Page 61

The room was silent except for the heavy breathing of the three of them, each lost in their own tumultuous thoughts, grappling with the tangled web of lies and betrayals.

Ivy felt a whirlwind of emotions — betrayal, anger, hurt, confusion, but also a strange sense of relief, a flicker of hope that perhaps, amidst all the darkness, there was a spark of genuine connection.

Then Vice spoke his voice was low, but it carried a weight that pressed into her chest. “I didn’t plan this,” he said. “I thought I was in control. I wanted you're obedience. That’s how it started.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching hers like they held a truth he couldn’t speak aloud. “But you… you’re a storm I never saw coming. You tore through everything I built to protect myself. Every wall, every boundary—gone.”

His hand reached out, brushing against hers, trembling slightly. “You’re not light, and you’re not darkness either. You’re something in between… a twilight that wraps around the soul. Beautiful. Unsettling. Familiar in a way that makes me feel like I’ve known you in every lifetime.”

Ivy’s breath caught, her heart pounding, but he wasn’t finished.

“You’re so fucking messed up, Ivy,” he said, the words trembling with admiration and pain.

“You’re all edges and fire and scars, but God—you're perfect. Not despite those things—because of them. You’re the most fucked up, perfect thing I’ve ever touched, and you make everything else I’ve known feel shallow. ”

He took another step, and his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “And when you're near me, I can't fucking breathe. I feel like I’m drowning in you, but I don’t want to come up for air. I want to stay there.”

He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze shifted, if only for a second, to James. Then he looked back at her—only at her.

“You were never the problem, Ivy,” Vice said, voice steady now, fierce with conviction. “You were never too much. You were never hard to love. You were just giving you're heart—you're wild, beautiful love—to people who didn’t deserve to hold it.”

He nodded toward James without breaking eye contact. “He didn’t see you. Not really.”

James stiffened, his glare sharp and silent, but he said nothing. The weight of Vice’s words held the room in a hush.

Vice stepped even closer, now inches away, and whispered, “But I see you. All of you. And you—just as you are—are enough for me.”

"Ivy, I'm sorry," Vice said, his voice thick with emotion, the sound raw and sincere.

But before he could say more, before she could fully absorb the weight of his confession, James grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her backward, shattering the fragile moment of connection.

"You want her?" He sneered, spit flying from his mouth, his face contorted with rage.

“Come get her.” With a brutal shove, fueled by jealousy and spite, he sent Ivy flying over the edge of the stairs, her body tumbling into the abyss.

Vice roared, a primal sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the fortress. It was the sound of a predator, unleashed and untamed, a raw expression of anguish and fury.

He launched himself off the edge of the stairs, his powerful legs propelling him forward, defying gravity in his desperate attempt to save her. Time stretched out into an eternal second as she fell, her scream echoing in the vast, cold space, a sound that tore at his soul.

Vice felt the air rush past him as he dove, his heart hammering in his chest with a fierce, primal need to save her, to protect her from the inevitable impact.

He reached out, his arms spread wide, his fingers outstretched, and his fingers brushed hers, sending a jolt of electricity through his body, a spark of hope in the face of impending doom.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, hers wide with fear, his filled with a fiery determination that seemed to burn away the shadows around them.

And then, just as the ground rushed up to meet her, he had her.

His powerful arms wrapped around her, crushing her against his chest, shielding her from the fall.

He pulled her close, holding her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered, the only reason for his existence.

The impact was like nothing Ivy had ever felt before.

One moment, she was braced for the inevitable, the next, she was hurtling through the air, shielded by Vice's larger frame.

The ground shuddered beneath them as Vice hit the unforgiving stone floor with a force that sent shards of rock flying in every direction like deadly confetti.

The sound was deafening, a monstrous roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the ancient fortress, threatening to bring the entire structure down upon them.

