The Mafia Boss Came Home as His Fiancée Whipped the Plus-Size Maid, but the Woman in the Apron Was the Only One Keeping His Empire Alive

Three months later.

The summer sun shone bright over Blackwood Estate, illuminating sprawling green lawns, blooming rose gardens, and a grand white marquee erected near the fountain.

The atmosphere was nothing like the dark, tense charity gala from four months ago.

Hundreds of guests filled the garden—not corrupt politicians or arrogant socialites, but dockworkers, local business owners, community leaders, and dozens of laughing children from the Harbor House Community Center enjoying ice cream and lawn games.

Inside the estate's master suite, Ivy stood before a full-length mirror.

She wore a breathtaking, custom-designed ivory gown made of lace and silk that hugged her soft curves, highlighting her elegant frame and radiant smile. A delicate diamond necklace sat against her collarbone—a gift from Ronan.

A knock sounded at the door, and Malcolm walked in, wearing a sharp tux with a white rose pinned to his lapel.

Tears welled in the old butler's eyes as he looked at her.

"You look magnificent, Miss Ivy," Malcolm said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you, Malcolm," Ivy smiled, walking over to give the old man a gentle hug. "Is everything ready?"

"The guests are seated, the orchestra is playing, and Mr. Blackwood is losing his patience at the altar," Malcolm chuckled.

Down in the garden, beneath an arch of white lilies and ivy, stood Ronan Blackwood.

He wore a dark charcoal tuxedo, looking like every bit the powerful sovereign of Grayhaven, but his eyes were fixed entirely on the stone path leading from the house.

The music shifted to a sweet, soaring melody.

Ivy walked out onto the stone terrace, holding a bouquet of white roses. She was not escorted by a wealthy father or a high-society elite—she walked accompanied by Emily Carter on one side and the dockworkers' union chief on the other.

As she walked down the aisle, the guests stood, clapping and cheering warmly.

Ronan stepped down from the altar, unable to wait for her to reach him. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against her knuckles.