The morning of her wedding, Ivy woke to find her mother sitting beside her bed.

"Mom?" Ivy sat up, disoriented. Catherine looked pale but determined, dressed in a beautiful blue dress that hung loosely on her thin frame. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the hospital-"

"I got permission for a day pass." Catherine's hand found Ivy's, squeezing weakly. "Did you really think I'd miss my daughter's wedding?"

Tears burned Ivy's eyes. "You should be resting. The treatment-"

"Can wait one day." Catherine's expression was fierce despite her frailty. "Now get up. We have a bride to prepare."

The next hours passed in a surreal blur. The stylist arrived with a team-hair, makeup, nails. Lydia appeared with the dress, already pressed and perfect. Margot coordinated everything with military precision. And through it all, Catherine sat nearby, watching with tears in her eyes.

"You're so beautiful," her mother whispered as Ivy stood in the finished dress, her hair swept up in an elegant chignon, makeup natural but flawless. "You look just like I did on my wedding day."

"Mom, don't-" Ivy's voice cracked.

"Let me say this." Catherine stood, moving slowly to take Ivy's hands. "I know this marriage isn't what you imagined. I know it started as a transaction. But sweetheart, I've watched Damien with you these last two weeks. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one's noticing. The way he positioned his body between you and that awful nephew. The way he talks to your doctors about my treatment like it's his personal mission to save me." She smiled sadly. "That's not a man protecting an investment. That's a man who cares, whether he admits it or not."

"He's just thorough," Ivy said. "It's his nature."

"Maybe." Catherine's eyes held knowing wisdom. "Or maybe he's falling for you as hard as you're falling for him."

"I'm not-" Ivy stopped. Was she? Was she falling for Damien Blackwood, the man who'd bought her presence in his life, who claimed to feel nothing, who treated her like a particularly interesting business acquisition?

Yes, whispered a traitorous voice in her head. You are.

"Oh, sweetheart." Catherine pulled her into a careful hug. "Just... be careful with your heart. And his. I think he's more fragile than he appears."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Margot entered, all efficiency. "The cars are here. It's time."

---

The Plaza ballroom had been transformed into an elegant winter wonderland-all white roses, crystal, and soft candlelight. Two hundred guests filled the chairs, Manhattan's elite dressed in their finest, whispering behind their programs. Ivy recognized faces from magazines-CEOs, politicians, celebrities, old money families who probably thought she was a social-climbing nobody.

Let them think it. In twelve months, she'd be gone with her money, and they could return to their insular world.

The music changed. The procession began. Ivy stood at the entrance with her mother beside her-Catherine had insisted on walking her down the aisle, IV pole hidden by the flowing dress, determination keeping her upright.

And then Ivy saw Damien.

He stood at the altar in a custom black tuxedo, devastatingly handsome, his dark hair perfect, his gray eyes locked on her with an intensity that stole her breath. Beside him stood his best man-Marcus, surprisingly, which must have been a strategic choice to show there was no bad blood despite the Serena situation.

But Ivy barely noticed Marcus. All she could see was Damien, watching her approach like she was the only person in the room.

The walk down the aisle felt eternal. Every step brought her closer to the man she was binding herself to legally, financially, publicly. Every step was a choice-she could still run, still refuse, still walk away from this beautiful lie.

But she didn't. She kept walking, her mother's thin hand in hers, until they reached the altar.

The officiant-a dignified older man who probably married Manhattan's elite regularly-smiled at them. "Who gives this woman to be married?"

"I do," Catherine said, her voice surprisingly strong. She kissed Ivy's cheek, whispered "Be brave," and was helped to her seat in the front row by a waiting nurse.

Ivy faced Damien. His hands were warm as they took hers, steady and solid. Up close, she could see tension around his eyes, a tightness in his jaw that suggested this was affecting him more than he'd admit.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, so quietly only she could hear.

"You're not bad yourself," Ivy whispered back, and saw his lips twitch.

The ceremony began. Traditional vows, carefully chosen to sound romantic but not too personal. Ivy repeated the words, promising to love and honor and cherish, feeling like a fraud. Damien's responses were smooth, practiced, perfect lies delivered with absolute conviction.

