All Chapters of Corrupt Temptation: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

IVY.My rooms heavy oak door felt like the entrance to an opulent gilded prison. Following the acerbic conversation between Sloan and Albert, Sloans icy rejection of my suffering and his shocking but unquestionably sincere pledge to find Willa. I had fallen onto my bed with my sisters picture cradled against my chest. Fueled by renewed despair the tears had returned in a new painful torrent. He made a promise. The question a constant torment replayed in my mind: could I trust him? Hours went by extending into an endless period of quiet sorrow. As the sun sank below the horizon flaming hues painted the sky mocking the icy desolation within me. The mansion which is typically a stronghold of quiet activity had descended into its profound all-pervasive quiet. No sound of distant footsteps. No voice muttering. No clinking of glasses. Just the deep oppressive silence of a house that is really deserted. That was my cue. In the midst of heartache and a desperate need for autonomy I made th

IVY.The loud explosion sent chills of sheer terror through me as the splintering crash of my apartment door reverberated through the tiny space. I collapsed to the ground in a huddle of bone-deep terror staring at the gaping abyss where my front door had been my eyes wide and incredulous. A pitiful shattered barrier against the outside world the wood was lying strewn everywhere. Two huge ominous figures entered the demolished doorway. Men. Hefty and constructed like a wall of bricks and wore dark spotless suits that seemed to absorb the little light coming from the corridor. Their faces were completely unreadable and devoid of humanity because their eyes were obscured by dark impenetrable sunglasses. They moved like commandos entering a hostile zone with a chilling coordinated efficiency. My thoughts were racing descending into a frantic panic. They weren't the men Sloan usually had. These weren't the same, more chilly,more directly threatening. I was unable to think properly. Wer

IVY.My brain felt like it was being chipped away from the inside by a heavy rhythmic pulse that pulsed through my skull in a raw dull manner. Even the thought of moving was an excruciating chore because I felt like every muscle in my body had been stretched and then knotted up. I was a puppet with broken strings, a bag of bones and skin bruises. As though through murky thick water, I gradually became conscious of my surroundings. The air was scented with polished wood and a fresh slightly masculine scent like bergamot or maybe cedar. The cold coarse asphalt that had previously supported me was a sharp contrast to the soft sheets beneath me. When I forced my eyes open, the world came into focus—not in a harsh glare but rather in a gentle soft light that was filtered through thick drapes. I was in a familiar room but initially I had trouble identifying it. The single unlit fireplace across the room, the elaborate silver carvings on the headboard and the dark mahogany furnishings. St

IVY. A cold, sharp dread pierced through me and for a moment, the throbbing pain in my head disappeared as my eyes widened. The words ‘Marked for death?’ sounded like a hideous echo in the quiet room too ridiculous to be true but Sloan's unblinking eyes assured me they were. I gasped as I jumped out of bed, a new wave of pain tearing through my temples. “What… what do you mean by that?” I said in a choked whisper that could hardly be heard above my hearts frantic pounding. Sloan's jaw tightened as he took another slow step closer his presence looming filling the already oppressive space. “What do you mean I'll be marked for death? This is some kind of sick joke, isn't it?” I asked. “No Ivy. This is a serious case. This is how the world you've wandered into actually works.”He stopped and looked at my face as though determining how much truth I could take. “My rivals are watching you somehow. As soon as you left this mansion you were targeted. They might have learned about you fro

IVY.Like a stifled beast, my heart hammered against my ribs. Trying to make sense of the scene, I gazed into the room with wide eyes. I felt my breath catch in my throat. Neither was it a prison nor a laboratory. The room was large and circular with intricate ancient carvings that coiled and twisted like serpents on the stone walls. Statues towered against the walls nearly as tall as the ceiling itself. The founding fathers their faces carved into stone, their eyes knowing and hollow were the ones I recognized from the portraits in the mansions hallways. A large circular symbol carved into the floor was surrounded by a circle of high-backed chairs in the center of the room. The chairs appeared to be made of a dark polished stone. Those chairs were occupied by men wearing crimson cloaks with deep hoods covering their faces. A scene of ominous silence, they sat motionless and silent. As my gaze swept across the room absorbing the scenes full horror, I finally caught sight of them. I