The next morning, Ivy skipped breakfast.

Not accidentally.

Deliberately.

She waited until nearly ten before leaving her room, listening carefully for footsteps in the hallway first.

Silence.

Good.

She moved downstairs fast.

Coffee.

She needed coffee before confronting the fact that Lucien Moretti smashed whiskey glasses into people’s faces with the emotional energy of a man answering emails.

The kitchen sat mostly empty except for Marta arranging flowers near the windows.

Marta looked up immediately.

“You missed breakfast.”

“Intentional.”

“You’re avoiding him.”

Ivy grabbed a mug from the cabinet.

“I’m avoiding prison vibes.”

Marta snipped a flower stem calmly.

“Mm.”

“That sounded judgmental.”

“That sounded accurate.”

Ivy pointed at her with the coffee spoon.

“You knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That he does…” She lowered her voice slightly. “That.”

Marta’s hands paused briefly over the flowers.

Then resumed.

“This house survives on violence, Ivy.”

The answer landed quietly.

Matter-of-fact.

Like discussing weather.

Ivy looked away first.

Marta noticed too.

“You thought expensive men became rich through kindness?”

“I thought maybe tax fraud. Less murder-y.”

“Mm.”

The espresso machine hissed softly while Ivy prepared coffee.

Her movements felt sharper today.

Faster.

Like standing still too long would let last night crawl back into her head.

The crack of the glass.

The blood.

Lucien’s calm voice.

You shouldn’t be here.

Again.

Always again.

Ivy slammed the portafilter slightly harder than necessary into place.

Marta watched silently.

Then:

“You’re frightened of him now.”

Ivy scoffed immediately.

“I’m cautious.”

“You’re using extra sarcasm.”

“That’s just my personality.”

“It increases when you panic.”

Ivy opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Rude.

Extremely rude observation.

The kitchen doors opened suddenly.

Ivy jumped hard enough to spill coffee grounds across the counter.

Matteo stopped mid-step.

“…Good morning?”

Ivy pressed one hand dramatically against her chest.

“You people walk too quietly.”

“You screamed a little.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He crossed toward the coffee machine and frowned at the mess.

“What happened here?”

“Emotional damage.”

“Specific?”

Ivy handed him coffee.

“Your cousin shattered a whiskey glass into somebody’s face last night.”

The room went silent instantly.

Matteo’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

Still there.

“You saw that.”

“Hard to miss.”

He rubbed a hand slowly across his jaw.

“Marta.”

“I told her nothing,” Marta replied calmly.

Matteo looked back at Ivy.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

“Apparently everybody already had matching T-shirts printed.”

He accepted the coffee but didn’t drink it immediately.

“Lucien doesn’t usually let people see that side of things.”

“Well. Huge fan of the mystery reveal.”

Matteo leaned against the counter quietly now.

“He warned you away from the west wing.”

“And now I know why.”

A strange silence settled over the kitchen.

Marta returned to her flowers.

The espresso machine hummed softly.

Outside, snow drifted lazily across the frozen gardens.

Then Ivy asked quietly:

“Was that normal?”

Matteo looked at her carefully.

“What part?”

“The blood.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the coffee cup in his hands.

Then toward the windows.

“You live long enough around men like Dante Russo…” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “Violence stops surprising you.”

“That’s a horrifying sentence.”

“It’s an honest one.”

Ivy stared down into her coffee.

The dark surface trembled faintly beneath her grip.

She hated that her hands still shook a little.

Hated it.

Matteo noticed anyway.

Of course he did.

“He didn’t want you seeing that.”

Ivy laughed once under her breath.

“That’s comforting after the attempted murder.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill him.”

“That is somehow worse.”

Matteo finally drank the coffee.

Then stopped.

His brows lifted slightly.

“Okay. That’s annoyingly good.”

“I told him.”

“You told him?”

“The emotionally constipated billionaire.”

Matteo nearly choked on the coffee.

Marta closed her eyes briefly.

“Please stop calling him that.”

“No.”

Matteo laughed despite himself.

Then his expression shifted again.

Subtle.

He glanced toward the kitchen doorway.

Ivy turned automatically.

Lucien stood there.

Black suit.

Gray tie today.

Phone pressed against one ear.

The conversation stopped instantly.

Lucien’s eyes landed on Ivy first.

Always first.

And Ivy—

looked away immediately.

The reaction happened before she could stop it.

Silence.

Lucien finished speaking quietly into the phone without taking his eyes off her.

