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Vice's eyes narrowed, the mask hid any hint of the emotions that swirled beneath. "Even the part of me that’s a monster?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Ivy sighed and placed her hand on his chest. "I may not like that side of you, but I’ve accepted that," she paused a moment. "Weather I like it or not that’s a part of who you are because of what happened to you.”

Vice loosened his grip on her wrist. Ivy then laced her fingers with his. “My father told me when I was younger that love is accepting someone for who they are, the good and the bad. If you can’t accept their bad, then you don’t truly love them.”

The room was silent, the tension thick as a fog. Vice's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of deceit, any hint of the game he was so certain she was playing.

But all he saw was a quiet determination, a belief that seemed to cut through the layers of his anger.

Finally, with a noise that was half sigh, half growl, he pulled his hand away from hers, turning away from her. "You're a fool," he murmured. "But perhaps...perhaps you're not the only one." Ivy watched him go; she felt her heart sink.

The silence in the room was deafening as Ivy knelt to pick up the shattered pieces of the plate, her tears dropping onto the cold ceramic shards. "What was she doing?" she thought to herself. Her mind raced with questions and doubts, a tumultuous storm of emotions swirling through her like a tempest. Was she really falling for him.

Chapter 21:

Vice's harsh voice pierced the quiet night, jolting Ivy from her peaceful slumber. "Get up," he barked insistently, his eyes gleaming in the moonlit room. Ivy's eyes snapped open, and she groaned, the warm cocoon of her blankets no match for the cold reality of being woken at such an ungodly hour. She rolled over, hoping to ignore him and sink back into sleep, but Vice was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed, her legs feeling like led as she swung them over the side. The floor was cold and unforgiving under her bare feet. "What time is it?" She asked, her voice thick with irritation.

"Two AM," Vice replied, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Vice raised a hand, and the candles flickered to life. Ivy squinted, trying to adjust her vision to the light. She walked over to him. As she approached, she noticed the drink in his hand, the brown liquid sloshing around in the glass. The faint aroma of whiskey wafted towards her, a biting scent that seemed to match his tone.

"What could be so important that you had to wake me up at this hour?" she asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

Vice stepped further into the room, closing the heavy oak door with a soft click that echoed through the tense silence. He leaned back against the closed door, a casual pose that belied the predatory gleam in his eyes. He watched her with an unsettling intensity, never breaking eye contact. "I have a very important business associate coming over," he said, the hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You need to see to it he has a good time."

"What the fuck? I'm not doing that." Ivy's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The words were out before she could even fully process them. "What makes you think that I would do that?" The thought of what he was implying sent a wave of nausea crashing over her.

"You do not have a choice, Ivy," he said, his voice low and even, stripped of any warmth or emotion.

He extended a hand, offering her the glass of brandy. “This will help,” he murmured, the words laced with a subtle threat. The amber liquid glinted in the pale moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, a cruel reminder of the power he held over her, the power he wielded so carelessly. "You will entertain him," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "and you will do it well."

Her stomach turned at the thought of being used in such a way, the idea of another man touching her, filled her with revulsion. She took the glass from him, the weight of the crystal feeling like a leaden burden in her hand, a physical manifestation of the heavy weight of his expectations. "What does this associate want?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Vice's face morphed into a smile that was far from comforting; it was a wicked, predatory sight. "He wants a good time," he replied, his tone dripping with insinuation. “And if you do not deliver, it won't be you that suffers.” The threat hung heavy in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.

She knew he wasn't bluffing. She knew the depths of his cruelty, and she wasn’t about to test him. "I can't let another man touch me, please Vice," she begged, her eyes wide with horror. The vulnerability in her voice was a sharp contrast to the defiance she had shown only moments before.

He shrugged, his expression unyielding, his heart seemingly untouched by her plea. "You have two hours," he said, turning and walking towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence. "Do not disappoint, or you'll regret it." He called out to her from the hallway, his voice a chilling promise.

The door closed with a heavy thud, and she was alone once more, the silence amplifying the echo of his words. In a surge of helpless rage, she flung the brandy glass at the door, watching it shatter into pieces, the sound echoing through the room like the shattering of her heart. The amber liquid splattered against the wood, mingling with the plush fibers of the rug, the potent scent of oak and alcohol filling the air, a suffocating mix of comfort and despair. She sank to the floor, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Ivy’s mind raced with thoughts of escape, of rebellion, of the sweet taste of freedom that she knew she’d never taste again. She could run, disappear into the anonymity of the city, but she knew he would find her, and the consequences would be far worse than anything she could imagine. She knew she had to play this twisted game, at least for now, but the thought of it made her stomach churn with bile. She pushed herself to her feet, her legs wobbly from the toxic mix of fear and overwhelming anger coursing through her veins.

Her bare feet padded quietly across the cold stone floor to the bathroom. The room was bathed in a soft blue glow from the moon outside, casting eerie shadows on the gleaming chrome fixtures. She turned the shower on, the sound of the water hitting the tiles a welcome relief from the oppressive silence that had settled over her room. The warmth of the water enveloped her as she stepped into the shower.

The heat did little to soothe her. She scrubbed herself clean, the scent of her jasmine soap a stark contrast to the whiskey-laced air that lingered. The water washed away her tears, but not the heaviness in her chest.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her body, the soft fabric doing little to shield her from the coldness that had seeped into her bones. She reached for a towel to dry her hair, her eyes catching a glimpse of something unfamiliar on the counter. A small bottle, nestled between her toothpaste and hairbrush. It was a deep shade of red, almost black, with a silver cap that gleamed in the moonlit bathroom.

Curiosity and anger warred within her as she approached the counter. It was a perfume bottle, she realized, the glass cool to the touch. The label read 'Midnight Seduction'.

Her sadness turned to anger, the kind of anger that burned hot and fast, consuming everything in its path. How could Vice do this to her? After all the moments they had shared, the whispers of affection and the gentle touches that had once felt so genuine. She had been a fool to believe she meant anything to him, other than a pawn in his twisted games of power and manipulation.

With trembling hands, she picked up the bottle. The scent was sickly sweet. She couldn't bring herself to use it, to become the plaything he wanted her to be. Her grip tightened around the bottle, and with a primal scream, she hurled it at the mirror.

The glass shattered with a satisfying crack, sending shards flying everywhere. The room was suddenly alive with the scent of the perfume, a cloying cloud that filled her nostrils, taunting her with its very presence. She watched the silvercap roll to a stop at the edge of the tub, the crimson liquid seeping into the grout between the tiles like blood. The mirror's reflection was a twisted mess of jagged edges and shadows, a warped image of the girl who had once dreamed of a life free from fear and pain.