Chapter 57 Ivy
IVY
The first thing I notice when I wake up is that I can’t see. My mind spins, frantically searching for clues about what happened to me.
I try to raise my hand to my face, but it won’t move.
I blow out a panicked breath and realize I’m blindfolded with something that smells old and dusty.
My wrists are bound behind me, the ties biting just enough to be uncomfortable. My ankles are secured, and when I squirm, I hear the squeak of the rickety chair.
This tells me two things immediately: one, this was planned. And two, I’m not getting out of it by accident.
Fantastic.
I test the chair anyway, shifting my weight, rocking hard.
Nothing.
My heart kicks up a notch, and for half a second, panic claws at my throat, sharp and insistent.
Breathe.
I force the air in through my nose, out through my mouth. Slow. Measured.
I will not let fear take the wheel.
Blindfolded means I don’t know where I am. Which means I can’t anchor myself to anything familiar. No windows. No corners. No exits.
“Ah. You’re awake,” a male voice says from somewhere to my left.
His voice is calm.
That’s worse than yelling.
“I was enjoying the ambiance,” I say. “But sure. Let’s chat.”
The silence stretches.
Then I hear him move—slow steps circling me. Testing me.
“You’re not as afraid as you should be,” he says.
I tilt my head toward the sound. “Give it time. First impressions aren’t everything.”
I feel him stop.
Good. If he’s listening, I’m winning a little.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “You’re the asshole who thought kidnapping me was a good idea.”
He chuckles. “Clever,” he murmurs. “Still joking.”
“Still breathing,” I correct. “And still not impressed.”
I shift in the chair again, letting it scrape slightly across the floor. Letting him hear that I’m not frozen.
“If you want a fight,” I add, “you could at least make it fair. Untie me. See how that goes.”
The silence that follows is sharp.
Then he steps closer. I can feel him now, his presence pressing in, too close.
“You wouldn’t stand a chance,” he says quietly.
I smile beneath the blindfold.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Men like you always underestimate me.”
His breathing changes slightly. A hitch he probably doesn’t even realize he gave away.
So I keep pushing. “Is this the part where you tell me how special I am?” I ask lightly. “Or that I remind you of someone else?”
His hand slams down on the back of the chair.
I don’t scream. I refuse.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he snaps.
Bingo.
“I hit a nerve,” I say, my tone sarcastic. “Let me guess. She’s the one who got away?”
His grip tightens.
I push back against the chair, my pulse racing now. But my voice remains steady. “You made a mistake,” I say.
I hear him inhale.
“You brought Sebastian into this.”
I can feel the shift in the room, the way the air tightens when a predator realizes it’s no longer alone at the top of the food chain.
“Don’t say his name,” he says.
I say it anyway. “Sebastian is going to find me,” I say, calm as stone. “And when he does, he’s going to dismantle you piece by piece.”
I expect anger.
What I get instead is a soft, almost reverent sound. “You think he can save you,” he says, laughter in his voice.
“I know he will,” I reply. “And the longer you keep me here, the worse it gets for you.”
The silence stretches again.
Then he takes a step back, his voice colder now. “You’re very confident. One might say overconfident.”
I swallow, fear finally curling deep in my stomach. But I don’t let it show. “I’m not confident,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m certain.”
Silence follows my last words.
I hear him move again, the scrape of his shoes against the floor measured now. Controlled. Like he’s decided something.
“You talk too much,” he says finally.
“It’s my nature,” I reply lightly, even as my pulse hammers harder. “People tend to underestimate me. I let them know it.”
He stops in front of me. I know because the air changes, becoming thicker. Warmer.
Even though my heart pounds and pulse bangs against my throat, I don’t flinch. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You think you’re brave,” he says. “But bravery without leverage is just noise.”
I tilt my head. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”
The sound that leaves him isn’t a laugh this time.
It’s irritation.
Good.
Something brushes my cheek—the back of his fingers, maybe. Not violent. Not gentle either. Testing. Claiming space.
My skin crawls, but I keep my spine straight.
“You don’t get to provoke me,” he says quietly. “Not like that.”
I swallow, gathering my strength. “Then untie me,” I say. “And make me stop.”
The chair jerks suddenly as he grabs the back and tips it just enough to make my stomach lurch. Not far enough to drop me. Just enough to remind me how precarious everything is.
My breath stutters. Fear races through me.
He rights the chair slowly, like he’s savoring the control.
“That,” he murmurs, “is the cost of your mouth.”
I clench my jaw, forcing my breathing to steady again. I won’t cry. I won’t beg. I won’t apologize. Those are currencies I refuse to spend.
He steps away, and I hear something metallic slide across a surface. A drawer, maybe. Tools. My imagination supplies images I don’t want.
“You know what happens now?” he asks, his voice drifting from somewhere behind me.
I shake my head once.
“You wait,” he says. “And the longer you wait, the more uncertain you become. That’s how this works. Hope first. Then doubt. Then fear.”
My fingers curl, nails biting into my palms. I won’t give him that either.
“You’re wrong,” I say, quieter now—but no less firm. “Because you’re assuming I don’t know him.”
He’s quiet again.
I press the advantage, even though my throat is tight and my heart is racing.
“Sebastian doesn’t hesitate,” I continue. “He doesn’t panic. And he doesn’t stop once he starts.”
I hear his breath hitch—just once.
“You’ve already lost,” I say. “You just don’t know it yet.”
The silence that follows is different this time.
Not irritated. Calculating.
When he finally speaks, his voice is colder than before. “Just wait and see.”
I hear footsteps retreat. A door opens. Closes. A lock clicks, the sound echoing too loudly in my ears.
I’m alone again.
Blindfolded. Tied. Shaking now that the adrenaline has nowhere to go.
I let myself breathe through it—slow and controlled. I catalog sensations instead of fear. The chair beneath me. The floor. The air.
I don’t know where I am. Or how long this will last.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty. Sebastian is coming.
And Silas has no idea what he’s in for.