LOGIN“I didn’t take you,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “I claimed what was promised to me.” My pulse stutters. “I am not yours.” A slow, lethal smile curves his lips as he steps closer—too close—his shadow wrapping around me. “You were always mine, Ivy,” he says, each word deliberate, heavy with threat and something far more dangerous. “Your father sealed your fate the day he made that promise.” Fear should make me run. It should make me hate him more. But instead, my breath catches as his hand lifts to my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And if I refuse?” I whisper. His eyes darken, voice dropping to a husky murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. “Then fight me,” he says. “Run from me. Try to hate me.” His thumb brushes my jaw, slow and possessive. “But no matter what you do… you’ll still come back to me.” My heart pounds—furious, terrified, and traitorously aware of the heat building between us. Because the most dangerous part of Tyrance isn’t his power. It isn’t his violence. It isn’t the secrets he keeps. It’s the way my body trembles when he’s near. The way his voice pulls me closer when every instinct screams to run.
View MoreIvyI hear the soft click of the door before I even notice Tyrance stepping inside.“You have two hours,” he says, voice calm, measured, but sharp enough to cut through the silence. “Two hours to prepare yourself for the marriage.”I blink, caught between disbelief and fury. “Marriage?” My voice trembles despite my attempt to stay composed. “You mean—now?” His dark eyes don’t waver.I swallow hard, dread and anger twisting in my chest. I want to question, to yell, demand answers—but something in the way he stands pins me silent.“I…” I pause, searching for words, but nothing fits. My mind spins with doubts and the bitter taste of betrayal. Owen’s face flashes before me, my so-called husband, the life I thought I had. And now… this.He tilts his head slightly, reading the storm inside me. “Time’s moving,” he says simply. “You’ll need to be ready as a bride.”I bite back a retort, nodding stiffly, feeling inevitability settle like stone.Outside, the garden glimmers under soft moonligh
Ivy The bindings are finally gone. They’ve brought me to a bedroom—a space that’s lavish, softly lit, with dark wood furniture and heavy curtains that block the night outside.It’s meant to comfort, I think, but all I feel is rage and disbelief.Tyrance sits across from me now, the distance between us taut, almost electric. He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his gaze pins me to my chair. Every second under that stare makes my chest ache, twisting nerves into raw tension. I try to gather my thoughts, but they scatter, jumbled, frantic.“You…knew my father?” I blurt out, my voice trembling, a mix of defiance and fear. “Is that why—why you…” My words falter, caught between accusation and disbelief.He leans back slightly, hands resting casually on his knees, the picture of calm. But it’s deliberate, controlled, like he’s holding all the pieces of a game only he can see. “Yes,” he says finally, voice smooth, cold, carrying a darkness I can’t place. “Your father… he made promises. De
IvyDarkness presses against me, thick and suffocating. My eyes are covered, my mouth gagged, and my wrists tied tight behind me. Every bump in the road sends jolts through my arms, and the car smells of leather and smoke. I try to scream, but the cloth in my mouth muffles every sound into silence. Panic rises, sharp and immediate, but there’s nothing I can do.I hear the faint click of a turn signal, the low hum of the engine, and the occasional curse from one of the men driving. Every second stretches endlessly. My mind races. Owen. He can’t have done this. He wouldn’t… No. I stop thinking about him. It doesn’t matter. The car slows. My body leans forward as it stops abruptly. My tied hands scrape against each other. The doors open, and strong hands grab me from either side. I struggle, but my movements are clumsy, uncoordinated, tied and trapped. The gag stretches as I try to shout, and my chest burns with effort.“Quiet,” a voice hisses, low and commanding. I flinch. The han
IvyI imagine him walking through the door the way he used to—flowers in hand, that boyish smile softening the sharp edges of his face as he calls my name. In my mind, the house smells of roses and warm food instead of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke. He wraps his arms around me, whispers that he missed me, that everything will be okay.It’s a foolish fantasy, one I cling to on the nights when the silence grows too heavy, and hope feels safer than truth.Reality crashes in with the slam of the front door.My heart jolts against my ribs as Owen steps inside. His expensive shoes strike the marble floor with cold authority.I sit rigidly on the couch, fingers twisting the hem of my sleeve, waiting for the storm that always follows his return.He doesn’t look at me. He tosses his keys onto the table, loosens his tie, and exhales sharply, as if the mere sight of this house exhausts him. The scent of alcohol clings to him even from across the room.“Get ready for tomorrow.” The words fal






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