Then came the rings. Damien slid a platinum band onto her finger, the diamonds catching the light. When it was Ivy's turn, her hands shook slightly as she placed a matching band on his. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, and for a moment their eyes locked, something unspoken passing between them.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York," the officiant said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Damien hesitated for just a second. Then his hand cupped her face, gentle despite the calluses on his palms, and he leaned in.

The kiss was supposed to be chaste. A brief press of lips, appropriate for public consumption. But the moment Damien's mouth touched hers, something ignited.

He tasted like mint and scotch and dangerous promises. His lips were firm, skilled, moving against hers with a hunger that belied every cold word he'd ever spoken. Ivy's hands came up instinctively, gripping his jacket, and she kissed him back with five years of loneliness and longing and desperate need to be seen.

The kiss deepened. Damien's hand slid to her nape, his fingers threading through her carefully styled hair. The crowd faded. The cameras faded. Everything faded except the heat of his mouth, the strength of his body, the way he kissed her like he was claiming her for real.

Applause finally broke through the haze. Damien pulled back, his breathing slightly uneven, his eyes dark with something that looked like shock. Ivy stared at him, her lips swollen, her heart racing.

That wasn't fake. That wasn't for the cameras. That was real.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the officiant announced, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Damien Blackwood."

The reception was a carefully choreographed performance.

Ivy and Damien stood in the receiving line, greeting guests with practiced smiles. Society matrons air-kissed her while assessing her like a prize horse. Men shook Damien's hand with knowing looks, as if they'd all made similarly strategic marriages. The whole thing felt like being on display, a specimen to be judged.

"Smile," Damien murmured as an elderly woman in diamonds approached. "That's Eleanor Ashford. Her foundation funds half the arts programs in the city."

Ivy smiled. She made small talk. She played her part perfectly. But her mind kept returning to that kiss, to the heat that had flared between them, to the shocked look in Damien's eyes.

The first dance was torture of a different kind. Damien's hand on her waist, their bodies close, swaying to some romantic ballad while everyone watched. He was a good dancer, smooth and confident, leading her effortlessly across the floor.

"You're tense," he said quietly.

"I'm performing for two hundred strangers who think I'm a gold digger."

"Most of them married for money too. They're just being hypocritical." His hand tightened on her waist. "Relax, Ivy. We're selling the fairy tale, remember?"

"Is that what that kiss was?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "Selling the fairy tale?"

Damien's expression went carefully blank. "What else would it be?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

The music swelled. Damien spun her, pulling her back against him, his mouth by her ear. "Don't read into things that don't exist. It was a kiss. Required by the ceremony. That's all."

But his voice was rough, and his body was tense against hers, and Ivy knew with absolute certainty that he was lying.

The song ended. They were immediately separated by guests wanting to congratulate them, and Ivy lost sight of Damien in the crowd. She was making conversation with someone's wife about charity work when a familiar voice made her freeze.

"Well, well. The blushing bride."

Ivy turned slowly. Serena Winters stood before her in a red dress that was just slightly too provocative for a wedding, her platinum hair swept up, her blue eyes cold and assessing. She was stunning in that sharp, dangerous way-perfect bone structure, perfect body, perfectly aware of the power her beauty gave her.

"Serena," Ivy said evenly. "I didn't see you on the guest list."

"Marcus was invited. I came as his plus-one." Serena smiled, all teeth. "After all, Marcus and Damien have moved past old grievances. Water under the bridge."

The same Marcus who'd stolen Damien's fiancée and was now standing across the room talking business. Strategic reconciliation, obviously, but still cruel.

"How generous of Damien," Ivy said.

"He's good at forgiveness when it serves his purposes." Serena's eyes raked over Ivy dismissively. "I have to say, you're not what I expected. I thought Damien would choose someone with more... pedigree. But I suppose when you're desperate to fulfill a will requirement, you take what you can get."

"Careful," Ivy said softly. "Your jealousy is showing."

Serena's smile sharpened. "Jealous? Of you? Darling, Damien and I have history. Real history. What you have is a contract and a pregnancy that may or may not be his."

Ivy's blood turned to ice. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, did you think your little secret was safe?" Serena leaned in, her voice dropping. "Carter's been talking. To anyone who'll listen. About how you slept with him, then trapped his uncle into marriage. It's the talk of the country club circuit."

