Lucien woke first.

Which immediately became a problem.

Gray morning light spilled softly across the bedroom while rain whispered against the tall windows. Ivy slept curled against his chest beneath tangled sheets, one hand resting loosely near the scars along his ribs like she belonged there naturally.

Too naturally.

Lucien stared at the ceiling for a long moment without moving.

Her breathing stayed slow.

Warm.

Trusting.

The sight hit harder than bullets ever had.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

His arm still wrapped tightly around her waist from sometime during the night. Even asleep, she’d moved closer instead of away.

That realization slid cold beneath his ribs.

Dependency.

Attachment.

Weakness.

Lucien looked down slowly at Ivy’s face half-hidden against his shoulder.

Hair messy.

Bare skin warm beneath pale morning light.

The memory of her kissing him first crashed back immediately.

Soft mouth.

Trembling hands against his chest.

Lucien closing the last remaining distance like starvation.

His jaw tightened sharply.

Mistake.

Huge mistake.

Not kissing her.

That part ruined him already.

The mistake was wanting more afterward.

Wanting this.

Morning light.

Shared warmth.

The terrifying peace of another person sleeping safely in his arms.

No.

Absolutely not.

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Dante’s voice echoed immediately through memory.

Kings don’t survive long once people discover where to cut.

And now everybody knew.

Hale knew.

Dante knew.

Half of Manhattan probably knew after last night.

Lucien looked down at Ivy again.

At the softness still resting openly across her sleeping face.

A brutal thought hit instantly:

They would use her against him.

The fear came so sharp it almost felt physical.

Lucien carefully untangled himself from her arms before instinct overruled reason completely.

The second cold air touched Ivy’s skin, she stirred slightly.

Brows tightening.

Searching unconsciously toward the warmth disappearing beside her.

Lucien nearly sat back down immediately.

Dangerous.

He forced himself to stand instead.

The bedroom suddenly felt smaller.

Too intimate.

Too exposed.

Clothes from last night scattered across dark hardwood floors. Ivy’s black dress still hung half-off the armchair near the windows while his white shirt lay abandoned beside the bed.

Evidence.

Of weakness.

Lucien crossed toward the bathroom without looking back again.

Coward.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

—

Ivy woke slowly twenty minutes later.

Warm sheets.

Rain outside.

The faint scent of cedarwood still lingering against the pillows.

Then memory arrived all at once.

Lucien’s hands.

His mouth against her throat.

The way he shook when she touched his scars.

Heat rushed instantly into her face.

“Oh my God.”

She buried herself briefly beneath the blankets in pure emotional embarrassment.

Then smiled helplessly into the pillow anyway.

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

The bathroom door opened softly.

Ivy looked up automatically.

And froze.

Lucien stepped back into the bedroom already dressed.

Black slacks.

White shirt buttoned neatly.

Tie hanging loose around his collar.

The mafia king armor rebuilt piece by piece.

Worse—

his expression had changed too.

No softness.

No warmth.

Only control sitting tightly across his face again.

The shift hit immediately.

Like cold water.

Ivy pushed herself upright slowly beneath the blankets.

“…Hey.”

Lucien adjusted one cuff calmly.

“Morning.”

The distance in his voice landed hard.

Tiny change.

Still there.

Ivy noticed instantly.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

She tried smiling anyway.

“So.” A weak laugh escaped her. “This is either the world’s most awkward morning-after situation or we’re emotionally repressing professionally.”

Lucien looked toward the windows instead of her.

“You should eat breakfast.”

Silence.

Ivy blinked once slowly.

“…Wow.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened slightly.

“What.”

“That sounded disturbingly like customer service.”

He crossed toward the dresser.

Avoiding her eyes now.

Avoiding the bed.

Avoiding everything.

The realization settled heavily into Ivy’s chest.

“Lucien.”

No answer.

Only silence while he fastened cufflinks with painfully steady hands.

Too steady.

She watched him carefully now.

The tension in his shoulders.

The rigid control.

The way he physically avoided looking directly at her.

Fear.

Not regret.

Fear.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

Lucien finally glanced toward her briefly.

“What thing.”

“The emotional disappearing act.”

“I’m right here.”

“No.” Her voice softened slightly. “Not really.”

That landed.

She saw it immediately.

Lucien looked away again.

Coward.

The rain outside thickened softly against the windows.

Ivy studied him for another second.

Then quietly:

“Do you regret it?”

The room went completely still.

Lucien’s hands stopped briefly against his cuff.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

Then:

“No.”

The answer came immediate.

Honest.

Too honest.

Ivy’s chest loosened slightly before she could stop it.

Then Lucien added quietly:

“That’s the problem.”

There it was.

The real fear.

Not sleeping with her.

Wanting her afterward.

Needing her afterward.

Ivy understood instantly.

And somehow that hurt worse.

Lucien finally looked at her fully now.

Gray eyes exhausted.

Guarded.

“Last night changed things.”

“Yes,” Ivy whispered.

“It shouldn’t have.”

The sentence landed like a slap.

Not cruel.

Worse.

Careful.

Controlled.

Like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

Ivy stared at him for one long second.

Then laughed softly under her breath.

Not humor.

Pain.

“Wow.”

Lucien’s expression tightened immediately.

“Ivy—”

“No, it’s okay.” She climbed slowly out of bed gathering the sheets tightly around herself. “I get it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Silence.

Lucien had no answer.

Or maybe too many.

Neither helped.

Ivy crossed toward the chair and picked up her dress carefully without looking at him.

The room suddenly felt humiliating.

All the softness from last night still lived inside these walls while Lucien stood six feet away rebuilding distance brick by brick.

“I should’ve expected this,” she murmured quietly.

Lucien stepped toward her instantly.

“You expected regret?”

“No.” Ivy looked up finally. “I expected you to panic.”

That hit directly.

Lucien stopped moving.

Caught.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The silence afterward hurt.

Not explosive hurt.

Quiet hurt.

The dangerous kind.

Ivy disappeared briefly into the bathroom to dress.

When she returned ten minutes later, Lucien still stood near the windows exactly where she left him.

Motionless.

Rainlight silvered softly across his profile.

He looked tired.

Destroyed, honestly.

But still retreating.

Still choosing distance over risk.

Ivy slipped on her shoes slowly near the door.

Neither spoke.

Finally Lucien said quietly:

“You should eat something.”

There it was again.

Polite distance.

Professional concern.

Like last night had become something fragile neither could survive looking at directly.

Ivy nodded once.

“Sure.”

Lucien looked toward her then.

Probably realizing too late how badly he’d mishandled this.

But fear still sat stronger than instinct.

Stronger than want.

Stronger than her.

“Ivy.”

She stopped near the doorway.

Waited.

Lucien opened his mouth slightly.

Nothing came out.

No apology.

No explanation.

Only silence.

Ivy smiled faintly.

Small.

Sad.

“Thought so.”

Then she walked out.

The bedroom door shut softly behind her.

Lucien remained motionless beside the windows afterward while rain streaked slowly across the glass.

The bed behind him still smelled like her.

And downstairs—

hours later—

the breakfast prepared for Ivy Bennett sat completely untouched.