Ivy yanked the sheet up to her chin. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the fabric. It was a useless shield. He had already seen everything. He had touched everything.

"I… I thought…"

Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, but the sound was pathetic.

"I was drunk," she whispered. "I made a mistake."

Bruno stared at her. He didn't blink. He looked like a predator examining a particularly stupid rabbit that had just hopped into his den.

He threw the covers off his legs and stood up. He was completely naked. He didn't care. He walked across the room toward the bathroom with the casual arrogance of a man who owned the world and everything in it.

"Get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "You have five minutes."

Ivy's heart was beating so fast she felt nauseous.

"I'm leaving," she said.

Bruno stopped at the bathroom door. He turned slowly. The look he gave her made the air in the room drop ten degrees.

"You aren't going anywhere until I say so. Unless you want to walk out into the hallway naked? I believe the housekeeping staff is doing their rounds."

Ivy looked around frantically for her dress. She found it in a heap near the door. The delicate silk strap was torn. The zipper was busted. It was unwearable.

Tears pricked her eyes. Hot, angry tears.

Bruno tossed something at her. It landed on the bed with a soft thud. It was a white dress shirt.

"Put it on."

He disappeared into the bathroom. The shower turned on.

Ivy put on the shirt. It was massive on her. The hem hit her mid-thigh. It smelled like him. It made her skin crawl, and yet, a treacherous part of her brain remembered the heat of his skin against hers.

She buttoned it all the way to her chin.

When Bruno emerged, he was transformed. He wore a dark grey suit, tailored to perfection. His hair was wet, slicked back. He looked every inch the corporate shark.

He checked his watch.

"Let's go."

He grabbed her arm. His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of her bicep. He didn't drag her, but the pressure was a clear command. Walk, or be dragged.

They bypassed the main elevators and took the service lift. It smelled of cleaning chemicals and stale coffee. They exited into the loading dock behind the hotel.

A black sedan was waiting. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like polished obsidian.

A driver stood by the rear door. He was a mountain of a man with a shaved head and a scar running through his eyebrow. Hank. Ivy knew him by reputation. He was Bruno's shadow.

Hank opened the door. He didn't look at Ivy. He didn't look at her bare legs or the oversized men's shirt. He looked at nothing.

"Get in," Bruno said.

Ivy slid onto the leather seat. It was cold. Bruno got in beside her. The door slammed shut with a heavy, final thud. The locks engaged automatically. Click.

"Where are you taking me?" Ivy asked. Her voice was stronger now. The panic was settling into a cold, hard knot in her stomach.

"To see a show," Bruno said.

He pulled a tablet from his briefcase and started reading a financial report. He ignored her completely.

The drive was silent. The city landscape gave way to the highway, then to the manicured greenery of Long Island.

Ivy watched the trees blur past. She felt like a prisoner.

An hour later, the car turned down a gravel driveway. Ivy recognized the area. The Hamptons. This was where the old money hid during the summer.

The car stopped in front of a modern, glass-fronted villa. It was secluded, surrounded by high hedges and dunes.

Bruno put his tablet away. "Out."

He led her around the side of the house. The grass was wet with morning dew. It chilled Ivy's bare feet.

He stopped in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. The curtains were drawn, but there was a gap. A deliberate, voyeuristic gap.

"Look," Bruno commanded.

Ivy stepped closer. She peered through the glass.

The living room inside was bathed in sunlight.

Clive was there. He was wearing a bathrobe. It was open.

And Catrina was there.

She was wearing nothing but Clive's dress shirt-the same way Ivy was wearing Bruno's.

They were on the sofa. Catrina was straddling Clive's lap. Her head was thrown back, laughing.

"She's such a bore, Clive," Catrina said. Her voice was muffled by the glass, but Ivy heard it. "I don't know how you stand her. She's like a mannequin."

Clive ran his hands up Catrina's thighs.

"It's just business, Cat," he said. His voice was affectionate. Sickeningly affectionate. "Once I get the voting rights from the marriage, she can go rot in that apartment for all I care. I'll spend every night with you."

Ivy felt the blood drain from her face.