"Carter is lying-"

"Is he?" Serena's eyes glittered with malice. "Because the timeline is very interesting. You were working the Morrison party three weeks before the engagement announcement. Carter was there. You left together. Security footage confirms it. Then suddenly you're pregnant and engaged to Damien. Quite the coincidence."

Before Ivy could respond, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Damien appeared at her side, his presence radiating barely controlled fury.

"Serena," he said coldly. "I don't recall inviting you."

"Marcus invited me. We're family now, after all." Serena's smile was poison. "I was just congratulating your lovely bride. Such a beautiful ceremony."

"Then you've congratulated her. Leave."

"Leave?" Serena's laugh was brittle. "This is a party, Damien. I'm a guest."

"No, you're a disruption." Damien's voice dropped to something lethal. "And you have sixty seconds to walk out of here before security removes you. Starting now."

For a moment, Serena looked genuinely shocked. Then fury twisted her perfect features. "You're going to regret this, Damien. When this little gold digger's lies catch up with you, when you realize you've thrown away everything for a fraud, you'll come crawling back. And I won't be there."

"Good," Damien said flatly. "Forty-five seconds."

Serena glared at them both, then spun on her designer heels and stalked toward the exit. Marcus tried to intercept her, but she brushed past him, disappearing into the hallway. The guests around them pretended they hadn't witnessed the scene, but the whispers had already started.

Damien's arm tightened around Ivy's waist. "Are you alright?"

"She knows," Ivy said quietly. "About Carter. About the timeline. She's going to tell everyone."

"Let her try." Damien's jaw was granite. "I've already ensured Carter signed an NDA with teeth. If he's been talking, he's violated it. My lawyers will crush him."

"And what about Serena? What about the questions?"

"Then we answer them." Damien turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. "Together. The story doesn't change, Ivy. You're my wife. This is my child. Anyone who says otherwise can deal with me."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice made something warm bloom in Ivy's chest. She searched his face, looking for truth beneath the mask. "Why do you keep defending me? Why do you care what they say?"

"Because-" Damien stopped, something complicated flickering across his face. "Because you're mine now. That means something."

"Does it?" Ivy stepped closer, emboldened by champagne and exhaustion and the memory of their kiss. "Or am I just another acquisition? Another asset to protect?"

"Ivy-"

"No, I want to know." She looked up at him, this man she'd married, this stranger who kissed her like he meant it and defended her like she mattered. "Do I mean anything to you beyond the contract? Or am I just playing a part in your carefully constructed life?"

Damien stared at her, and for a long moment, she thought he might actually tell her the truth. But then the shutters came down, the mask returned, and his voice was cool when he spoke.

"We should return to our guests. People are watching."

He walked away, leaving Ivy alone with her champagne and her confused heart, wondering how she'd become so tangled up in feelings for a man who claimed to have none.

---

The reception continued for hours. Toasts were made-Marcus gave a smooth speech about new beginnings, carefully avoiding mention of his own complicated history with Damien. The wedding cake was cut, pictures were taken, dances were danced. Ivy smiled until her face hurt, made small talk until her voice grew hoarse, and tried not to think about how, in a few hours, she'd be expected to spend the night in Damien's penthouse as his wife.

They hadn't discussed sleeping arrangements beyond the initial contract terms-separate rooms, separate lives. But everyone would expect them to share a bed on their wedding night. The optics of anything else would raise questions.

Finally, mercifully, the last guests departed. Ivy stood in the empty ballroom, her feet aching in her designer heels, her carefully styled hair coming loose from its pins. The fairy tale was over. Reality awaited.

Damien appeared beside her, his bow tie loosened, his jacket gone, looking rumpled and human for the first time all day. "Ready to go home?"

Home. The penthouse. His space that she now occupied through legal contract. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The car ride was silent. Ivy stared out the window at Manhattan blurring past, the city lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets. Damien made calls, handling business even on his wedding night, because apparently his empire never slept.

They arrived at the building, rode the elevator in tense silence, and entered the penthouse. It felt different now, somehow. More permanent. This was her home for the next twelve months. This was her life.

"I'm going to change," Ivy said, heading toward her wing.

"Ivy." Damien's voice stopped her. She turned. He stood backlit by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawled behind him, looking powerful and lonely and impossibly complicated. "Today was... successful. You played your part well."

