As he moved within her, a slow, sadistic rhythm that forced her to feel every second of their union, Ivy felt the world outside the Gilded Cage dissolve. There was no father, no Architect, no stolen fortune. There was only the heat of his skin, the gold of his eyes, and the terrifying, beautiful certainty that she was cherished and cursed in equal measure.Hours later, the storm had passed, leaving the Alps in a shroud of moonlit white. Dante lay with his head on Ivy’s chest, his breathing finally steady. The silver vial sat on the nightstand, reflecting the dying embers of the fire.Ivy reached out, her fingers brushing the photograph from 1890. The woman in the photo—her doppelgänger—seemed to watch her with a knowing, tragic gaze."Dante," Ivy whispered, her voice a fragile thread. "The woman in the photo. What was her name?"Dante didn't look up. "Isabella. She was the first St. Claire to marry a Moretti. And the first to realize that being a 'matched set' was a death sentence."I
Last Updated : 2026-01-22 Read more