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Vice didn't answer, just continued to stand there, his eyes on hers. Ivy could see the conflict within him, the turmoil that her words had stirred. She knew she had struck a nerve, but she didn't care. She couldn't care.

"Vice," she said again, her voice a whisper. "Please. Just leave me alone."

He didn't move, his eyes searching hers. And then, before she could react, he grabbed her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch gentle despite the iron grip he had on her. And then he leaned in, and his lips met hers in a kiss that was unlike any she had ever experienced.

It wasn't a kiss of lust or dominance, as she had feared. Instead, it was a kiss of something else entirely, something she hadn't expected from him. It was a kiss of tenderness, of regret, of a longing that seemed to echo the very beat of her own heart. His lips were soft and warm, his breath a gentle caress against hers.

For a moment, Ivy's body froze, torn between the desire to push him away and the desperate need to hold him close. But then, as the reality of the situation crashed over her, she pushed back with all her might, her hands shoving him away with surprising strength. "What are you doing?" she gasped, her voice shaking.

Vice took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with something she couldn't quite place. "I didn't mean to... I just..."

But Ivy didn't want to hear his excuses. The pain in her chest was a living, breathing entity now, threatening to swallow her whole. "Why are you doing this to me?" she demanded, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Is this how you break me? By playing with my emotions like they're some sort of game?"

Vice's expression grew stormy, his eyes flashing with something that might have been anger or frustration. "It's not a game, Ivy," he said, his voice low.

"Then what is it?" she shot back, her own anger rising to match his. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're enjoying every minute of my suffering."

Vice's eyes searched hers, a war waging within him that she could almost see. "Ivy," he said, his voice tight.

"What?" she snapped, pushing herself into a sitting position, the blankets pooling around her waist.

"This is what you want Vice," she spits at him tears in her eyes. She pulled her dress over her head angry. Leaving her in nothing but panties. "Then take it."

Vice's eyes widened, his jaw clenched. "Ivy, no." He took a step towards her, but she slapped his hand away.

"What, not like this?" she asked, the bitterness in her voice like a knife to his soul. "This is what you want, isn't it? A powerless, desperate woman begging for you're affection?"

Vice's eyes searched hers, the tumult of emotions within him threatening to spill over. He had never felt so torn in his life. On one hand, the monster inside him roared to claim her, to make her his in every way possible. But on the other hand, the man, the part of him that had been buried for so long, was screaming to take care of her, to love her, to protect her from the very thing she feared most: himself.

He took a deep breath, his hand shaking as he reached out to touch her again. This time, she didn't push him away. He gently traced the line of her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a stray tear. "Ivy," he said, his voice hoarse. "This isn't what I want."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of deceit. "Then tell me what you do want," she said, her voice barely audible. "Because I can't do this dance anymore."

Vice's hand trembled as he brushed the hair out of her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. "I," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion."

"You what?" she demanded, the anger in her eyes not diminishing. "You what, Vice?"

"Ivy, please," he begged, his voice thick with emotion. "Let me explain."

Ivy threw her hands up in frustration, her legs carrying her towards the door. "I don't need you're explanations," she spat. "You won't even show me you're face. How am I supposed to believe anything you say?"

Vice's hand shot out, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. His eyes searched hers, the pain in them clear. "Ivy," he said, his voice a low growl. "Please. Just listen."

She wrenched her arm free, the fire in her eyes not dimming. "What's there to say?" she demanded. "You've made it clear that I'm just a plaything in you're game, a means to an end."

Vice's grip tightened, his jaw clenched. "You're not just a plaything, Ivy," he said, his voice low and intense. "You're so much more than that."

The fire in Ivy's eyes flickered, and she took a step back. "Bullshit," she whispered, the word a knife that cut through the tension in the air.

Vice's expression grew stormy, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Ivy, you have to understand," he said, his voice tight. "This isn't easy for me."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of sincerity in the depths of those dark pools. But all she found was a wall of steel, a man who had been shaped by a lifetime of pain and loss. "Understand what?" she asked, her voice brittle. "That you're a monster who takes pleasure in playing with my heart so you can break me?"

Vice flinched as if she had struck him, his eyes darkening. "Ivy," he said, his voice a plea. "That's not what this is."

"Then tell me," She challenged, her voice shaking with emotion. "What is it, Vice? Tell me what you feel."

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching hers. Then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he spoke. "Ivy, I... I can't."