Chapter 5 The Kiss that Changed Everything

The ballroom shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting rainbows onto champagne glasses and floor-length gowns. The air was thick with perfume, power, and the sound of practiced laughter.

Ivy stood beneath a gilded archway, watching Lucien from across the room.

He wore black tonight-tailored like sin, with a sharp jawline and colder eyes than usual. Every woman in the room looked at him like he was a prize.

He didn't look at any of them.

Except her.

Their eyes met like a spark striking dry wood. She should have looked away. Should have remembered what she'd discovered about him the night before-the hidden photo, the lies, the layers of manipulation he'd never apologized for.

But God help her, her legs still trembled under his gaze.

"You're staring," a voice said beside her.

Ivy turned to find Geneva Harrow, one of the city's elite socialites, smiling with calculated sweetness. "Your husband looks delicious tonight," Geneva murmured. "I wonder how you keep him warm in that icy castle."

Ivy smiled back, cool as ice. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She left Geneva gaping and walked straight into the heart of the crowd.

They met in a shadowed hallway behind the ballroom, where the music softened and the laughter thinned.

"I need to speak to you," Ivy said before he could open his mouth.

Lucien leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Now's not the time."

"Make time," she snapped, stepping closer. "What I found-your mother's property-why lie about it?"

His expression froze.

So she'd hit a nerve.

"You've been digging," he said quietly.

"You gave me no choice. I'm married to a stranger who controls every part of my life, and the only way to feel sane is to understand what the hell I'm actually dealing with."

Lucien's jaw clenched. "You're not ready for what you'll find."

"Try me."

He stepped forward, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I've buried things, Ivy. Pain. People. Promises. Don't go unearthing ghosts unless you're willing to share the grave."

She didn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of ghosts. Just lies."

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then something snapped.

He grabbed her waist and hauled her against him, his mouth crushing hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It wasn't romantic.

It was war.

His hands gripped her hips like they were the only steady thing in his world. Her fingers clawed into his jacket, pulling him closer, even as logic screamed for space. But there was no space left. No oxygen. Just heat and hunger and anger wrapped into one explosion.

She moaned into his mouth and instantly hated herself for it.

When he pulled back, their foreheads touched.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered.

He smiled like a wolf. "You said that last time."

"And I was right."

"But you didn't stop me."

She pushed him away, heart pounding. "You don't get to distract me with sex."

His smile vanished.

"You think that's what this is?" he asked, voice low. "Distraction?"

She stared at him. "Isn't it?"

"No," he said. "This is survival. You make me forget the monsters at the door."

"And what happens when I become one of them?"

He looked at her like she'd just spoken prophecy.

Then someone cleared their throat.

They both turned.

Standing in the hallway's entrance, dressed in emerald green and smiling like she'd just won a game of chess, was Geneva Harrow.

"Am I interrupting something?" she purred.

Lucien stepped away first. Instinctively. Strategically.

It stung more than Ivy expected.

"No," Ivy said coolly. "We were just finishing."

Geneva's eyes glittered. "Of course you were."

Later that night, Ivy stood in front of the bathroom mirror in her wing of the mansion, scrubbing off her lipstick like it was poison.

She hated how much she'd felt.

How fast she'd fallen.

Lucien Blackwood was a man who fed off weakness. And every time she touched him, she gave him more of hers.

She threw the towel into the sink, hands trembling.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

A message.

Unknown number.

"Your husband lied. Meet me. Parkhurst Cemetery. Midnight."

Her blood iced.

Another message came through.

"Come alone. Or the truth dies with me."

She stared at the screen.

Heart slamming.

Mind racing.

The storm outside howled louder than before.