Ivy escaped the mansion at 7:42 a.m. wearing Lucien’s hoodie and terrible judgment.

The hoodie part happened accidentally.

The terrible judgment part felt genetic.

She slipped out through the east garage entrance while two guards argued quietly over a delivery manifest near the front gates. Snow still covered most of the driveway in pale gray layers, and cold wind hit her face hard the second she stepped onto the street.

Freedom smelled like bus exhaust and bad coffee.

Beautiful.

Her phone buzzed immediately after reconnecting to service.

Twenty-three missed messages from Rosie.

One from Matteo.

Zero from Lucien.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy shoved both hands deeper into the hoodie pockets and walked faster toward the subway station.

Rosie had been texting her nonstop for two days.

WHERE ARE YOU

ARE YOU DEAD

IF YOU JOINED A CULT IM GONNA BE MAD

One message arrived at 3:14 a.m.

i miss you

That one stayed under Ivy’s ribs all night.

So now she rode downtown trains at eight in the morning dressed like a runaway criminal while trying not to think about the fact she’d left the mansion without telling anyone.

Mostly Lucien.

Definitely Lucien.

The train screeched into Manhattan twenty minutes later.

Ivy climbed the station stairs two at a time and headed straight toward Saint & Finch Café.

The second she pushed open the café doors, Rosie launched herself over the counter and nearly tackled her into the pastry display.

“Oh my God, you’re alive.”

“Barely.”

Rosie squeezed her tighter.

“You disappeared into rich-person Narnia for four days.”

“That is… honestly close to accurate.”

Marcus looked up from the espresso machine.

Then blinked slowly.

“…Is that a designer hoodie?”

Ivy looked down.

Black fabric.

Expensive stitching.

Subtle embroidered initials near the sleeve.

L.M.

Ah.

Damn it.

Rosie noticed immediately.

“Oh my God.”

“Stop that.”

“You stole a rich man’s hoodie.”

“I borrowed it accidentally.”

“How do you accidentally borrow mafia clothing?”

Ivy froze.

Marcus froze.

Rosie froze.

Silence.

Marcus slowly lowered the milk pitcher.

“…Mafia?”

Ivy pointed dramatically.

“See? This is why I don’t share things.”

Rosie grabbed her wrist instantly and dragged her toward the back storage room.

The second the door shut behind them, Rosie crossed both arms.

“Talk.”

“There’s not much to explain.”

“You vanished into a billionaire murder mansion.”

“Okay, wow, dramatic.”

“You’re wearing his hoodie.”

Ivy looked away first.

Rosie narrowed her eyes immediately.

“…Oh no.”

“What.”

“You like him.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“There’s no thing.”

“The eye avoidance thing.”

“I avoid everyone.”

“You literally flirt with parking attendants.”

“That’s networking.”

Rosie stared at her flatly.

Ivy sighed and dropped onto an overturned supply crate.

The storage room smelled like cinnamon syrup and cardboard.

For one brief second, it felt normal.

Safe.

No guards.

No marble hallways.

No Lucien Moretti staring at her like she personally rearranged his nervous system.

Rosie sat beside her carefully.

“So what’s really happening?”

Ivy rubbed tiredly at her face.

How exactly was she supposed to explain this?

The violence.

The panic attack.

The chess game.

The way Lucien looked at her across rooms like silence itself belonged to them now.

Impossible.

“He’s…” Ivy stopped.

Rosie waited.

“He’s complicated.”

Rosie groaned immediately.

“Oh my God, you’re doomed.”

“I’m not doomed.”

“You used the word complicated.”

“He literally interrogates people.”

“And?”

“And there was blood.”

Rosie paused.

“…Okay, little concerning.”

“He’s emotionally terrifying.”

“But hot.”

Ivy pointed aggressively.

“Why are you like this?”

Rosie grinned.

“Deflection detected.”

Before Ivy could answer, the café bell chimed loudly out front.

Marcus’s voice drifted faintly through the wall.

“Sir, we’re not open for another—”

Silence.

Then:

“Oh.”

Something cold slid down Ivy’s spine instantly.

Rosie noticed her face immediately.

“…What.”

Ivy stood too fast.

“Nope.”

“What nope?”

“That sounded expensive.”

She reached the storage room door just as Marcus appeared outside looking deeply alarmed.

“Ivy?”

Her stomach dropped immediately.

“Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

Marcus blinked once.

“…Tall guy? Looks like he owns countries?”

Damn it.

Absolute damn it.

Ivy pushed past him into the café.

And stopped cold.