"So did you." She waited, hoping he'd say more, something real beneath the performance.

But Damien just nodded. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we fly to the Maldives."

Ivy blinked. "What?"

"Our honeymoon. It's expected. I've cleared my schedule for a week."

"You never mentioned a honeymoon-"

"It's in the contract. Page twenty-three, subsection B." His voice was clinical. "Public appearances include the wedding and a suitable honeymoon to establish the marriage as legitimate. I've rented a private villa. We leave at nine a.m."

"A week alone with you in paradise," Ivy said flatly. "Sounds romantic."

"It's not meant to be romantic. It's meant to be convincing." Damien loosened his tie further. "Pack light. And Ivy?" He met her eyes. "Whatever happened today-the kiss, the feelings you think you're developing-leave them in New York. When we're alone in the Maldives, we're back to the contract. Clear boundaries. No complications."

"Of course," Ivy said, her throat tight. "Wouldn't want complications."

She fled to her room before he could see the tears burning her eyes. She'd married a man who kissed her like she was oxygen and then reminded her it meant nothing. Who defended her fiercely and then treated her like a business obligation. Who looked at her sometimes like he wanted to devour her and other times like she was just another item on his to-do list.

Ivy stripped off the wedding dress, hanging it carefully in the closet where it would probably never be worn again. She stood in front of the mirror in her lingerie-the expensive, beautiful set Lydia had insisted on, saying even a contract bride should feel special on her wedding night.

But she didn't feel special. She felt confused and lonely and utterly trapped by her own choices.

A week alone with Damien in paradise. It should have been a dream. Instead, it felt like a test-one she was terrified of failing.

The villa was obscene in its luxury.

Ivy stood on the private deck, staring at the turquoise water of the Indian Ocean, the white sand beach that belonged exclusively to their villa, the infinity pool that seemed to drop off into the horizon. Their accommodation was a massive structure built over the water, all glass and teak, with an outdoor shower, a private boat, and staff who appeared instantly when needed and vanished just as quickly.

"It's beautiful," she said numbly.

Damien emerged from the villa in linen pants and a white shirt, his usual armor of suits abandoned for the tropical climate. He looked different here-younger, somehow, less untouchable. The sun caught the silver at his temples, and Ivy realized for the first time that he had the kind of face that would age well, gaining character instead of losing youth.

"The bedroom has an ocean view," he said. "Singular bedroom. The honeymoon suite."

Ivy's stomach dropped. "I thought-"

"The contract specifies a believable honeymoon. That means sharing a room when staff are present. The bed is large enough that we'll both have space." His voice was carefully neutral. "I'll take the sofa if you prefer."

"That seems ridiculous when there's a massive bed."

"Then we'll share it. Like adults. With clear boundaries." Damien moved to the railing, staring out at the endless water. "We have seven days here, Ivy. Let's try to make them tolerable."

Tolerable. Such a romantic sentiment.

The first two days passed in careful choreography. They ate breakfast together, served by staff who smiled knowingly at the newlyweds. They lounged by the pool, maintaining appropriate distance. They took the boat out, snorkeled in crystal-clear water, saw sea turtles and colorful fish and coral reefs untouched by the ugliness of their real lives.

And at night, they shared the massive bed, each staying rigidly on their own side, the space between them a gulf neither crossed.

It was torture.

Ivy was hyperaware of Damien's presence-the sound of his breathing, the heat of his body, the way he sometimes shifted in his sleep and his arm would cross into her territory before he woke and moved away. She lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she'd ended up in paradise with a man she was simultaneously married to and completely isolated from.

On the third morning, everything changed.

Ivy woke to find Damien already gone. She rose, threw on a bikini and cover-up, and went looking for him. She found him in the infinity pool, swimming laps with fierce determination, his powerful body cutting through the water with precision.

She watched from the deck, mesmerized by the play of muscles under tanned skin, the raw athleticism that his suits usually hid. When he finally stopped, pulling himself out of the pool with easy strength, water sluicing off him, she found herself staring.

Damien caught her looking. Something flashed in his eyes-heat, quickly suppressed. "Breakfast will be ready soon."

"You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep." He grabbed a towel, roughly drying his hair. "Jet lag."

"We've been here three days. Jet lag should be gone."

