IVY'S POV
He shoved my hands away with such force that I stumbled backward, as if my desperate touch had soiled his very soul.
His eyes, cold, piercing shards of silver dragged over me slowly, deliberately, filled with pure, unfiltered contempt.
I felt stripped bare beneath that gaze, like something filthy and repulsive that had dared crawl too close to his polished boots.
Then he turned to Father, his voice smooth as silk over steel, laced with mocking amusement.
"Who is this… pathetic creature?"
"One of my slaves," Father replied, his tone flat and dismissive, as though I were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture.
"A slave?" Nicholas Vault's lips curved into a slow, cruel smile that sent chills racing down my spine. "How utterly charming".
He tilted his head, studying me with those sharp, predatory eyes. "A slave who calls you 'Father'… how delightfully twisted.
