“You’re hiding again,” she teased, stepping closer.
“Maybe,” he said, turning to her. “But tonight, it feels different. The estate feels alive again.”
“That’s because of you,” Charlie said softly. “You’re not the beast people think you are, Alastair.”
His gaze held hers, and for the first time, she saw vulnerability in his expression. “Charlie, I’ve been so used to shutting people out. But with you…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he closed the distance between them and kissed her, a kiss that was as gentle as it was intense. When they pulled apart, Charlie smiled.
“You’re not so bad, Ivy,” she teased.
“And you’re impossible,” he replied, his voice warm.
Over the weeks that followed, Charlie decided to stay. Not for the story, not for the paycheck, but for the man who had proven that even in a world of smartphones and skyscrapers, there was still room for old-fashioned love.
And as Silver Ivy Estate stood proudly once more, Charlie and Alastair built something even more enduring—a future together.