It wasn't just cheating. She knew men like Clive cheated. It was the contempt. The absolute, utter disrespect. He didn't just not love her. He loathed her. He saw her as a hurdle to be cleared so he could be with his cousin.

A hand settled on Ivy's shoulder. Bruno.

He leaned down. His breath stirred the hair near her ear.

"This is the man you're selling yourself for?" he whispered.

Ivy tried to turn away. She didn't want him to see her face. She didn't want him to see the humiliation burning in her eyes.

Bruno's grip tightened. "Look at them."

Ivy forced herself to look.

Clive kissed Catrina. It was a passionate kiss. A real kiss. Not the dry pecks he gave Ivy for the cameras.

Something inside Ivy snapped.

It was a quiet sound. Like a dry twig breaking in a winter forest.

The tears that had been threatening to fall evaporated. The heat in her chest turned to ice.

She was Isobel Maldonado. She had survived the destruction of her family. She had survived hunger, fear, and the loss of her name. She would not be broken by a mediocre man in a bathrobe.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. The movement was sharp. Violent.

She turned to Bruno.

The wind whipped her hair across her face. She didn't brush it away.

She looked up at him. For the first time, she didn't look like a victim. She looked like a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Bruno was watching her. His eyes were narrowed, assessing. He saw the change. He saw the fire ignite in the ashes.

"Take me away," Ivy said.

Her voice didn't tremble.

"I have a proposition for you."

The partition was up.

The back of the sedan was a sealed capsule of leather and silence.

Ivy sat on the edge of the seat. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her fingers were tapping a rhythmic, agitated beat against her knuckles.

Bruno took a cigar from a silver case built into the armrest. He clipped the end with a precise, metallic snip. The sound was loud in the quiet car. He lit it, and the smell of expensive tobacco filled the air, replacing the oxygen.

"Seen enough?" he asked. Smoke curled from his lips. "Now you can go back to being the dutiful little bride."

Ivy turned her head. She looked at him. Really looked at him.

He was a monster. Everyone said so. He had destroyed companies, ruined lives, and supposedly killed to get where he was.

But he was powerful. And right now, he was the only weapon she could reach.

"Why did you show me that?" she asked.

Bruno shrugged. "Entertainment."

He viewed her life as a sitcom. A tragedy for his amusement.

Ivy felt a cold clarity wash over her. If she was a toy, she would be the one that broke the other toys.

She reached for the top button of the white shirt.

Bruno's hand paused halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked down, then back up to her face. They narrowed.

Ivy undid the first button. Then the second.

The fabric fell open slightly, revealing the curve of her collarbone. A dark, purple bruise bloomed there-a hickey. His mark.

She shifted on the seat, turning her body toward him. She moved off the seat and onto her knees on the floor of the car, between his legs.

"Let's play a different game," Ivy said. Her voice was raspy.

Bruno reached out. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw. He tilted her face up.

"You want to seduce me? To get back at Clive?"

Ivy didn't blink. "Clive cares about two things: his reputation and his inheritance. Imagine what would happen if he found out his perfect, boring fiancée was warming his uncle's bed."

Bruno laughed. It was a dark, low sound. "You're playing with fire, Ivy."

Ivy took his hand from her chin and pressed it against her cheek. She leaned into the roughness of his palm.

"I'm already in hell," she whispered. "I don't care if the fire gets bigger."

The air in the car changed. It became heavy. Charged.

Bruno looked at her. He wasn't looking at a victim anymore. He was looking at a potential accomplice. Or maybe just a more interesting diversion.

He crushed the lit cigar into the ashtray. Sparks flew and died.

He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her forward.

"You want to be my mistress?" he asked.

"My ally," Ivy corrected. "I want Clive to bleed. You want to watch the world burn. We don't have a conflict of interest."

Bruno smirked. "Allies need equal leverage. What do you have?"

Ivy leaned forward. She pressed her lips against the pulse point of his throat. She felt his heart beating there. Steady. Powerful.

"I have the ability to make sure you're never bored," she breathed against his skin.

It was a lie. A desperate gamble. But it was the only card she had.

Bruno's hand tightened in her hair. He pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him.

"Prove it."

