Filthy Vows: My Guardian’s Obsession のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

The kitchen was still steeped in heat. The coffee had gone cold, the marble streaked with sweat and breath and the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be broken. Ivy stayed where he had left her, chest pressed to the counter, legs weak, her body pulsing with the rhythm he’d buried in her. She could still feel him inside her, thick and hard and unapologetic. The echo of his voice haunted the air around them. She didn’t speak. Neither did he. Victor stood behind her with both hands braced on her hips. His grip wasn’t punishing. It wasn’t even possessive anymore. Just grounded. Still. As if he knew one wrong move would shatter what was left of the moment. He leaned down slowly, breath grazing her shoulder, mouth brushing the damp skin at her spine. “You can’t ask me to be soft with you, Ivy.” She didn’t answer right away. She pushed up onto her elbows, turned her face toward him, and let him see her. Not the girl from the penthouse contract. Not the trembling thing from the confes

The silence stayed after the door closed, thick enough to press against her ribs. Ivy didn’t move. The scent of him clung to her skin, folded into the collar of his shirt, and soaked into the sheets that still brushed her legs. Her fingers rested gently against her stomach, as though touching the place where his hands had been could steady the uneven rhythm of her thoughts. The ache in her body was not only from what they had done. It had roots that twisted deeper, where his voice and his eyes had reached without permission. Outside, the city carried on. A faint honk echoed through the streets. The hum of a distant plane drifted through the glass. Life moved in its usual patterns, unaware that something fragile inside her had shifted. Ivy stayed curled on the bed, her knees drawn close, her breath caught somewhere between pain and longing. She had told herself not to want this. She had told herself not to need anything from him. But she had still let him in. And he had let her i

The message wasn’t from him.It came through Sonia, short and sterile: He expects you home by nine.Not a command. Not even a warning. Just a statement of fact, dropped into her inbox like it hadn’t been days since she last heard his voice. Ivy stared at the words until her phone dimmed, the letters fading back into black. She should have ignored it. She should have finished her meal, gone back to the spreadsheets, stayed in the light of a place that didn’t ask her to kneel just to be seen.But she didn’t.She was home by eight fifty-eight.The penthouse was dark when she stepped in, shadows layered over polished floors and silent walls. A single lamp cast a soft amber glow across the far side of the room. Victor sat in one of the low chairs near the fireplace, legs crossed, a crystal glass in his hand. He didn’t turn when she entered. Just lifted the glass to his mouth and sipped slowly, like the room hadn’t changed, like she hadn’t just walked back into the orbit he pretended not to

Victor The door closed behind him with a soft click. Victor did not lock it. He didn’t even glance back. There was no reason to. He knew Ivy would not follow him, not after the way he had left her standing there with a truth neither of them was ready to carry aloud. His steps down the hall were slow, deliberate, each one echoing more than it should have in the still air. The penthouse was too quiet. He entered his private suite and let the door fall shut behind him. He did not bother with the lights. The faint ambient glow from the city outside was enough to outline the familiar shapes inside the room. The muted gray of the armchair by the window, the glass decanter untouched on the side table, the long shadows stretching across the carpet like fingers from a memory he did not want to hold. He sat down. The leather was cool beneath him, giving only slightly beneath his weight. The windowpane

The office smelled like new carpet and expensive ink. Neutral tones stretched across the room in careful symmetry, from the soft matte gray of the filing cabinets to the pale wood of the conference table where Ivy sat. The window behind her let in soft winter light, cutting across the glass in clean lines, slicing everything into neat, manageable shapes.None of it felt like her.The papers in front of her were crisp, the black ink still gleaming faintly in places. Legal documentation. Non-disclosures. Employment agreements. Corporate allegiance dressed up in language too clean to be honest. Her name sat at the top of every page, printed in sharp capital letters.IVY SOPHIA MOORE.It didn’t feel like a name anymore. It felt like a headline. A weight. A version of herself she had folded up months ago and buried somewhere between Victor’s floor and his silence.She signed anyway.The pen moved without hesitation. Her hand didn’t sh