Chapter 6: Fitted for a Cage

“Hold still. This dress isn’t going to fit itself.”

Ivy stood on a small platform in what used to be a sitting room, arms held out while a seamstress circled her with a mouth full of pins. The wedding gown felt more like armor than anything meant for a bride. Layers of white silk pooled around her feet, cinched tight at the waist. Heavier than anything she had ever worn. Heavier than it had any right to be for something that would only exist for a single day.

She had not picked the dress. She had not picked anything about the last three days.

“I don’t remember agreeing to this fabric,” Ivy said.

“You didn’t.” The seamstress did not look up. “Mr. Cross’s office approved the design. I just execute what’s given to me.”

“Of course he did.”

The door opened without a knock. Kade stepped inside like the room already belonged to him. He stopped a few feet from the platform, arms crossed, studying the dress.

“Don't you know how to knock?” Ivy said.

“It’s my house.” Simple fact. No malice. The effect landed the same. “The dress works. Leave the neckline as designed.”

“Nobody asked your opinion on the neckline.”

“I’m giving it anyway.” Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, gone before she could be certain she had seen it. “You’ll be photographed from every angle at that wedding. I’d rather the photographs work in our favor.”

“Our favor? Not mine. Ours.” Ivy held still while the seamstress finished a pin near her waist. “Do you ever say anything that isn’t strategic?”

“Rarely. It’s a survival skill in this family.” He waited until the seamstress excused herself to fetch another pin cushion. The room went quieter without the third presence. When he spoke again his voice had dropped slightly. More private. “For what it’s worth, neither of us wanted this. I know that. I’m not asking you to pretend otherwise in private, whatever we have to perform in public for the next few days.”

Ivy blinked. “That’s the first true thing you’ve said to me since I got here.”

“I don’t lie. I told you that already.” He moved closer to the platform, studying her the way he might study an opponent across a negotiating table. “You’re handling this better than most people would. I’ve watched grown men fall apart under far less pressure than what’s been put on you this week. Threats. Contracts. A wedding in four days. And you haven’t once asked me to make any of it easier.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation.” Something in his tone suggested it was closer to a compliment than he was willing to admit out loud.

The moment broke the instant the door opened again. An older man entered. Silver hair immaculate. Dark eyes sharp despite an illness written faintly in the slowness of his gait. He leaned on a polished cane that seemed more symbolic than necessary.

“Father.” Kade’s posture shifted instantly. Straighter. More guarded. The private version of him vanished behind something colder. “We’re in the middle of a fitting.”

“I can see that.” Vincent Cross’s eyes moved over Ivy slowly. Assessing. The same way the men who had broken into her apartment had assessed her, except worse, because this man had the power to make good on every threat those men had only implied. “So this is the girl.”

“This is Ivy,” Kade said. An edge entered his voice that had not been there a moment ago.

“Of course.” Vincent smiled, and it did not reach his eyes. “Ivy Marchetti. Hospital records clerk. No family beyond a wayward brother. No political connections. No history worth mentioning.” He circled the platform slowly, cane tapping once against the floor with each step. “You understand what an unusual choice you are for a family like ours.”

“I understand I didn’t have much of a choice at all,” Ivy said before she could stop herself.

Vincent’s smile sharpened, delighted rather than offended. “Good. Honesty. I was worried Kade had chosen someone who’d spend the next fifty years telling me what I wanted to hear. Sycophants are useless to this family. They agree right up until the moment they betray you.” He stopped in front of her, studying her face with an intensity that felt almost clinical. “You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

The room went very still.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Ivy’s voice came out thinner than she intended.

“Nothing at all.” Vincent’s expression smoothed over instantly. The moment gone as quickly as it had appeared. “A passing resemblance. Old men see ghosts in young faces sometimes. Pay it no mind.”

“You said I have my mother’s eyes.” Ivy stepped down from the platform despite the pins still holding half the dress together. She ignored the seamstress’s protest from the doorway. Ignored Kade’s sharp glance. “You don’t know my mother. You couldn’t have known my mother. She died when I was fifteen. She never once set foot anywhere near this family.”

“Couldn’t I?” Vincent’s gaze held hers for one long, unbearable second. Something calculating and amused moved behind his eyes. Then he turned toward the door, cane tapping against the floor with each measured step. Unhurried. Entirely unbothered by the question he had left hanging in the air. “Kade. The fitting looks acceptable. Finish it before evening.”

He left without another word.

Without answering.

Ivy stood at the edge of the platform in a dress that was not finished and a silence that suddenly felt too loud. Her pulse had not caught up yet. It still hammered against the sudden, impossible weight of what he had just said.

Kade watched the closed door for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally looked back at her, the private version of him was gone again. Replaced by the controlled heir who gave nothing away.

“Don’t ask him about it again,” he said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because he won’t answer. And because some questions in this house are more dangerous than the answers.”

Ivy’s hands curled at her sides. The pins in the dress bit lightly into her skin.

Four days until the wedding.

And in this house, Vincent Cross knew something about her mother that she did not.