I stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the girl who looked back at me.
My eyes were swollen, my hair tangled from his hands, and my skin still burned from where he had touched me. I could still taste him. Still feel the imprint of his body against mine. The scent of him clung to my skin, no matter how many times I tried to scrub it away.Killian.
I whispered his name like a sin on my tongue, shame tightening my chest.
Twice, I had given myself to him. Twice, I had crossed a line I could never uncross.And now, I was drowning in it.
A shudder tore through me as I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the guilt, the shame… and the aching need that hadn’t faded.
I should hate him.
I should hate myself more. But when I closed my eyes, all I could feel was him, the way his hands gripped my hips, the way his mouth devoured mine like I was the only thing keeping him alive.I pressed my forehead against the cool mirror, breathing heavily.
Soon, Victor would come looking for me.
He had woken up early to speak to my father about something. Soon, I’d have to smile and pretend I wasn’t filthy with his brother’s sin.But no matter how wrong it was, a part of me didn’t regret it.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because even now, I ached for him.
Ivy, you’re so screwed.
I wiped at the corner of my mouth like I could somehow erase the memory, the taste, the burn he had left behind.
A knock sounded at the door, sharp and impatient.
“Ivy?” Victor’s voice. Steady. Controlled. Familiar.
I jumped, heart thundering, guilt clawing at my throat.
“One second!” I croaked, scrambling to fix my hair, to smooth the trembling from my hands.
I splashed cold water on my face and grabbed the nearest towel, patting myself down like it could erase the evidence.I couldn’t let him see.
I couldn’t let anyone see.Taking a shaky breath, I opened the door.
Victor stood there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw set in a familiar, polished smile.
But his eyes… they skimmed over me sharply, assessing, suspicious.“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded too quickly.
“Yeah, just… didn’t sleep well.”He smiled again, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
The innocent touch made my stomach twist violently.If he knew what I had done with his brother…
If he knew how I had moaned another man’s name while wearing his ring…“You look beautiful,” he said softly, completely oblivious.
I almost burst into tears right there.
Instead, I forced a smile, letting him guide me down the hall.
Every step I took beside Victor felt heavier than the last, like chains wrapping tighter around my ankles.
Deep down, a shameful part of me had hoped to see Killian again.
Hoped for one more stolen glance, one more silent touch. But when we entered the dining room, he was nowhere in sight.My parents were already seated at the table, along with my older brother, Andrew, whose presence seemed to brighten the entire room.
I rushed over to him.
“Andrew,” I breathed, throwing my arms around his neck.He pulled me into a tight hug, and for a moment, I could almost forget.
Forget what I had done. Forget how ruined I was.“Little sister,” Andrew chuckled, ruffling my hair, “you’ve gotten prettier in just a few weeks. You trying to make us all look bad?”
I laughed, a real one, and clung to him like a lifeline.
Andrew was the heart of our family, the one who always understood me without me having to say a word.Throughout breakfast, I stayed close to him, asking endless questions about his business trips, desperate for the distraction.
Andrew indulged me, as he always did.
“So sad your brother couldn’t join us for breakfast,” my father said, glancing at Victor.
“Oh, Killian’s never been the stay-in-one-place type,” Victor replied easily, cutting into his food. “I’m surprised you even got him to stay the night.”
I almost choked on my toast.
Stay the night.
If only they knew the real reason why.I ducked my head quickly, hoping no one noticed the way my hands shook.
But Andrew’s sharp gaze caught mine, his expression flickering, something too quick to name.Was it suspicion?
Or just concern?“At least we’ll finally meet him properly,” my father said, smiling. “Put a face to the infamous name.”
I forced a tight smile, nodding along.
But inside, my heart raced wildly.
Because deep down, I knew the next time I saw Killian…
everything was going to change.And this time, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.
