Chapter 4

Ivy’s POV

The glass in my hand was the only cold thing in the room. Everything else was scorching.

"Ruin me," I repeated, the words tasting like forbidden fruit.

Silas didn't smile. He wasn't a man who smiled. He simply watched me with that intense, hawk-like gaze. "Yes. Ruin you. So that when you go back to him—and you will go back, because you’re too duty-bound to leave yet—you won’t be able to let him touch you without thinking of us."

Julian took the glass from my hand and set it on the table. "You’re trembling, Ivy."

"I’m scared," I admitted.

"Good," Dante said from behind the couch. His hands came down to rest on my shoulders, his fingers digging into the tension there. "Fear makes you feel alive. You’ve been dead for years, haven't you?"

He was right. I had been a walking corpse in a designer dress.

"Show us," Silas commanded softly.

"Show you what?"

" The fire." Silas leaned back, watching me. "Kiss Julian."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "What?"

"You heard him," Julian said, his voice soft, coaxing. He was still kneeling between my legs, looking up at me like a devotee at an altar. "Kiss me, Ivy. Like you wanted to when you were eighteen."

I remembered that. I remembered the summer before everything went wrong. I had a crush on Julian that consumed me. But he had always pushed me away, saying I was too young, too innocent.

I wasn't innocent anymore.

I leaned forward. Julian met me halfway.

His lips were soft, deceptive. It started slow, a testing of waters. But then Dante groaned from behind me, his grip on my shoulders tightening, and the sound snapped something inside Julian.

He surged forward, his hand tangling in my hair, tilting my head back. The kiss deepened, becoming hungry, demanding. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of whiskey and sin. It was overwhelming. It was electric.

I whimpered, my hands clutching Julian’s shirt.

"That's it," Dante growled. I felt his hot breath on my neck. Then, his lips were there, grazing the sensitive skin below my ear.

I was being assaulted by sensation from both sides. Julian devouring my mouth, Dante marking my neck.

And Silas... Silas just watched.

I pulled back from Julian, gasping for air. My lips were swollen, my chest heaving. I looked at Silas. He hadn't moved.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice low.

"I... I don't know," I stammered.

"Liar," Silas said again. He stood up then. He was massive. He towered over the scene, the king surveying his court. "You want to forget him. You want to hurt him."

He reached down and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "We aren't a rebellion, Ivy. We aren't a one-night stand. If you let this happen... if you let us touch you... we don't stop. Do you understand? We don't share."

"But my husband..."

"Fuck your husband," Dante spat. "He forfeited his rights the moment he touched another woman."

Silas’s thumb brushed my bottom lip. "Last chance, Ivy. The door is unlocked."

I looked at the door. I pictured my life outside. The cold dinners. The fake smiles. The scent of other women on Grant’s shirts.

Then I looked at them. The heat. The intensity. The obsession.

"I don't want the door," I whispered.

The air in the room shattered.

Silas’s control snapped. He hauled me up from the couch, his arm wrapping around my waist, crushing me against his hard chest. He didn't kiss me gently. He possessed me. His mouth crashed onto mine, hard, bruising, claiming.

Dante and Julian moved in. Hands were everywhere. Rough palms on my waist, fingers tracing the zipper of my dress.

I was lost in a whirlwind of testosterone and dominance. They lifted me, placing me on the sturdy oak desk.

"You’re ours," Silas growled against my lips. "You always were."

We didn't go all the way. Not yet. They were teasing me, torturing me. Hands roaming where no hands should be, mouths tasting skin that had been neglected for years. They brought me to the edge of sanity, wringing cries from my throat that I didn't recognize.

They made me beg. They made me say their names.

And when I was a sobbing, shivering mess, clinging to Silas’s jacket, they stopped.

I blinked, dazed, my body humming with unfulfilled need. "Why?"

Silas smoothed my hair back, his face grim. He pulled my dress back into place, adjusting the straps with surprising gentleness.

"Because we don't take leftovers," Silas said, his voice hard as steel. "You go home. You pack your bags. You leave him. When you are free... then you come to us. And then, we won't stop."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black business card with a single gold number on it. He pressed it into my palm, closing my fingers over it.

"Go," he ordered.

I slid off the desk, my legs shaking so hard I almost fell. Julian caught my elbow to steady me, his eyes dark with regret, but he let me go.

I ran. I ran out of the room, down the hall, and out the back exit into the cool night air.

I gasped, looking at the card in my hand.

I thought I could use them for one night. I thought I could handle the fire. But they hadn't just burned me. They had branded me.