Ivy didn't sleep.
She lay on the edge of the massive bed, fully dressed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the city pulsed beneath the windows. Every sound felt amplified. Every shadow felt watched.
At exactly 6:00 a.m., the door unlocked.
Not knocked.
Unlocked.
Ivy sat up instantly.
Lucien stepped inside like he owned the air itself—which, she realized bitterly, he did. He was already dressed, crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, control stitched into every line of him.
"You're late," she said, voice rough.
Lucien glanced at her. "You didn't sleep."
"That wasn't an invitation."
"No," he replied. "It was an observation."
She swung her legs off the bed. "You don't get to walk into my room like this."
Lucien closed the door behind him. "In my house, I do."
Her spine straightened. "Then we need to set boundaries."
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "You think this is a negotiation."
"I think," she said coldly, "you underestimated me."
That got his attention.
She stepped closer, refusing to give ground. "You married me for control. For leverage. For some twisted revenge I still don't understand."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"But here's where you miscalculated," she continued. "I'm not fragile. And I won't play the silent wife while you move me around like a chess piece."
The room went very still.
Lucien walked toward her slowly. Each step deliberate. Dangerous.
"You want honesty?" he asked quietly. "Fine."
He stopped inches away.
"You exist in this marriage because you're connected to something that destroyed my family."
Ivy's breath caught. "That's impossible."
"You were there," he said again. "You saw what happened—and you walked away."
Her heart slammed violently. "I was a teenager. I barely remember that night."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "I remember every second."
She shook her head. "Then your memory is lying to you."
The words shattered something.
Lucien grabbed her wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to make the point.
"Be careful," he warned. "You're standing on thin ice."
Ivy didn't pull away.
Instead, she leaned in.
"So are you."
Silence exploded between them.
Lucien released her abruptly, stepping back like she'd burned him.
"Get dressed," he snapped. "You're coming with me."
"Where?"
"To the place where your father made his biggest mistake."
Ice flooded her veins.
"I won't go," she said.
Lucien picked up his phone. One tap.
Her phone buzzed instantly.
A message from her bank.
ACCOUNT TERMINATED.
She stared at the screen.
"You're evil," she whispered.
Lucien's voice was iron. "I'm prepared."
She looked up at him, eyes blazing. "You think breaking me will fix your past?"
Lucien met her stare.
"I don't need to break you," he said. "I just need you to remember."
She laughed shakily. "And what if I remember something that proves you wrong?"
A dangerous pause.
Lucien stepped closer again, lowering his voice.
"Then," he said, "everything I've built will collapse."
That was it.
The crack.
The admission.
Ivy straightened, fire igniting in her chest.
"Good," she said softly. "Because I'm done being afraid of you."
Lucien studied her for a long moment—really studied her.
Then he smiled.
Not cruel.
Not amused.
Excited.
"Get dressed, Mrs. Vale," he said. "Let's see whose spine shatters first."
Ivy held his gaze.
For the first time since signing that contract, she smiled back.
And Lucien realized—
He hadn't married a victim.
He had married a storm.