Chapter Sixteen: A Thorn Among Silk

The silence was the cruelest part of it all.

It wasn’t the sharp snap of Lucien’s warning in the elevator, or even the way Jasper had disappeared so quickly afterward—no, it was the silence that followed. It stretched between us like silk soaked in blood. Beautiful. Tense. Waiting to tear.

I walked ahead of him through the cavernous halls of Blackwood Manor, the click of my heels swallowed by thick velvet carpet and colder shadows. Every chandelier overhead flickered like it, too, sensed the storm brewing beneath Lucien’s skin.

When I reached the door to my bedroom, I stopped but didn’t go in.

“Are you going to pretend that didn’t just happen?” I asked. My voice was steady, though my body still vibrated from the memory of his lips crushing against mine, the wild way his control had splintered inside that elevator. The taste of him still lingered like forbidden sin.

Lucien didn’t answer at first. He stood behind me, hands tucked in his pockets like he didn’t just rattle the ground beneath me minutes ago. When he did speak, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“What part do you want to talk about, Ivy?”

I turned to face him, folding my arms. “The part where you kissed me like you meant it. Or the part where you threatened Jasper like he was nothing. Which one would you like to pretend didn’t exist?”

His jaw clenched—just enough for me to know I’d struck a nerve.

“You think I care about your little… display with him?”

I blinked. “No. I think you care about control. And you didn’t like that I was dancing with someone else in front of your world of wolves.”

He stepped forward, slow and calculated, until the wall was at my back and Lucien was in front of me. His hand braced against the wall beside my head, and the scent of dark cedar and danger wrapped around me like smoke. His body never touched mine, but I felt him. Every restrained inch of him.

“You think you know me,” he said.

“I don’t know anything because you won’t let me,” I whispered. “But I see you. You don’t trust anyone—not even the woman you bought to be your wife.”

His eyes flickered. Not anger. Not fully. Something older. Rawer. It passed quickly.

He stepped back.

“Get some sleep.”

And then he was gone.

Sleep never came.

I lay in bed, sheets tangled around me, Lucien’s shadow still lingering in every corner. The memory of his mouth, the heat of his gaze, the warning behind his possessiveness—none of it left me. And I hated that part of me wanted more.

I had kissed the man I feared. And I had wanted him to kiss me again.

I closed my eyes, but the silence pulsed like a second heartbeat. Until the knock came.

Three soft taps at the door.

I sat up, muscles tight. “Yes?”

The door opened slowly, revealing Emilia. Always perfectly composed. Tonight, her expression was pinched.

“Forgive the hour, Miss Ivy,” she said softly. “But this was left for you downstairs.”

She handed me a plain white envelope. My initials in looping ink. No seal.

My fingers trembled as I took it.

“Who left it?” I asked.

“We don’t know. It was tucked under the vase in the foyer.”

A prickle crawled up my neck.

After Emilia left, I opened it.

Inside was a single photograph.

Of me.

Standing alone in the east garden. This morning. The wind in my hair. Looking over my shoulder.

Beneath it, scrawled in black ink:

He can’t protect you forever.

Lucien didn’t flinch when I stormed into his study, but I saw the shift in his shoulders the moment I threw the envelope onto his desk.

He picked it up, read the note. And for a single, fractured second, the mask slipped. Just a flicker. But enough to confirm he didn’t see this coming either.

“Who has access to the grounds?” I demanded. “Who could get close enough to take that photo without being seen?”

“There are only six people cleared to roam freely outside,” he said, voice taut. “And every one of them is vetted.”

“Then someone’s slipping through your cracks, Mr. Blackwood.” I paced, my voice climbing with panic. “Someone knows when I’m alone. Someone’s watching me.”

He stood slowly, coming around the desk. I backed away, the tension in my spine humming like a live wire.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

“You already did,” I snapped. “You married me into this war, and now the wolves want blood.”

Lucien reached out, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from my face with a gentleness that undid me.

“You’re not safe in your room tonight.”

“Then where am I safe?” I asked, breath catching.

His gaze was molten.

“With me.”

His room was colder than mine. Stark. Walls of steel and black stone. No comfort. No photographs. No softness at all.

Except him.

Lucien didn’t try to touch me. He locked the door. Sat across from me in the armchair. Watched the fire crackle in silence.

I sat on the edge of his bed, hands curled in my lap.

“Who sent that note?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t look away from the flames. “If it’s who I think it is, then this is just the beginning.”

I turned toward him. “You keep saying I’m protected. But you don’t even tell me what I’m protected from.”

His eyes finally met mine.

“You want the truth?”

“Yes.”

Lucien hesitated. Then he walked to the bookshelf, pulled out a small leather folder, and handed it to me.

I opened it.

And the air left my lungs.

My father’s name. Dozens of transactions. Secret meetings with offshore accounts tied to Blackwood’s most corrupt rivals. Names of men I’d seen at the gala. Political families. Weapons contracts.

At the bottom, a date.

The day before our engagement was announced.

“You think he gave you away to save you,” Lucien said. “But Ivy, he gave you away to save himself.”

My hands trembled. “He… he was involved in this?”

“Your father was working both sides. Feeding intel to my enemies while smiling at me over champagne. I kept you close because I had to know—was he using you to spy? Or was he trying to buy my silence with your hand?”

My knees went weak. I sat on the edge of the bed, vision spinning.

“All this time, I thought I was a prisoner in your house,” I whispered. “But I was always a prisoner of his secrets.”

Lucien came closer, kneeling before me.

“You’re not your father’s sins, Ivy.”

“But I’m his consequence.”

He reached for my hand. Held it tightly.

“I will protect you.”

The way he said it made it sound like a promise forged in blood.

But I didn’t know who he was trying to convince—me, or himself.

Outside the mansion, the shadows stirred.

A black car watched from the trees.

Inside it, a man stared at the photograph of Ivy.

And whispered, “Soon”.