Chapter 2 The Devil's Son

Chapter 2 - "The Devil's Son"

(POV: Ares)

I watch her from the shadows.

She stands near the exit of the ballroom, her posture a masterclass in grace-chin slightly lifted, eyes unblinking, back straight, like she owns the goddamn room. The light hits her cheekbones just right, casting her in silver and shadow. Ivy looks untouchable tonight. Dangerous.

Perfect.

But I don't trust perfection. I never have.

She's only been in my orbit for four months. Four months, and she's already managed to do what no one else has: get close. Too close. My inner circle is guarded like a fortress. My world is a storm of blood, steel, and secrets-and Ivy walked straight into it like she belonged there.

That's what bothers me. She fits too well.

She's hiding something. I can feel it in my gut.

And yet... I haven't pushed her away.

Why?

Because I need her. Just like she needs me.

We're both liars. And right now, her lies are useful.

From across the ballroom, she slips her phone out of her purse and reads the message I sent: Pack a bag. We leave tonight. No questions. Her expression doesn't flinch, but her body shifts-just a fraction. She's masking it well, but I know what I saw.

Panic. And excitement.

Interesting.

She walks out without saying goodbye to anyone. Good. That means she understands the rules now. I give orders. She obeys.

I drain the last of my whiskey and follow her exit with my eyes until she's gone. I don't move right away. I just stay where I am-half in the light, half in shadow. Watching. Calculating.

I didn't bring Ivy into my world because I was lonely. I brought her in because she's a sharp weapon-and I plan to aim her at my father's heart.

Damien Valen.

The bastard who made me. The devil whose name buys silence, fear, and control. The man who calls himself a king, but rules like a god.

He built an empire on blood. He shaped me to inherit it. What he didn't see coming is that I never planned to inherit-I planned to steal. From under him. With a knife to his throat if I have to.

Ivy is part of that plan.

And maybe, she's a threat to it too.

Because the longer she stays in my bed, the more I forget that she's a weapon-not a woman.

That's dangerous.

She's dangerous.

I slide my phone into my jacket and walk toward the elevators. Our jet leaves in two hours. If she wants to stay in this world, she'll keep up.

But if she doesn't? I'll cut her loose. Fast.

I always do.

Two Hours Later

Private jet, Valen airstrip

She's already seated when I board. Dressed down in black jeans, boots, and a dark coat, her hair tied back. No jewelry. No makeup. No expression.

She looks like the woman I first met-before the gala gowns and the champagne. A wolf pretending to be a lamb.

I like her better like this. Real. Raw.

"Where are we going?" she asks as I sit beside her.

I buckle in, ignoring the question.

She doesn't ask again.

Good girl.

The jet lifts off, cutting through the clouds like a knife. We don't speak for a while, just sit in silence as the city lights shrink beneath us.

Eventually, she shifts in her seat, turning to face me. "You always give commands like that?"

I glance at her. "Only to people who want to stay alive."

She smirks. "You think I'm in danger?"

"I know you are."

A pause. Her eyes search mine. "From you?"

I lean in, just slightly. "From the truth."

She doesn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of truth."

"No," I murmur. "You're afraid of me."

She laughs, low and smooth. "You wish."

I don't smile. "I don't wish. I take."

The air between us thickens.

I can see her pulse flickering at her neck. She wants to ask why I brought her. Where we're going. What this is.

But she doesn't.

She knows better.

Instead, she leans back, crossing her legs. "You said no questions. Fine. But I'm not a pawn, Ares. I don't like being moved around."

"You're not a pawn," I say. "You're a blade."

Her brows lift slightly.

"And blades are meant to cut," I finish.

She holds my gaze. "What exactly am I cutting?"

I smile for the first time all night. Cold. Sharp. "You'll see."

Private Estate - Valen Island

The villa overlooks the sea. High walls. Guards at every post. It used to be one of Damien's private retreats-until I took it.

Now, it's mine.

The air is colder here. The waves more violent. The kind of place where people disappear and no one asks questions.

She steps out of the car behind me, her eyes sweeping over the grounds.

"Romantic," she mutters.

"It's not a honeymoon."

"Could've fooled me."

I turn to face her, stepping close. Too close. "If it were a honeymoon, you wouldn't be walking upright."

Her breath catches-but just for a second.

Then she smirks. "Promises, promises."

She thinks this is a game. Maybe for her, it is.

But not for me.

I lead her inside. The villa is cold stone and dark wood, all brutal elegance. There's a fire already burning in the hearth. Ivy walks toward it, rubbing her arms.

"Why here?" she asks. "Why tonight?"

I step behind her. "Because it's time."

"For what?"

I move closer. "For you to stop pretending."

She freezes.

I reach past her and pull the clasp of her coat open. She doesn't stop me. I drag the coat from her shoulders slowly, watching the way her body tenses, then relaxes. Like a soldier unarming. But not surrendering.

Never surrendering.

"You came into my life fast," I murmur. "Too fast. You knew exactly how to get close. Exactly what to say. And yet, I let you in."

Her voice is quiet. "Why?"

I stare at her. "Because you're useful."

She turns slowly. "And if I'm not?"

I don't blink. "Then I'll break you."

She steps into me, close enough that I feel the heat of her. "Try."

Our mouths crash together before I realize what I'm doing.

It's not a kiss-it's a threat.

A claim.

Her lips are soft, but her hands are fists. She grips my shirt like she wants to shove me, rip me open, crawl inside and burn everything I am.

I kiss her harder. She bites my bottom lip, and I drag her to the couch, pulling her onto my lap.

She straddles me, breathing hard, and for a second, we just stare at each other-like two wild animals deciding whether to kill or fuck.

"I could ruin you," she whispers.

"You already are," I answer.

Her mouth crashes back onto mine.

I don't remember getting her out of her shirt. I just remember the sound she makes when my hand cups her breast-the half-choke, half-moan that makes my cock throb hard enough to ache.

I flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she breathes. "You're just a detour."

"I'm the fucking road."

She gasps as I slam into her.

No more words after that.

Just teeth. Nails. Sweat. Moans swallowed in the firelight.

She's wild. Untrained. A storm in a silk dress. And I love it. I hate it.

I want to drown in it. I want to choke it out.

When I come, it's with her name on my tongue.

A mistake.

I never make mistakes.

Later That Night

She lies beside me, silent, staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep. I haven't slept since I was sixteen.

My father taught me that sleep is for the weak. That softness gets you killed.

Maybe he was right.

She turns to face me. "So, what now?"

I look at her.

I think of the plan. Of the empire. Of my father. Of betrayal.

And I make a decision I hadn't planned on making tonight.

"We're getting married."

She blinks.

I watch her face carefully. Shock. Confusion. Then suspicion.

"When?" she asks, voice tight.

"Tomorrow."

Her eyes narrow. "You're not serious."

I don't blink. "I don't joke."

Silence stretches between us.

"Why?" she finally asks.

I roll onto my side, brushing hair from her face.

"Because I want you," I say softly. "And I don't share."