"Then insomnia." His voice was clipped. "Drop it, Ivy."

But she couldn't. She moved closer, drawn by something she didn't understand. "You're different here. Less controlled."

"I'm the same person I always am."

"No," Ivy said quietly. "In New York, you're all armor and strategy. Here, I see cracks."

Damien's jaw tightened. "There are no cracks."

"Liar." She stopped directly in front of him, close enough to see water droplets caught in his eyelashes. "You kissed me at our wedding like you meant it. You defend me like I matter. You check on my mother personally. Those aren't the actions of someone who feels nothing."

"They're the actions of someone protecting his investment-"

"Stop saying that!" Ivy's frustration boiled over. "Stop hiding behind that excuse! I'm not an idiot, Damien. I see the way you look at me sometimes. Like you want me. Like you hate that you want me."

The words hung between them, dangerous and true. Damien's expression went carefully blank, but his eyes-his eyes burned.

"You're imagining things," he said, his voice rough.

"Am I?" Ivy stepped closer, emboldened by sun and isolation and three days of simmering tension. "Then prove it. Kiss me right now, cold and clinical, like it means nothing. Like I'm just a contract. If you can do that, I'll believe you."

Damien stared at her for a long moment. Then, shockingly, he laughed-a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I'm strong enough to kiss you and feel nothing? You think I have that much control?"

"I think you've built walls so high you've forgotten what it's like to feel anything real."

"You don't know anything about what I feel," Damien said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "You don't know how hard it is to be near you and not-" He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides.

"Not what?" Ivy whispered.

"Not this." Damien moved before she could react, his hands cupping her face, his mouth crashing down on hers with a hunger that stole her breath.

This wasn't the practiced kiss from their wedding. This was desperation and need and three weeks of denied attraction exploding all at once. Damien kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, his hands threading through her hair, pulling her against him. Ivy kissed back just as fiercely, her hands gripping his bare shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin, the coiled strength of his body.

They stumbled backward until Ivy's back hit the villa wall. Damien's mouth moved to her throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and she gasped. His hands slid under her cover-up, finding bare skin, and the touch sent electricity racing through her.

"This is a mistake," he muttered against her skin, even as his hands explored. "We agreed-boundaries-"

"Fuck the boundaries," Ivy breathed, and pulled his mouth back to hers.

They kissed until breathing became secondary, until the world narrowed to just this-his mouth, his hands, the way he made her feel alive for the first time in years. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Damien rested his forehead against hers.

"This can't happen," he said, but his hands were still on her waist, holding her close.

"Why not?"

"Because when this ends, when the year is up and you walk away, I can't-" He stopped, his voice ragged. "I can't let myself care that much. Not again."

Understanding dawned. Serena had destroyed him, broken something fundamental, and he was terrified of being vulnerable again. "I'm not her," Ivy said softly.

"I know." Damien's thumb traced her cheekbone, the gesture achingly tender. "That's the problem. You're real, Ivy. You're honest about who you are, what you want. That makes you dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"Because I could fall for you," he admitted, the words seemingly torn from him. "And that would ruin everything. The clean transaction, the clear ending. If I fall for you, this stops being business and becomes something I can't control."

Ivy's heart cracked open. She cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "What if I told you I'm already falling? That these three weeks have turned into something I never expected?"

Damien closed his eyes, pain flickering across his features. "Then we're both fools."

"Maybe." Ivy smiled sadly. "Or maybe we stop pretending this is just a contract and see what it could actually be."

"For what?" Damien pulled back, putting distance between them. "For eleven more months? Then what, Ivy? You take your money and disappear? We try to make this real and it falls apart like every relationship does? No. Better to keep the boundaries. Safer."

"Safer for who?"

"For both of us." Damien grabbed his shirt, pulling it on like armor. "This was a mistake. It won't happen again."

He walked away, leaving Ivy alone on the deck, her lips still swollen from his kiss, her body still humming with frustrated desire, her heart aching with the realization that she'd fallen for a man who was too broken to let himself fall back.

---

The next three days were excruciating.

Damien became distant, polite, treating her like a guest he barely knew. They maintained the public performance when staff were around, but the moment they were alone, he retreated behind his walls. At night, he took the sofa despite her protests, maintaining maximum distance.

