Chapter 4

Ivy Richardson POV

I was in the children's section, running my hand over a cashmere sweater for Leo, savoring the softness, when the atmosphere in the store suddenly shifted.

The change was subtle-a displacement of air, a heavy silence-but my instincts, sharpened by five years of survival among wolves, screamed a warning.

I wasn't alone.

I turned slowly, expecting a store security guard. instead, I found a ghost from my past.

Dexter.

My brother.

He looked older. Worn down. The arrogance that used to define him had been replaced by a nervous tic in his jaw.

He was wearing a jacket that was two sizes too big for him, posturing like a soldier but looking more like a terrified child playing dress-up.

"Ivy," he said.

He didn't sound happy. He sounded cornered.

"Dexter," I acknowledged, my voice low and steady. I didn't move from my spot. "You look terrible."

"Dad wants to see you," he blurted out.

He stepped closer, flanked by two heavy-set men I didn't recognize. Hired muscle. Cheap muscle. The kind that relied on bulk rather than skill.

"Clayton called him," Dexter continued, his eyes darting around. "He knows you're alive. You need to come with us."

I folded the sweater and placed it back on the shelf with deliberate slowness. I wanted him to see that my hands weren't shaking.

"I don't take orders from Donnell Dillard anymore."

Dexter's gaze flicked nervously to the shoppers nearby.

"Please, Ivy. Don't make a scene. Ainsley is... she's fragile right now. If she finds out you're back without us preparing her, it could break her."

Ainsley.

Always Ainsley.

The sister who wasn't really a sister. The cuckoo bird who had pushed me out of the nest and feasted while I starved.

"You're still protecting her," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "After everything?"

"She's family," Dexter snapped, parroting the lies our father had fed him for decades. "Unlike you, who vanished."

"I didn't vanish, Dexter."

I took a step toward him, and he flinched.

"I called you that night. I called you three times while I was bleeding out in the snow. You sent me to voicemail."

He paled, the color draining from his face, but he didn't back down.

He reached out and grabbed my elbow.

"We're going. Now."

My muscles coiled. I could have fought him. I could have driven the palm of my hand into his nose, shattered the cartilage, and disappeared into the crowd before his cheap bodyguards could blink.

But that wasn't the plan.

I needed to face them. I needed to walk into the lion's den so I could show them I was no longer the prey. I was the one with the teeth.

"Fine," I said, shaking off his grip with a sharp jerk. "I'll come."

I smoothed my jacket, composing myself.

"But Dexter?"

I leaned in close, letting him see the cold, predatory darkness in my eyes.

"Make sure you don't regret inviting the devil to dinner."

He shoved me toward the exit, toward the black Mercedes waiting at the curb.

He thought he was kidnapping a runaway daughter.

He didn't realize he was transporting a bomb.