Eleanor Moretti arrived exactly four days after Lucien finally slept.

Which already felt threatening.

The mansion changed before Ivy even saw her.

Staff moved differently.

Straighter.

Quieter.

Marta nearly dropped an entire tray when Matteo muttered, “She’s here,” under his breath near the kitchen doorway.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy sat at the breakfast table wearing one of Lucien’s sweaters and halfway pretending to read while rain moved softly against the windows outside.

“Who’s here.”

Nobody answered immediately.

Bad sign.

Matteo rubbed tiredly at his face.

“My mother.”

Oh.

Oh no.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Even Lucien looked irritated.

Not angry.

Worse.

Resigned.

He stood near the windows in a black dress shirt with rolled sleeves and exhaustion still faintly shadowing beneath his eyes from the kidnapping aftermath.

Lucien noticed Ivy watching him.

And immediately softened slightly.

Tiny movement.

Still there.

“She won’t stay long,” he said quietly.

Matteo laughed once under his breath.

“See? That tone right there.” He pointed dramatically. “That’s fear.”

Lucien looked unimpressed.

“I don’t fear my mother.”

“You absolutely do.”

Before Lucien could respond—

heels echoed sharply through the foyer hallway.

Slow.

Controlled.

The sound of somebody who expected rooms to belong to her before entering them.

Then Eleanor Moretti appeared in the dining room doorway.

And suddenly Ivy understood everything about Lucien’s emotional damage immediately.

Elegant.

Cold.

Beautiful in the terrifying way expensive knives looked beautiful.

Silver streaks cut cleanly through dark hair gathered at the base of her neck, and sharp gray eyes swept through the room like judgment itself wearing designer clothing.

Those eyes landed on Ivy instantly.

Silence followed.

Heavy silence.

Not surprise.

Assessment.

Like Eleanor already knew every weakness in the room and simply confirmed placement.

Interesting.

Very terrifying.

Lucien stepped forward slightly.

Instinctively.

Blocking part of Ivy from view.

Eleanor noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

And for the first time—

something genuinely interested flickered across her face.

“Well,” she murmured softly. “That explains the citywide panic.”

Matteo quietly whispered toward Ivy:

“Don’t engage emotionally. She feeds on weakness.”

“Matteo,” Eleanor said calmly without looking at him.

He shut up instantly.

Excellent survival instincts.

Lucien’s voice cooled several degrees.

“Why are you here.”

Eleanor removed leather gloves slowly.

“You survived Russo’s little stunt.” Her eyes shifted toward the healing cut near Lucien’s brow. “Barely.”

“I handled it.”

“Yes.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Ivy. “That appears to be the problem.”

The room tightened instantly.

Lucien’s expression hardened.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy slowly set her coffee cup down.

Okay.

Maybe violence did run genetically in this family.

Eleanor stepped fully into the room now.

Graceful.

Controlled.

Predatory.

She looked directly at Ivy for one long second.

Then softly:

“You’re younger than I expected.”

Matteo muttered something in Italian immediately.

Probably a prayer.

Lucien moved another half-step closer toward Ivy.

Protective.

Automatic.

Again.

Eleanor noticed every inch of it.

And suddenly smiled faintly.

Not warm.

Never warm.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “It’s serious.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened sharply.

“We’re not discussing this.”

“You dragged half the city into a war over her.” Eleanor’s gaze sharpened slightly. “We’re absolutely discussing it.”

Ivy looked slowly between them.

Interesting.

Very emotionally repressed.

Eleanor crossed toward the breakfast table.

Every staff member nearby disappeared instantly.

Gone.

Vanished.

Professional fear.

She stopped directly across from Ivy.

Too close already.

“You know who my son is,” Eleanor said softly.

Not question.

Statement.

Ivy crossed her arms.

“I’m getting mixed reviews.”

Matteo choked violently somewhere behind them.

Lucien’s mouth almost moved.

Almost.

Eleanor remained completely expressionless.

Terrifying woman.

“He destroys everything he loves,” Eleanor continued calmly.

The room went dead silent.

Lucien’s voice sharpened instantly.

“Enough.”

Eleanor ignored him entirely.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Ivy.

“My husband loved beautifully once.” She removed one glove finger by finger. “Then people discovered it.”

Something cold moved quietly beneath the sentence.

History.

Old blood.

Old trauma.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy noticed Lucien go completely still behind her.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

Eleanor stepped closer slightly.

“And now Lucien repeats the pattern.”

“I’m standing right here,” Lucien said flatly.

“Yes,” Eleanor replied softly. “Emotionally, that’s new for you.”

Matteo looked seconds away from opening emergency alcohol.

Honestly fair.

Ivy held Eleanor’s gaze carefully.

“You don’t like me.”

Eleanor looked almost surprised by the directness.

“No,” she answered honestly. “I don’t.”

Well.

Okay then.

Lucien stepped forward immediately.

“She leaves now.”

“No.” Eleanor’s attention shifted toward him finally. “You nearly burned Manhattan down four nights ago.”

“You weren’t invited to judge me.”

“I buried the bodies afterward.”

Silence exploded through the room.

Ivy blinked slowly.

Interesting family hobby.

Very concerning.

Eleanor looked back toward Ivy again.

“You think his obsession is romantic now.” Her voice remained calm. “Wait until it becomes fear.”

The sentence landed sharply.

Lucien moved before Ivy answered.

Fast.

Controlled.

He stepped directly between both women.

Full barrier now.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You’re done,” Lucien said quietly.

Eleanor looked up at him.

And for the first time since entering the room—

something shifted slightly across her expression.

Not softness.

Recognition.

Like she suddenly saw a stranger wearing her son’s face.

“You’re choosing her publicly,” Eleanor murmured.

Lucien didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

The answer hit the room like thunder.

Matteo froze completely.

Ivy stopped breathing properly.

Even Eleanor looked briefly caught off guard.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

Lucien’s voice lowered further.

“She stays.”

The sentence carried no aggression.

No shouting.

Worse.

Finality.

Eleanor studied him silently for several long seconds afterward.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

Nobody moved.

Then finally—

very slowly—

Eleanor looked toward Ivy again.

And something painful flickered briefly beneath all that ice.

Gone quickly.

Still there.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You already look at him differently,” Eleanor said quietly.

Ivy’s chest tightened instantly.

Because she did.

After the kidnapping.

After the files.

After seeing Lucien break apart in the backseat of a ruined SUV.

She saw everything now.

The monster.

The terrified boy beneath it.

And the terrifying truth that both existed at once.

Eleanor noticed her silence immediately.

Then nodded once like confirmation.

“That’s how it starts.”

Lucien’s expression darkened sharply.

“Leave.”

The word cracked harder this time.

Eleanor looked at him for one long second.

Then calmly replaced her gloves.

“I hope,” she said softly, “you survive loving each other longer than your father and I did.”

The sentence chilled the entire room.

Then she turned and walked out without another word.

Heels echoing sharply through the mansion halls until silence swallowed them completely.

Nobody moved afterward.

Matteo exhaled first.

“Okay.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “That felt spiritually violent.”

Lucien ignored him completely.

His attention shifted instantly toward Ivy.

Searching.

Always searching now.

“You okay?”

The question came too fast.

Too soft.

Too concerned.

Ivy looked at him quietly across the room.

At the man who stood against his mother publicly without hesitation.

At the man whose first instinct after emotional warfare was still her.

And suddenly—

she understood why Eleanor looked afraid instead of angry.

Lucien Moretti had finally chosen someone over survival.

And that kind of love ruined people beautifully.