Ivy's hands shook as she zipped the last bag shut. The sound echoed too loudly in her tiny bedroom, a final nail sealing her fate.
Her brother hovered in the doorway, confusion etched into his young face.
"You're really leaving?" Liam asked.
Ivy forced a smile, though her chest ached. "It's just… a job. A temporary arrangement."
He frowned. "What kind of job needs you to move in with someone?"
The lie tasted bitter, but she swallowed it. "One that pays enough to keep you in school and put food on the table. Isn't that what matters?"
Liam's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing more.
Their mother emerged, clutching a worn shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes shimmered with worry as she cupped Ivy's cheek. "Don't lose yourself, my girl. Whatever you're doing… don't forget who you are."
Ivy hugged her tightly, inhaling the scent of home one last time before stepping into the waiting black car parked at the curb.
---
The ride to Lucian's penthouse was silent, save for the purr of the engine. The city blurred by, neon lights painting streaks against the tinted windows.
When the car stopped before Cross Tower, Ivy's breath caught. She'd been here earlier that day, but now, under the cloak of night, the building looked even more like a citadel—a place meant to keep outsiders away.
Inside, the private elevator carried her to the top. The doors opened to reveal a space so vast, so luxurious, she felt as if she'd stepped into another world entirely.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the glittering skyline. Marble floors stretched endlessly, softened by rugs that looked more expensive than her entire apartment. Sleek furniture in blacks and silvers gave the space a cold, untouchable aura—just like its owner.
Lucian stood near the window, his broad shoulders framed by the city lights. He turned at her arrival, his gaze sweeping over her single battered suitcase.
"That's all?" His tone dripped with disdain.
Heat crept to her cheeks. "It's enough."
One dark brow arched, but he didn't press further. Instead, he gestured to a hallway. "Your room is down there. Second door to the left."
Her heart sank. Her room. Not their room. Relief mingled with humiliation.
She dragged her suitcase down the polished hallway, her reflection mocking her from every glossy surface. The room was bigger than her entire apartment, with a king-sized bed, silk sheets, and a view that made her stomach twist.
She sank onto the bed, clutching her phone. Messages from Liam blinked on the screen: Are you safe? Where are you?
Her thumbs hovered, but what could she say? She typed only: I'm safe. Don't worry about me.
A knock on the door startled her. Before she could respond, Lucian stepped inside.
"Do you always enter without permission?" she snapped before she could stop herself.
He smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "You signed away your right to privacy the moment you signed that contract."
Her fingers curled into the bedsheets. "I signed because you gave me no choice."
Lucian pushed off the frame, his presence filling the room as he stepped closer. His cologne was sharp, intoxicating. He stopped mere inches away, his gaze dropping to her trembling hands.
"You had a choice, Ivy," he said softly, dangerously. "You chose survival."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to scream, but the truth silenced her.
Lucian's eyes lingered on her face, searching, as though peeling away every layer she tried to hide. For a moment, the air between them crackled—charged, heavy. Then he stepped back, the mask of indifference snapping back into place.
"Dinner is at eight. Don't be late."
With that, he turned and left, the door closing with a soft click that sounded louder than any slam.
---
Ivy changed into her cleanest dress, a simple navy piece she'd bought years ago for job interviews. It felt pitifully plain against the opulence of Lucian's world, but she refused to let shame swallow her whole.
The dining table stretched absurdly long, set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses. Lucian sat at the head, already sipping his wine. He didn't rise as she entered, didn't greet her—just watched as she took the seat opposite him.
The food was exquisite: roasted lamb, delicate salads, rich sauces. Ivy's stomach growled, but each bite tasted like ashes under his scrutiny.
"Tell me about your family," he said suddenly, his tone deceptively casual.
Her fork clattered against the plate. "Why?"
"You're my wife now. It's expected I know the basics."
"They're… good people," she said cautiously. "My mother worked herself sick raising us. My brother's still in school. They don't deserve the mess I dragged them into."
Lucian's gaze sharpened. "Then why did you?"
Anger flared in her chest. "Because people like you bleed the world dry and leave the rest of us scrambling for scraps. Because I was desperate!"
The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Silence fell like a blade.
Lucian's jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he might explode—but instead, a low, humorless chuckle escaped him.
"Finally. Some fire." His eyes glinted. "Good. I prefer honesty to groveling."
Ivy stared, stunned. Had he just… complimented her?
But the warmth in his tone vanished as quickly as it came. "Don't mistake this for affection. You're here to serve a purpose. Nothing more."
Her appetite evaporated. She pushed her plate away, her hands trembling under the table.
---
Back in her room, Ivy curled on the edge of the massive bed, staring at the glittering city beyond the glass. She felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.
Her phone buzzed again. A message from Liam: Ivy, come home soon.
Her chest tightened painfully. I can't, she whispered into the dark.
Somewhere across the penthouse, Lucian stood before the same skyline, his glass of whiskey untouched. His reflection stared back at him—sharp, controlled, unfeeling.
But behind the mask, something stirred. He thought of Ivy's defiance, the fire in her eyes when she accused him of bleeding the world dry.
Most women simpered, flattered, begged. She fought back.
And damn him, he liked it.
He finished the drink in one swallow, his jaw tight. This was business. Just business.
So why did it already feel like so much more?