Then he ended the call.

Nobody moved.

Ivy focused very hard on reorganizing sugar packets that absolutely did not need reorganizing.

Matteo cleared his throat softly.

“Well. I should—”

“Stay,” Lucien said calmly.

Matteo froze.

Excellent.

Now everybody was uncomfortable.

Lucien crossed into the kitchen slowly.

No blood today.

No broken glass.

Still—

Ivy’s pulse tightened automatically when he got too close.

Annoying.

Deeply annoying.

Lucien noticed the untouched second coffee beside her hand.

“You made two.”

Ivy stared at the counter.

“One was muscle memory.”

“Hm.”

The sound slid low through the room.

Marta escaped instantly with supernatural timing.

Traitor.

Matteo suddenly became fascinated by his phone.

Coward.

Lucien stopped beside the kitchen island.

Close enough now that Ivy caught cedar and smoke beneath his cologne again.

Last night flashed through her head immediately.

Blood on marble.

Whiskey glass shattering.

She stepped sideways without meaning to.

Tiny movement.

Still there.

Lucien’s face changed almost invisibly.

The distance hit him.

Matteo definitely noticed.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Lucien reached for the untouched coffee.

His fingers brushed the ceramic cup slowly.

“You’re avoiding me.”

The statement came quiet.

Direct.

Ivy grabbed sugar packets aggressively.

“Nope.”

“You haven’t looked at me once.”

“I’m looking now.”

She looked directly at his tie.

Close enough.

Lucien watched her for another second.

Then:

“You’re afraid of me.”

There it was again.

Always that observation.

Always forcing truth into the room.

Ivy’s jaw tightened slightly.

“I watched you torture somebody.”

“He betrayed me.”

“That answer sucked the first time too.”

Matteo stared very hard at his phone screen now.

Lucien remained still.

“You think I enjoyed it.”

“I think you looked practiced.”

That landed.

She saw it immediately.

A tiny shift in his expression.

Almost nothing.

Still there.

Lucien picked up the coffee cup slowly.

“You know very little about my world.”

“I saw enough.”

His eyes lifted sharply back to hers.

Silence stretched.

Ivy hated that part of her still noticed how beautiful he looked standing there.

Hated it deeply.

Like her brain and survival instincts were involved in separate conversations.

Lucien drank the coffee quietly.

Then set the cup down harder than necessary against the marble countertop.

The sharp crack echoed softly through the kitchen.

Matteo glanced up immediately.

Lucien’s jaw flexed once.

Ivy realized suddenly—

he looked irritated.

Not cold.

Not distant.

Actually irritated.

By her.

Or more specifically—

by her avoiding him.

That realization hit strangely.

Lucien looked toward the windows briefly.

Then back at her.

“You’re treating me differently.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You spoke to me yesterday.”

“You were less murder-y yesterday.”

Another sharp silence.

Lucien’s fingers tightened slightly against the coffee cup.

Matteo wisely stood up.

“I have a meeting.”

Nobody acknowledged him.

He escaped anyway.

Coward.

Ivy finally looked properly at Lucien again.

Big mistake.

The exhaustion under his eyes looked worse today.

His control looked tighter too.

Like he’d wrapped every emotion inside steel overnight.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said quietly.

Lucien held her gaze.

Neither moved.

Then:

“Nothing.”

The word came flat.

Empty.

That somehow felt worse than anger.

He picked up the coffee cup again.

Drank once.

Set it down.

And walked out of the kitchen without another word.

The silence afterward pressed hard against the walls.

Marta returned thirty seconds later carrying fresh towels.

She took one look at Ivy’s face.

Then toward the doorway Lucien disappeared through.

“…Well,” Marta murmured carefully.

Ivy stared at the untouched second coffee still sitting beside the machine.

“Why does it suddenly feel like I kicked a sad wolf?”

Marta paused briefly.

Then quietly:

“Perhaps you did.”

—

Upstairs, Lucien entered his office and shut the door harder than intended.

The sound cracked sharply through the room.

His phone buzzed immediately.

Ignored.

Another message.

Ignored again.

Lucien crossed toward the bar cart near the windows and poured whiskey into a crystal glass with steady hands.

Too steady.

He drank once.

The burn barely registered.

All he could still see was Ivy stepping away from him in the kitchen.

Fear.

Distance.

Avoidance.

The look in her eyes after the interrogation.

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Then opened them again and threw the whiskey glass across the room.

It shattered violently against the fireplace.