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.

The water was scalding.

Ivy stood under the showerhead, scrubbing her skin with a loofah until it turned raw and red. She was trying to wash him off. The smell of cedar. The feel of his hands. The phantom sensation of his teeth on her ear.

It wasn't working.

She stepped out and dried off. She put on the blue dress Clive had demanded. It was high-necked, long-sleeved. Modest. Boring.

She looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger. Her eyes were too bright. Her mouth looked swollen.

Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.

She picked it up. An unknown number.

A picture loaded.

It was a photo of a grey suit jacket. It was draped over the back of a beige sofa.

Ivy recognized the sofa. It was in the Hamptons villa.

A text followed.

Hank: Boss says you left a souvenir.

Ivy stopped breathing.

The jacket. Bruno had worn it this morning. He must have sent Hank into the villa after they left, planting it there for Clive and Catrina to find. It wasn't a mistake. It was a setup. A test.

The phone buzzed again. Another text, this time from Clive.

GET DOWN HERE. NOW.

Ivy's stomach bottomed out.

Clive Fitzpatrick was pacing in the hallway outside Ivy's apartment door. His face was a mask of fury.

Catrina was leaning against the wall, checking her nails. She looked bored, but there was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

The door opened. Ivy stood there. She was perfectly put together. Hair in a chignon. Minimal makeup.

Clive didn't say hello. He shoved a bundle of fabric into her chest.

"Explain this!" he shouted.

Ivy caught it. It was the grey jacket.

She held it. The fabric was soft. Cashmere blend. She could smell the faint scent of Bruno on it.

"Where did you get this?" she asked. Her voice was calm. Unnaturally calm.

"We found it at the villa," Catrina piped up. "On the sofa. It was there when we walked in!"

Clive stepped into Ivy's personal space. "Who were you with, Ivy? Who did you bring to my house?"

Ivy looked at him. She saw the vein bulging in his forehead. She saw the doubt in his eyes.

She looked at Catrina.

She threw the jacket back at Clive. It hit him in the chest and slid to the floor.

"I don't know what kind of game you two are playing," Ivy said coldly. "But I don't appreciate you bringing your trash to my doorstep."

Clive blinked. "What?"

"You think I brought a man to the villa?" Ivy laughed. It was a harsh sound. "With what keys, Clive? I don't have a key to the Hamptons house. You never gave me one."

Clive froze.

He looked at the jacket on the floor.

"That's…"

"The code," Ivy pressed. "You change the alarm code every month. I don't know it. So unless I broke a window-which I assume you would have noticed-how did I get in?"

Clive opened his mouth, then closed it. The logic was sound. Ivy didn't have access.

He turned slowly to Catrina.

Catrina's smug expression faltered. "Wait. No. It was there. It smelled like…"

"Like what?" Ivy cut in. "Like the cologne of one of the men you pick up at the club, Catrina?"

Catrina gasped. "You bitch!"

Clive looked at his cousin. His eyes narrowed.

"Did you bring someone there before I arrived?" Clive asked.

"No!" Catrina shrieked. "It's hers! I know it's hers!"

Clive kicked the jacket. "Damn it!"

He ran a hand through his hair. He looked from Ivy to Catrina. He didn't know who to believe, but Ivy's logic was harder to break.

"Whatever," he muttered. "I don't care whose it is. Just get rid of it."

He looked at Ivy.

"We're leaving for the manor in ten minutes. Fix your face. You look pale."

He turned and stormed down the hall toward the elevator.

Catrina glared at Ivy. "This isn't over," she hissed.

Ivy didn't flinch. "Bye, Catrina."

Catrina stomped after Clive.

Ivy closed the door. She locked it. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood.

Her legs gave out. She slid down to the floor.

She looked at the grey jacket lying on her rug.

She crawled over to it. She picked it up.

She took a picture of it. She sent it to the unknown number.

Your trash is in my apartment. Come get it.

The reply came ten seconds later.

Keep it. It matches the blue dress.

Ivy stared at the screen.

He knew. He knew about the blue dress. Was he listening? Was there a bug in her apartment? Or in the jacket?

She stood up. She walked to her closet and shoved the jacket into the very back, behind her winter coats.

She was playing a game with a grandmaster. And she had just made her first move.