"You’ve been ready for months," he says. "You just didn't know it."
He kicks open the door to the bedroom. The black silk sheets are turned down. The city lights cast long shadows across the bed.
He walks over and sets me down on the edge of the mattress. He stands between my spread knees, towering over me.
He reaches for his tie and begins to undo it.
"Welcome to your life, Ivy," he says, tossing the tie onto the floor. "There’s no going back now."
The sound of his zipper lowering is the loudest thing in the world.
And for the first time since he took me, I realize that the cage isn't just this apartment.
The cage is him.
And he just locked the door.
CHAPTER 8
THE ARCHITECT OF RUIN
POV: SILAS
The sound of the zipper sliding down her spine is a harsh hiss in the silence of the room.
Ivy shudders. It’s a full-body tremor, like a leaf caught in a gale. I watch the goosebumps rise on her pale skin as the lace separates, exposing the delicate ridge of her spine.
She is terrifyingly beautiful. And she is terrified.
I can smell it on her—the acrid, metallic tang of pure fear spiking through the layers of expensive perfume and her own natural, sweet scent. She thinks I’m going to hurt her. She thinks I’m going to throw her down on these black sheets and take what I’ve legally purchased, like a brute.
She underestimates me.
I don't just want to break her body. Any man with enough strength can force a woman. That’s cheap. That’s boring.
I want to break her mind. I want to dismantle her resistance brick by brick until she has no choice but to build her shelter inside me.
I peel the dress off her shoulders. The silk pools at her waist, then slides down over her hips, landing in a ruined heap of champagne and black lace on the floor.
She stands before me in nothing but her panties. I didn't let Chloe put a bra on her. I wanted access.
Her arms instantly fly up to cover her chest. She curls inward, trying to make herself smaller, trying to disappear.
"Don't," I command. My voice is low, a rumble of thunder.
I grab her wrists. Her bones feel fragile in my grip, like I could snap them with a twitch of my thumb. I pull her arms away from her body, forcing her to stand exposed.
"Look at me, Ivy."
She shakes her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Tears leak from the corners, tracking through the heavy makeup Chloe applied.
"Open your eyes."
It’s not a request. It’s an order backed by the full weight of my will.
Her lashes flutter, then lift. Her eyes are dark pools of panic.
"Please," she whispers. "Silas, please don't. I don't know you. I can't..."