Ivy tried to pretend it didn't hurt. She swam alone, read books on the beach, watched the sunset by herself. But everything felt hollow now, paradise turned prison by proximity to someone she couldn't have.

On their sixth night, unable to sleep with Damien on the sofa radiating misery, Ivy finally snapped.

"This is ridiculous," she said into the darkness.

"Go to sleep, Ivy."

"No." She sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. Damien lay on the sofa in just his pajama pants, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling with carefully controlled breathing. "We can't keep doing this. The tension is unbearable."

"Then what do you suggest?" He didn't move his arm.

"Honesty. Real conversation. No more walls." Ivy got out of bed, moving to sit on the coffee table beside the sofa. "Tell me about Serena. Tell me what she did that broke you so completely."

"That's not-"

"Tell me, Damien. If we're going to survive eleven more months of this, I need to understand."

Damien was silent for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, finally, he lowered his arm, staring at the ceiling. "We were together for five years. I thought I loved her. I thought she loved me. I was wrong on both counts."

"What happened?"

"I proposed. She said yes. We planned this elaborate wedding-not unlike ours, actually, minus the rushed timeline. And three days before we were supposed to get married, I came home early from a business trip." His voice went flat, emotionless. "Found her in our bed with Marcus. They'd been having an affair for eight months."

Ivy's heart clenched. "God, Damien-"

"The worst part wasn't the betrayal. It was what she said when I confronted them." Damien's jaw tightened. "She laughed. Said she never loved me, that I was impossible to love. That I was just a machine with a bank account, and she'd tried for five years to find a human being underneath but there was nothing there. She said she was marrying me for the money and status, but sleeping with Marcus for the emotions I couldn't give her."

"She's a monster."

"She's honest." Damien's gray eyes finally met Ivy's. "That's what destroyed me-realizing she was right. I couldn't give her what she needed because I don't know how to feel things the way normal people do. My father beat emotions out of me before he died, taught me that feelings were weaknesses to exploit. My mother drank herself to death when I was sixteen, too lost in her own pain to notice mine. I learned early that caring about people just gave them power to hurt you."

"So you built walls."

"I built an empire instead. Something I could control, something that wouldn't betray me." He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "And then my grandmother died and her damn will forced me to marry someone. I thought a contract would be perfect-all the benefits of marriage without the vulnerability of actual feelings. Clean. Simple. Safe."

"But then you met me," Ivy said softly.

"But then I met you." Damien's smile was bitter. "And you're nothing like what I expected. You're supposed to be desperate and manipulable, just in it for the money. Instead you're strong and complicated and you look at me like I'm human. Like I matter beyond my bank account. That's terrifying, Ivy. Because if I let myself believe it, if I let myself care about you, and then you leave-"

"Who says I'm leaving?" The words escaped before Ivy could stop them.

Damien stared at her. "The contract. The twelve months. That's the deal."

"Contracts can be renegotiated." Ivy's heart pounded. "What if we stopped treating this like a business arrangement and started treating it like what it could actually be? A real marriage. A real chance at something good."

"Good things don't last," Damien said flatly. "People leave. People betray. People die. The only constant is the work, the empire. That's what I can trust."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." Ivy reached out, taking his hand. He tensed but didn't pull away. "You're so scared of being hurt that you won't let yourself be happy. Serena didn't break you, Damien. You broke yourself by deciding to never feel anything again."

"Maybe I did." His fingers tightened on hers. "But I don't know how to undo it. I don't know how to be what you need."

"I don't need you to be anything except honest. Real. Present." Ivy moved closer, until their knees touched. "I'm not asking for forever, Damien. I'm not asking for declarations of undying love. I'm just asking you to stop pushing me away when we both know you don't want to."

Damien's free hand came up, cupping her face with heartbreaking gentleness. "If I do this-if I let myself want you-it changes everything."

"I know."

"The contract-"

"Is just paper. What we feel is real." Ivy leaned into his touch. "Give us a chance, Damien. A real one. See what happens when you stop being afraid."

For a long moment, she thought he'd refuse. Then Damien pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her, his face buried in her neck. The embrace was desperate, clinging, like he was holding on to something he was terrified of losing.

"I don't know how to do this," he whispered against her skin.

"Neither do I," Ivy admitted. "We figure it out together".