The tape measure was cold against my skin.I stood still, arms stretched slightly out, as a stranger circled me with pins in her mouth and a tablet in her hands. Another woman crouched at my feet, murmuring something about the hem. A third pointed at fabrics I hadn’t chosen, describing a dress I’d never seen.None of them asked me what I wanted.“Silk organza,” one of them said. “Ivory, not white. Mr. Wolfe prefers ivory, it photographs better under chandelier lighting.”I blinked. “Who said I wanted ivory?”Silence.The woman smiled politely, too polished to flinch. “It’s standard for a Wolfe bride. Classic. Elegant.”I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I did neither.Instead, I stood there, barefoot and quiet in the middle of the grand guest salon, surrounded by sketches, fabric swatches, and a flurry of preparations I had no control over. I wasn’t a bride. I was a mannequin.The planner’s assistant adjusted the bustline on the mock bodice. “We’ll bring the final fittings in two
The study smelled of aged leather, sandalwood, and something darker, an undercurrent of silence so sharp it felt like a blade.Robert Wolfe sat in his chair, the one behind the mahogany desk where generations of Wolfe men had sat before him. None with his precision. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression carved from stone.He had waited exactly fourteen minutes.Victor was late on purpose.That boy is growing wings.Robert didn’t move when the door opened, nor when his son strolled in, unbothered, unapologetic. Victor closed the door with quiet finality, then leaned against it, hands in the pockets of his ash gray slacks. His black shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Casual in the way only men born into untouchable power could afford to be.“Dad.” Smooth. Controlled. Almost bored.Robert’s gaze flicked up. “Sit.”Victor didn’t move. “Why? So you can shout like I’m ten again?”Robert’s jaw flexed. “If I wanted to shout, you’d already be bleeding. N
The file came just after three a.m.No message. No warning.Just a quiet buzz from my encrypted line, followed by a digital packet that unpacked itself in a slow, efficient bleed of data.I didn’t open it right away.Instead, I stood barefoot in the center of the room, nursing black coffee like it could delay what I already knew was coming. The night pressed against the floor to ceiling windows like a question I didn’t want to answer. I have been awake all night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of ivy had creep into me all day till midnight. There is something going on, I have seen it with my mother, but with ivy, it is different. She is strong, stubborn and difficult to break. It seems different seeing her being mould into something else by Robert and Victor. Eventually, I walked back to my desk and double tapped the screen.One file.One face.One mark.Red.My stomach clenched, of guilt, but not with fear, and with something heavier. Familiar. The way old grief wraps around your ri
The screen glowed softly in the dim room, my phone resting on the nightstand like a live wire. I didn’t want to look at it again, afraid of what I’d find. But I did. Every second, every pull of my finger brought me closer to pieces I couldn’t handle right now.A single new message: Killian: I’m sorry.I stared. The world shook a little.Not “I love you,” not “I’m here,” just “I’m sorry.” Enough. Too much. It carried every apology he’d never said, every absence, every cowardice, every choice he’d made that ended with my world in shreds.I pressed my forehead to the cool wall. Tears came unbidden, hot and sudden. My breathing came in broken shards. Everything in me had clenched, tightened, shut down. And now…opened, spilling.I curled into myself on the bed, hugging knees to my chest. I pressed the phone against my heart like a talisman. And I fell apart.What I felt wasn’t relief. It was heartbreak all over again. Because I loved him. Still do. I hate that I do. And now I knew love woul
The city at night never slept, but Killian Wolfe’s apartment sat high above it all, quiet, detached. He liked it that way. Clean lines, dark stone, silence stretching through the rooms like a second skin. It was a place built for forgetting. A place where nothing reached him unless he allowed it to.And tonight, he couldn’t stop letting her in.He scrolled through his phone with the slow, unfocused rhythm of someone trying to numb himself. News. Markets. Weather. A text from a broker. Then, There she was.Ivy Lancaster.His chest seized before his mind caught up.It was a photo. Her smile was demure. Too demure. Her back was straight. Her clothes expensive and soft, cream silk and pearl earrings.But it was the caption that shattered him.“Adjusting. Slowly. Grateful.”He read it again.And again.The words were wrong. Ivy didn’t speak like that. Ivy was spitfire and sarcasm. She had once written him an entire paragraph about how “grateful” was the kind of word rich men gave their wiv
Morning didn’t come with sound, only light, soft and golden through the linen curtains. It brushed her cheeks like a whisper, but Ivy didn’t stir. Her body woke before her mind, stretching without direction, her hands curling loosely over the sheets.She hadn’t dreamed. Or maybe she had, and the dreams were so quiet she mistook them for death.Her eyes opened. The ceiling above her was ivory with delicate carvings. A room meant to soothe.But Ivy had begun to understand something ugly, Even comfort could be a kind of violence.She sat up slowly.The breakfast tray was already placed near the window, steaming gently. Eggs. Toast. Fruit cut into perfect shapes. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.They moved around her now like she was something sacred, or untouchable.Her robe lay folded on the end of the bed. Next to it, a dress she hadn’t picked: pale yellow with thin straps and a fitted waist, the color of springtime and submission.She stared at it. Then she got up, undressed, and step