Lucien stood near the front counter in a black wool coat dusted lightly with snow. One hand rested in his pocket. The other held her phone.

Her phone.

Interesting.

Terrifying.

The entire café had gone silent around him.

Two customers near the windows looked moments away from paying taxes voluntarily.

Lucien’s eyes landed on Ivy instantly.

No relief.

No warmth.

Only controlled fury sitting tightly beneath his expression.

Oh.

That was new.

Ivy crossed her arms defensively.

“You tracked my phone?”

“You left without security.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You disappeared.”

“That still doesn’t explain the stalking.”

Lucien stepped closer slowly.

Every person inside the café instinctively moved out of his path.

Marcus actually backed behind the espresso machine.

Traitor.

“You left the mansion alone,” Lucien said quietly.

The softness made it worse.

“I went to see my sister.”

“You vanished for three hours.”

“I’m an adult.”

“You’re a target.”

“I’m a barista.”

Lucien stopped directly in front of her now.

Too close already.

Rosie appeared cautiously behind Ivy.

Lucien noticed immediately.

His expression shifted slightly.

Less cold.

“Rosie.”

She blinked.

“You know my name?”

“I know many things.”

“That is somehow not comforting.”

Lucien’s attention returned to Ivy instantly.

“You should’ve told me you were leaving.”

“And what? Asked permission?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too fast.

Too honest.

Silence hit hard between them.

Ivy stared at him.

“Oh my God.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened slightly.

“You disappeared after Hale visited.”

“So this is about control.”

“This is about safety.”

“You tracked my phone.”

“You ignored six calls.”

“I was eating muffins with my sister!”

“You vanished.”

The repetition hit sharper this time.

Something real sitting underneath it now.

Not anger.

Fear.

Ivy noticed.

Unfortunately.

The café stayed completely silent around them except for the low hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.

Marcus pretended very hard not to eavesdrop.

Failed horribly.

Rosie looked slowly between both of them.

Then quietly mouthed to Ivy:

oh my god

Traitor.

Ivy rubbed tiredly at her forehead.

“Lucien, I’m not your prisoner.”

“No.”

“Then stop acting like I escaped Alcatraz.”

“You left without protection after a federal prosecutor visited my home.”

“Your home,” Ivy repeated sharply. “Not mine.”

That landed.

She saw it instantly.

Lucien’s expression shifted almost invisibly.

Tiny.

Still there.

Something hurt flickered through his face before control buried it again.

The silence afterward turned heavier.

Rosie noticed too.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Then Lucien reached for Ivy’s wrist.

Fast.

Not rough.

Still enough to shock her.

His fingers wrapped firmly around her pulse in front of everyone inside the café.

Marcus nearly dropped a ceramic cup.

Rosie’s eyes widened dramatically.

Ivy froze.

Lucien looked directly at her.

Low voice.

Controlled.

“You don’t disappear again without telling me.”

The possessiveness in the sentence hit like a car crash.

Public.

Undeniable.

And terrifyingly—

part of Ivy’s heartbeat reacted in ways that required therapy.

She looked down slowly at his hand around her wrist.

Then back up at him.

“You’re causing a scene.”

Lucien didn’t let go immediately.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers.

“You caused the scene.”

“I went outside.”

“You vanished.”

Again.

That word.

Like losing sight of her physically bothered him on some instinctive level he no longer controlled properly.

Ivy realized something horrible then.

Lucien looked angry.

But underneath the anger—

he looked relieved.

The realization softened her expression before she could stop it.

Big mistake.

Lucien noticed instantly.

The tension between them shifted.

Warmer.

More dangerous.

Rosie made a tiny choking sound behind them.

Lucien finally released Ivy’s wrist slowly.

Cold fingers sliding away from her skin.

The loss of contact registered immediately.

Also horrible.

Lucien glanced briefly around the café afterward.

At Marcus.

At Rosie.

At the staring customers pretending not to stare.

Then calmly reached into his coat pocket and placed several hundred-dollar bills onto the counter beside the register.

Marcus blinked.

“…Sir?”

“For interrupting business.”

He turned back toward Ivy.

“We’re leaving.”

Ivy stared at him.

“You can’t just buy social forgiveness.”

“I wasn’t asking forgiveness.”

“That somehow made it worse.”

Rosie leaned toward Marcus and whispered loudly:

“I think my sister joined a romance thriller.”

Lucien heard her.

One corner of his mouth moved slightly.

Tiny.

Still there.

And Ivy—

God help her—

wanted to see that almost-smile again.