He kissed her. It wasn't like the night before. It was possessive. It was a contract being signed in saliva and breath.

Ivy responded with everything she had. She poured her rage, her fear, and her desperation into the kiss.

His hands roamed over the shirt, finding the skin beneath. The car seemed to shrink, the world outside ceasing to exist.

Then, a sound shattered the moment.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

It was a generic, cheerful melody. Ivy's phone.

She froze. Bruno didn't stop. His mouth moved to her neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there.

Ivy scrambled for her purse, which was on the floor. She pulled out the phone.

The screen flashed a name: CLIVE.

Ivy stared at it. Her stomach dropped.

Bruno pulled back slightly. He saw the name.

His eyes glinted with malicious delight.

"Answer it," he commanded.

Ivy shook her head. "I can't."

"Answer it," Bruno repeated. He moved his hand lower, sliding it up her thigh. "Put it on speaker."

The ringing continued. It sounded like a siren.

Ivy's hand trembled so badly she almost dropped the phone. Bruno watched her, his expression unreadable, his hand resting heavy and hot on her thigh.

She swiped the green icon. She hit the speaker button.

"Ivy?" Clive's voice filled the car. It was impatient. Sharp. "Where the hell are you? Catrina said you left the party early because you were 'sick'."

Ivy closed her eyes. She forced air into her lungs.

"I… yes. I wasn't feeling well."

Her voice sounded thin.

"Where did you go? I called the apartment, you weren't there."

"I stayed at a friend's house," Ivy lied. "I didn't want to be alone."

Bruno leaned in. His teeth grazed the shell of her ear. He bit down, gently but with enough pressure to send a shockwave down her spine.

Ivy gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Clive paused. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ivy choked out. "I… I stubbed my toe."

Bruno's hand moved. He slid his fingers under the hem of the shirt. His touch was deliberate. Teasing.

Clive sighed. "God, you're clumsy. Look, just get back to the city. We have the family dinner tonight at the manor. Don't be late."

Ivy grabbed Bruno's wrist, trying to stop him. It was like trying to stop a hydraulic press. He didn't budge.

"I'll be there," she said.

"Wear the blue dress," Clive ordered. "Mom likes that one. It makes you look… respectable."

Bruno's eyes darkened. The playfulness vanished. He pinched the soft skin of her inner thigh. Hard.

Ivy bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. A whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it.

"Clive? Are you there?" she asked quickly, covering the noise.

"Yeah. Just don't embarrass me tonight, Ivy. I'm hanging up."

The line went dead.

Ivy dropped the phone. She slumped back against the leather seat, gasping for air as if she had just run a marathon.

Bruno pulled away. He looked at her with a mix of disgust and fascination.

"A friend's house? Stubbed your toe?" He scoffed. "You're a natural liar, Ivy."

"You forced me," Ivy whispered.

Bruno reached out and grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks between his fingers.

"Remember this feeling," he said. His voice was low. "Every time you lie to him. Every time you play the good little wife. You'll think of me."

The car slowed down.

"Boss, we're here," Hank's voice came over the intercom.

Bruno released her. He sat back and adjusted his tie. In a split second, the lust and the darkness were hidden behind the mask of the CEO.

He reached down and picked up a paper shopping bag from the floor. He tossed it into her lap.

"Change. I don't want you walking into your building wearing my shirt. It sends the wrong message. Or maybe the right one, but too early."

Ivy opened the bag. Inside was a dress. A pale cream sheath dress. It was simple, elegant, and looked incredibly expensive.

She looked at him. "How…?"

"I have sisters," Bruno said dismissively. "I know sizes."

He opened the door and stepped out onto the curb.

Ivy scrambled to change in the back of the car. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper. She felt exposed, even with the tinted windows.

She stepped out of the car. They were two blocks away from her apartment building. A safe distance.

Bruno was lighting another cigar. He didn't look at her.

"See you tonight, Ivy."

He got back in the car. The door slammed.

Ivy stood on the sidewalk, clutching the paper bag with his shirt inside. She watched the black car disappear into the New York traffic.

She felt dirty. She felt terrified.

And for the first time in her life, she felt alive.