Chapter 6

Sebastian Wolfe did not rush.

He never had to.

The room seemed to recalibrate itself around him—the air heavier, the silence sharper. Rafael straightened almost imperceptibly. Jaxon’s casual ease vanished, replaced by alert precision. Even Lucien shifted, his attention narrowing, sharpening.

Ivy felt it all.

She stayed seated, though every instinct screamed at her to stand, to move, to do something. Sebastian remained near the doorway, his presence filling the space without effort, dark eyes fixed on her as if she were the only thing worth observing.

Ivy swallowed.

“So,” she said, forcing the word past her throat, “you finally came to see me.”

A faint curve touched his mouth. Not a smile. An acknowledgment.

“I’ve been watching you for a while now,” Sebastian replied. “You just weren’t aware.”

He moved then, unhurried steps carrying him closer. Ivy’s pulse spiked with each one until he stopped across the table from her.

Up close, he was worse.

Not cruel-looking. Not cold in the obvious way. His danger lay in control—in the stillness of him, in the sense that nothing ever truly surprised him.

“You’re calmer than I expected,” he observed.

“Shock wears off,” Ivy said. “Fear doesn’t.”

“Honest,” he murmured. “Good.”

She clenched her hands beneath the table. “Why me?”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, studying her as if she’d asked something more interesting than she realized.

“Because you have a debt to pay” he said.

Her breath left her in a sharp rush.

Her voice shook despite her effort.

She stood abruptly, chair scraping back. “Apart from owing my landlord and my sister's hospital bills I owe no one".

Sebastian rose as well, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

"Ivy Harper,” he said quietly. “I chose you because you are going to pay for everything that was done to us.”

Her chest tightened.

“You’re offering me a year of my life,” she said. “A marriage in name. Control. Surveillance. That’s not endurance—that’s a prison.”

“A temporary one,” he replied. “With an exit.”

She laughed bitterly. “And I’m supposed to trust that?”

He considered her for a long moment.

“No,” Sebastian said. “You’re supposed to trust that I keep my word.”

A pause.

“I always do.”

The weight of that promise felt heavier than any threat Rafael had thrown at her.

He stepped back, giving her space she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath for.

“Tomorrow morning,” he continued, “the world will learn we’re engaged. In three weeks, we’ll be married.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “That’s insane.”

“Efficient,” he corrected.

“And if I refuse?”

His eyes darkened—not with anger, but with certainty.

“You won’t.”

She hated that he was right.

Sebastian turned toward the door, then paused.

“One more thing,” he said. “You’re not here because I wanted a wife.”

She stiffened.

“I don’t need one,” he went on calmly. “You’re here because there is a threat moving against me. Against my name,Against my empire.”

Her stomach dropped. “And what do I have to do with that?”

He looked back at her, expression unreadable.

“They’re looking for leverage,” Sebastian said. “And they won’t expect me to hand it to them willingly.”

Realization struck like ice water.

“I’m bait.”

“You’re a shield,” he corrected. “And a test.”

“For who?”

“For you,” he said softly.

Sebastian addressed them without looking away from Ivy.

“She’s OURS now.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he said, gently but firmly. “You just haven’t said the words yet.”

Lucien watched her closely, something like approval flickering in his dark gaze.

Rafael nodded once. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Jaxon smiled faintly. “The press will love her.”

Sebastian finally turned away.

As he reached the door, Ivy found her voice.

“What happens after the year is over?

He paused.

“That,” Sebastian Wolfe said, “depends entirely on you.”

The door closed behind him.

Ivy stood in the center of the room, heart pounding, the truth settling deep in her bones.

She had stepped into a world ruled by wolves.

And the most dangerous one of all had just claimed her.

The penthouse never slept.

It only waited.

Ivy realized that on the fourth night—when the silence stopped feeling accidental and started feeling arranged. Every corridor light stayed on just long enough for her to pass. Every door opened before she touched it. Every meal appeared exactly when hunger began to gnaw, not before, not after.

Someone was watching her patterns.

She sat on the edge of the bed, bare feet pressed into cold marble, arms wrapped around herself. The room was too big. Too deliberate. The walls were glass and steel and shadows, and nothing in them felt like comfort. This wasn’t a bedroom. It was a stage.

