All Chapters of RULE NO 1: DONT TOUCH HIM!: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

IVY The car comes to a smooth halt right in front of a glass-fronted boutique. The air outside smells like money. Christian is out of the car before I can even blink, tossing his keys to a valet waiting by the curb. He walks around, pulls my door open, and extends a hand. I take it, sliding out of the low seat and smoothing down the front of my dress. The atmosphere shifts the second my heels click against the floor—it's quiet, it's luxury, the kind of place where money doesn't make a sound. Inside, a man is standing by the counter. He looks like he's the manager, but the second he sees Christian walk through the doors, his entire posture snaps rigid. "Mr. De Luca," the man stammers, bowing his head slightly. "We... welcome. We... we weren't expecting you." "Clear the second floor," Christian says, his voice flat and absolute, carrying the weight of a man who owns the ground he stands on. "My wife's daughter is shopping. We’ll take it from here." God. Seeing him w

CHRISTIAN "I’ve wanted to be back inside you since the second I pulled out this morning.” My hand slides from her waist to the swell of her hips, savoring the mold. I move down to her stomach, dropping lower, pressing right over the thin fabric of the dress and the lace beneath it. Damn... heat. "Still wet for Daddy?" "You already know the answer," she whimpers, already melting against me. With one sharp pull, I gather the hem of the short dress and shove it up over her hips, exposing the blue lace panties. God. The things blue can do to me... My fingers dive straight between her legs, cupping her wetness right through the thin lace. "Already soaked," I groan, my voice rough. "And ready for me. You're being such a good girl." "Ahhh—fuck... don’t... don't... ah... tsss... ahhh," she cries out, tossing her head back against my shoulder. "Don't sound... don't sound so pleased with yourself." I press my face to the side of her neck, sucking hard on her pale skin, b

IVY I step out into the bright afternoon sunlight. The air feels cool against my flushed skin, but my core is still hot, throbbing, still humming with the echo of his hands and his body. My legs feel weak. The attendants are already outside, quietly loading the designer bags into the trunk of the car. Security guards stand near the entrance, looking sharp and professional, blending into the background. The street feels different now. Tighter. Quieter. Like the calm before a storm. I walk ahead, reaching the passenger side of the car. My fingers touch the cold metal of the door handle. Then—a sudden jolt hits my chest. Prickling. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Every instinct I learned from a life of running, of hiding, of watching my back, screams at me all at once. Someone is looking at you. I freeze. My hand drops from the handle. Slowly, I turn my head, letting my eyes sweep across the street. Down the sidewalk. Across the rows of parked cars.

IVY The name drops into the room like a stone hitting deep water. The air shifts. His expression doesn't crack, but the muscles across his broad shoulders tighten instantly, pulling his frame rigid. "Why do you always call her Claire instead of Mom?" he asks. The question is soft, but it lands squarely on my chest, direct. I look down at my hands. My fingers pick nervously at a loose thread on the hem of my oversized shirt. "Because she chose you over her own child," I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper. He stays silent, watching me, waiting for me to keep going. "She wasn’t a present mother," I continue, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Not to me. She made her decisions, and I wasn’t one of the things she decided to keep close." "So you hate her?" I pause, swallowing the tightness in my throat. I look back up at him. "No. I don’t hate her. But I don’t like her either. There’s a difference." He nods once, like he is taking those words and filing the

IVY We get to his office, the massive glass box on a high floor, all polished chrome, quiet power, and floor-to-ceiling windows showing the whole city below. People in the hallways straighten up the second they see him walk by. A few curious glances land on me, but nobody dares to stare for long. He leads me straight into his private space—a huge room with a desk, a leather sitting area off to the side, and one entire wall made of clear glass. The memory of the last time I was here fills my head. He points a finger toward the couch. "Sit there. There are magazines and books. Read something or do whatever you want, as long as you don’t interrupt me." I press a hand to my chest, letting my eyes go wide. "Yes, daddy." I say it with just enough honey to make his eyes flash. He gives me a sharp, warning look and turns his back to sit down behind the desk, immediately pulling a stack of open files toward him. For a little while, I actually behave. I sit on the couch, scro