The silence after the slap lasted three full seconds.

Then Lucien moved.

Not violently.

Not angrily.

Worse.

He stepped toward her like the impact meant nothing compared to the possibility of her leaving the room.

“Ivy.”

She backed away immediately.

“Don’t.”

The word cracked apart halfway through.

Lucien stopped himself instantly.

Rain hammered the office windows hard enough to shake the glass while files remained scattered across the desk between them like evidence from a crime scene.

Maybe that’s what this was.

A crime scene.

Only the victim looked like both of them.

Ivy wiped angrily at her face.

“You lied to me every single day.”

Lucien’s voice came rough now.

No smooth control left.

“I kept you alive.”

“There it is again.”

“Ivy—”

“No!” She laughed shakily through tears. “You keep saying that like it fixes everything.”

Lucien looked wrecked.

Actually wrecked.

The red mark from her hand still burned faintly against his cheek beneath the desk lamp glow, and somehow he looked more undone by her crying than by the slap itself.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“I didn’t know how else to protect you,” he said quietly.

The honesty almost made it worse.

Ivy stared at him across the room.

“That wasn’t protection.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No,” she whispered. “It was control.”

The word hit hard.

Lucien physically flinched this time.

Tiny movement.

Still there.

Rain thundered outside.

The office suddenly felt too small for breathing.

“You think I wanted this?” Lucien asked softly. “Watching you hate me every day while your father stayed hidden?”

“You let me believe he abandoned us.”

His jaw tightened sharply.

“I know.”

“You watched Rosie cry herself sick.”

“I know.”

“You watched me—”

His composure cracked suddenly.

“I KNOW.”

The shout exploded through the office hard enough to make Ivy jump.

Silence crashed down immediately afterward.

Lucien stood motionless near the desk breathing too hard now.

Too fast.

The control finally slipping.

Interesting.

Terrifying.

Very terrifying.

He dragged one hand roughly through his hair.

“I know exactly what it cost you,” he said hoarsely. “I counted every fucking day of it.”

The rawness in his voice hit like broken glass.

Ivy stared at him silently.

Lucien laughed once under his breath.

Destroyed sound.

“You think this was easy for me?”

“I think you made choices for me.”

“Yes.” He stepped closer again. “And I’d do it again if the alternative was watching Russo kill your family.”

The certainty in the sentence wrecked the room.

No hesitation.

No apology.

Only love twisted into something sharp enough to become dangerous.

Ivy’s chest hurt.

Everything hurt.

“You don’t understand,” Lucien continued quietly now. “Once Russo noticed your father, there was no safe version of this anymore.”

“You could’ve trusted me.”

“With what?” His eyes darkened sharply. “The location of a safehouse Dante’s people were already searching for?”

Ivy opened her mouth—

Lucien cut her off immediately.

“You tell Rosie.”

The words landed instantly.

Ivy froze.

“You panic,” he continued. “You stop sleeping. You call him. Russo traces the call. Your father dies.” Lucien’s voice roughened harder. “Then Rosie dies. Then you.”

Silence.

The office suddenly felt freezing.

Lucien stepped closer again.

Close enough now that Ivy noticed his hands shaking slightly.

Actual shaking.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You think I controlled you,” he said softly. “I was trying to keep you breathing.”

The devastation in his voice cracked straight through her anger for one dangerous second.

Bad timing.

Ivy looked away immediately.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he did.

“You don’t get to decide that alone,” she whispered.

“No.” His answer came immediate. “But I couldn’t lose you.”

The confession hit brutally hard.

No walls left now.

No mafia king.

Only Lucien standing in front of her looking terrified in the most dangerous way possible:

quietly.

Rain streaked wildly across the windows behind him.

Ivy’s breathing shook harder.

“You barely even knew me.”

Lucien stared at her like the sentence physically hurt.

“I knew enough.”

“You knew a ten-year-old girl with hot chocolate.”

“I knew the only person who looked at me and didn’t flinch.”

The room blurred instantly again.

Ivy hated that.

Hated how easily he still reached inside her chest.

Lucien stepped closer carefully now.

Slow enough to let her retreat.

She didn’t.

Another terrible decision.

“You think I manipulated you into staying,” he said quietly.

“You did.”

“No.” His voice dropped lower. “I manipulated circumstances. I never manipulated this.”

The word hung heavily between them.

This.

Them.

Everything.

Ivy’s throat tightened painfully.

Lucien looked completely exhausted now.

Like the last pieces of control keeping him upright had finally started collapsing one by one.

“You asked me once if I’d ever been in love,” he murmured.

Ivy’s pulse stumbled hard.

Lucien’s eyes locked onto hers.

“I didn’t answer properly.”

Silence.

Then quietly:

“This is what it looks like for me.”

The confession shattered something open inside her chest.

No poetry.

No softness.

Just truth dragged bleeding into the room.

Lucien laughed weakly under his breath afterward.

“And apparently,” he said hoarsely, “it makes me monstrous.”

Tears burned harder behind Ivy’s eyes.

He looked so tired.

So ruined.

And somehow still terrifying.

Because even now—

even broken open emotionally—

Lucien Moretti looked capable of burning cities down for her.

The realization scared her.

Not him.

The part of herself still reaching toward him anyway.

Lucien moved one final step closer.

Now barely inches away.

“Ivy,” he whispered.

Her name sounded wrecked.

Pleading.

“I did it to save you.”

The words landed directly in the center of her chest.

And God—

the worst part?

She believed him.

That was the unbearable part.

Not the lie.

Not the surveillance.

The fact Lucien truly thought sacrificing her trust was worth her survival.

And maybe he would make the same choice forever.

Ivy closed her eyes briefly.

Then stepped backward.

Lucien froze instantly.

Fear crossed his face so fast it almost disappeared before fully forming.

Almost.

Still there.

“I can’t do this right now,” she whispered shakily.

Lucien’s voice broke slightly.

“Please don’t walk away from me.”

The sentence hit harder than the slap.

Lucien Moretti did not beg.

For anything.

Ever.

And now he stood in front of her with shattered composure and fear sitting openly in his eyes while rain battered the windows behind him like the entire world was ending outside the office walls.

Ivy started crying harder immediately.

“Why would you say that.”

“Because you’re leaving.”

“You hurt me.”

The truth landed brutally between them.

Lucien looked like she’d driven another knife directly into his ribs.

“I know.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You trusted yourself more.”

Silence.

Lucien had no answer.

Because she was right.

Ivy looked at him one final time.

At the man who kept hot chocolate wrappers for twelve years.

Who sat outside bedroom doors during storms.

Who loved like survival and destruction were the same thing.

And maybe for him—

they always had been.

“I need space,” she whispered.

Lucien looked genuinely panicked now.

Actual panic.

Tiny cracks spreading through perfect control.

“Ivy—”

She turned before he could say anything else.

The office door opened sharply beneath trembling fingers.

Rain thundered louder through the hallway outside.

And behind her—

Lucien finally lost the last surviving piece of composure.

“Ivy.”

His voice broke completely this time.

Not loud.

Worse.

Human.

She stopped walking for one devastating second.

Almost turned around.

Big mistake.

Then she kept going anyway.

And Lucien Moretti stood alone in his office listening to the sound of the only person who ever mattered to him walk away crying.