A soft knock came at the door.

Not a question. A notification.

Rafael entered first.

Tall. Immaculate. Expressionless. His presence changed the temperature of the room without him touching a thing. He didn’t look at her the way men used to—no heat, no curiosity. His gaze assessed. Measured. Like she was a variable already solved.

“Mr. Wolfe will be late,” he said.

Ivy nodded, unsure why her throat felt tight.

Rafael stepped aside.

Jaxon followed—leaner, eyes sharp, movements easy in a way that made her nervous. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze lingering openly this time. Not hungry. Not emotional.

Interested.

Lucien came last. Silent. Black-eyed. Watching everything without reacting to anything. When his gaze met Ivy’s, it stayed there a fraction too long, like he was memorizing her.

Three men.

Not guards. Not servants.

They didn’t block the exit.

That somehow made it worse.

“You don’t have to stand there,” Ivy said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jaxon smiled—but it never reached his eyes.

“We know.”

They didn’t move.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Ivy became acutely aware of herself—the thin fabric of her clothes, the sound of her breathing, the way the room felt smaller with them in it. None of them touched her. None of them spoke again.

They didn’t need to.

This wasn’t about force.

It was about inevitability.

When they finally left, it wasn’t dramatic. Rafael gave a nod. Jaxon pushed off the wall. Lucien turned last.

The door closed.

Ivy exhaled like she’d been underwater.

Sebastian Wolfe didn’t appear that night.

But his presence did.

It lingered in the way the lights dimmed automatically when her pulse spiked. In the way the balcony doors sealed themselves when she stepped too close. In the file she found the next morning—lying openly on the desk like it had always belonged there.

Her name was on the tab.

Ivy Harper.

Inside were pages of information that made her stomach twist.

Not just her age. Her education. Her medical records.

But things no stranger should know.

Night terrors.

Aversion to raised voices.

The way her hands shook when men stood too close behind her.

She flipped the page with trembling fingers.

A note was scrawled in the margin.

Predictable stress response. Matches projection.

Projection.

As if she were a study.

She didn’t hear him enter.

Sebastian Wolfe never announced himself.

“You shouldn’t read that.”

She spun around.

He stood near the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, calm as if he’d been there all along.

“You shouldn’t have it out,” she shot back.

A pause.

Then, “Fair.”

He crossed the room slowly. Not predatory. Not rushed. Controlled. Every step intentional. He picked up the file and closed it with a finality that felt absolute.

“Do you want to ask me why I know these things?” he asked.

Yes.

The word burned on her tongue.

But something colder stopped her.

“No,” she said instead. “I want to know why they’re watching me.”

His gaze flicked—briefly—to the door.

“They’re not watching,” he said. “They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to stop pretending this is accidental.”

Her chest tightened. “You planned this.”

“I plan everything.”

She searched his face for cruelty. Found none. Just certainty.

“That doesn’t scare you?” she whispered. “To control people like this?”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly.

“Control isn’t what scares people, Ivy. Chaos does.”

Her name sounded practiced on his tongue.

As if he’d been saying it long before they met.

That night, she woke from a dream she couldn’t remember—heart racing, skin damp, lungs burning.

The lights turned on instantly.

Too instantly.

She sat up, shaking.

A shadow moved near the doorway.

Lucien.

He didn’t come closer. Didn’t speak.

Just stood there.

“How did you know?” she demanded.

His answer was immediate.

“We were told.”

“Told what?”

“That this would happen.”

By who?

The question stayed unspoken.

Lucien left without another word.

Ivy lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as something cold settled into her bones.

This wasn’t surveillance.

It was rehearsal.

The next morning, she overheard voices in the hallway.

Sebastian’s. Low. Precise.

Another man—Rafael, she thought.

“She reacts exactly like he said she would.”

A pause.

Then Sebastian again.

“Good. Then nothing’s changed.”

Ivy pressed her hand to her mouth.

He.

The word echoed.

Someone else was part of this.

Someone who knew her well enough to predict her fear.

The floor beneath her certainty cracked.

And for the first time since stepping into Sebastian Wolfe’s world, Ivy felt something worse than captivity.

She felt recognized.