But above the chaos, all she could feel was the immediate, encompassing warmth of his body surrounding her, the frantic beat of his heart pounding against her own, a frantic drumbeat against the symphony of destruction.

For a moment, everything was still. The world held its breath.

They lay in a tangled heap, a grotesque sculpture of flesh and bone against the cold stone.

The air was thick with dust, stinging her nostrils and coating her tongue with a gritty film.

The acrid scent of gunpowder hung heavy, a metallic tang that mingled with the earthy smell of freshly broken rock.

Silence, punctuated only by their ragged breathing, descended like a shroud.

"Ivy," Vice's voice was strained, a low rasp cutting through the stillness. His breathing was heavy, each inhale a labored effort. "Ivy, are you okay?" His words were laced with a desperate urgency, a palpable fear that belied his hardened exterior.

Her eyes fluttered open, her vision swimming, the world a blurry watercolor painting slowly coming into focus.

She met his gaze, his eyes dark pools of concern reflecting the flickering light from the debris-strewn chamber.

"I... think so," she murmured, her voice hoarse and scratchy from the scream that had been ripped from her throat, a primal cry swallowed by the deafening explosion.

Vice's grip on her tightened, a subtle pressure, yet reassuring.

His eyes, narrowed with concern, searched hers, probing for any sign of injury, any crack in her carefully constructed facade.

"You need to get out of here," he said urgently, his voice gruff with a possessiveness that resonated deep within her.

"You can't stay." His words were a command, tinged with a desperate plea.

"Not without you," Ivy whispered, her eyes filled with a stubborn determination that mirrored his own fierce will.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing as a sharp jolt of pain shot through her body from the fall, a chorus of aches igniting in protest. She ignored them, pushing past the tremors that threatened to overwhelm her.

Vice's expression was torn between admiration and frustration, a war waged across his hardened features.

He knew he couldn't leave her side, not now, not after everything.

The thought of her leaving him, of facing the darkness alone, was unbearable.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, his jaw tight with suppressed emotion, "but we're not staying here.

" He stood up, a powerful, imposing figure even in his injured state, and lifted her to her feet with surprising gentleness.

His eyes never left hers, as if reassuring himself she was still there, still real, still breathing.

He needed to see her, to touch her, to confirm that she hadn't been lost in the maelstrom.

But the sudden intrusion of a gunshot shattered the fragile peace, ripping apart the moment like a bolt of lightning tearing through the night sky.

It echoed through the chamber, a sharp, deafening crack that seemed to resonate in the very walls themselves, a harbinger of the carnage to come.

Ivy watched in horror, her breath catching in her throat, as the bullet struck Vice just above where her hand had been resting on his chest, a mere inch from her own heart.

His eyes went wide with shock, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of fear, a raw vulnerability, before his meticulously constructed mask of stoicism slipped back into place, concealing the pain behind a wall of iron.

"Vice!" she screamed, her voice raw with terror, the sound tearing through the air like a wounded animal.

The cry was primal, born of pure, unadulterated fear.

She saw the crimson blossom spread across his chest, a dark, blooming flower staining his clothing with the vibrant color of death.

He stumbled backward, his hand reaching for the wound, his fingers probing uselessly at the source of the pain.

His grip on her released, the sudden loss of contact sending a shiver of icy dread down her spine.

James, his expression a twisted mix of triumph and rage, emerged from the shadows, a smoking gun clutched in his trembling hand.

His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, reflecting the madness that consumed him.

"This ends now," he spat, his voice laced with venom, aiming the weapon at Vice again, his finger hovering over the trigger.

But Ivy was already in motion, her body reacting before her mind could process the danger.

She was driven by a fierce, protective instinct, a primal urge to shield the man who had saved her, the man who had become her everything.

She lunged at James, a whirlwind of rage and desperation, her body a blur of motion in the dimly lit chamber.

The two of them crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, the gun skittering away across the smooth stone floor, bouncing and clattering to a stop in the shadows.