We do.
There was a flicker of strength in Ivy's eyes as she spoke, a subtle shift that hadn't gone unnoticed. It was the kind of bravery Dom rarely saw in others, and he felt a spark of something raw ignite inside him.
With her dark brown hair falling in soft waves down her back, free from the tight ponytail she usually wore as armor, Ivy looked different—more weak, more herself. Yet there was an air of rebellion now, a quiet assertion that interested and challenged him. His gaze lingered, taking in her without the familiar barrier of glasses that often hid the sharp glint of intelligence in her eyes.
"Is that all?" Her voice was soft, tinged with a hesitation that made her seem younger, almost fragile. But Dom knew better. Underneath that surface was the relentless, determined woman who had invaded his world. He felt an unwelcome rush of protectiveness, a realization that she was more important than he wanted to admit. Still, he couldn't show that. Not now.
His jaw tightened as he answered, "For now." The words fell heavy between them, final and uncompromising. He needed her to trust him, needed her bound to him by something more than deals and mutual goals. But weakness was a card he can't play—not yet.
A small shadow of doubt crossed Ivy's expression, but she masked it quickly, her eyes lowering. Dom knew he could use that, that subtle trace of uncertainty, to pull her closer and keep her within reach. But the idea left a strange taste in his mouth. She was unlike anyone else who stood at his side—soft and strong, driven by something more pure than power or fear.
Dom's fingers grazed the edge of his glass, the liquid inside untouched as he battled thoughts that were dangerously close to uncharted territory. Ivy was stepping into a world that would test her beyond anything she'd ever faced. She needed to be unbreakable, a pillar next to his own, not someone who faltered at the first strike.
"Get up," he ordered, voice steady and sharp. She flinched at the tone, eyes darting up to meet his for a split second before she complied, standing with a quiet resolve that surprised him. Even now, faced with the unknown, she was trying not to rebel.
Good. He needed her like this—solid, yet achingly human.
Ivy's eyes glistened with hesitation as she stood from the couch, each movement deliberate and tense. Dom's gaze bore into her, a shadow of a smirk curving his lips as he leaned back in his chair. The silence in the room thickened, heavy with unspoken words and hidden meanings.
"Take off your shirt," Dom ordered, his voice icy and calm, leaving her no room for argument. Her eyes widened, dark brown pools shifting between confusion and disbelief as fear prickled down her spine.
"I-I thought you said—you weren't going to, um, r—" Her voice cracked, barely audible as she tried to find her footing amidst the storm of her own emotions.
Dom's expression hardened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before it settled back into cold resolve. "I'm not going to touch you. I told you to take off your shirt, so do it." The words struck like a challenge, testing her limits, probing for the strength he knew lay dormant beneath her guarded exterior.
Ivy's heart pounded, each beat very loud in her ears as she fought against the trembling that threatened to claim her. The feelings of weakness sat heavily on her chest, but she held back the tears that threatened to spill. No, she won't let him see her break. Not now.
With a deep breath, she reached for the hem of her shirt, her fingers barely steady as they curled around the fabric. She pulled it up slowly, revealing the defined lines of her abdomen, and Dom's eyes followed, sharp and assessing. Beneath, she wore a simple black sports bra, the material taut against her skin as if it were struggling to contain the strength that lay beneath.
The moment stretched between them, thick and electric. Dom's jaw tensed, a battle waging behind his steely eyes. He was testing her, pushing her, but what he didn't anticipate was the quiet rebellion that shone in her gaze as she stood before him, unbroken and exposed.
It was his turn to feel the sharp edge of emotion, the need to reach out and hold, not command. But he stayed still, the tension simmering beneath his cold exterior.
Dom's eyes darkened, conflicted between the searing desire bubbling just under his calm expression and the restraint he gripped tightly in his chest. Every inch of Ivy's exposed skin seemed to challenge the control he held. But he stayed still, only his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain where he was. He had to remind himself—this is not about indulging in his own desires; it was about pushing her, awakening the strength she kept locked away under fear and uncertainty.
"Take off your sweats," he said, his voice a low command that sent a shiver racing through her. Ivy's eyes faltered the determination that had lit them earlier wavering just slightly. The silence stretched, and he caught the moment her expression turned numb, a mask slipping over her features as though she were mentally bracing for what was to come.
Her fingers found the waistband of her sweats, trembling but firm. She moved with an agonizing slowness, peeling the fabric away from her skin. Each movement tested the edges of her composure, but she kept her head high, refusing to let weakness claim her completely.
Dom's eyes tracked her movements, his pulse pounding in his ears. She is not the same girl he had cornered days ago. This girl, though hesitant and fearful, held a spark of defiance, an ember he intended to fan into a flame.
For the first time, he realized just how close to breaking he was, not with anger or dominance, but with the raw need to pull her into his arms and promise safety, to let her know she was more than just another pawn. The air between them was a razor, cutting through air thick with emotion, unspoken but undeniable.
As Ivy stood there, the room felt colder, the silence stretching between them, both daring and unforgiving. The way Dom's dark eyes scanned her made her feel exposed in ways that were deeper than skin. Her heart pounded, an erratic drumbeat that thudded in her chest. Dom's expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made her pulse quicken and her breath catch.
He stepped forward, stopping just close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not close enough to touch. The tension in the air was palpable, thick, and heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. His hand reached out, stopping just before her cheek as though he were resisting an urge he could no longer justify.
"Turn around," he said, his voice deep, reverberating through her.
"N-no," Ivy managed, her voice barely a whisper. The subtle tremble in her defiance was all it took for Dom's expression to harden with purpose. His jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly, and she knew he was testing every ounce of his control not to break the space between them.
Ivy's eyes darted away, focusing on the far wall as her own unease blossomed into something fierce, a mix of rebellion and weakness that gripped her spine and made her stand taller despite the weakness she felt creeping up on her.
Dom's eyes softened a moment, an emotion flickering in the depths before it disappear as quickly as it appeared. His expression returned to its usual unreadable mask, yet there was a subtle shift—a crack in his armor that she caught even if he thought she hadn't.
"Put your clothes back on," Dom said, his tone firm yet almost conflicted. "My guard will take you back to your room."
Ivy's eyes shot up, meeting his with a mix of confusion and something else she couldn't quite name. She wanted to push, to question why he pulled back when everything in him seemed to scream for the opposite. But instead, she nodded, reaching for her clothes with shaking hands. The unasked questions and silent truths lingered between them, promising that this was far from over.
Ivy didn't need to be told twice. She quickly picked up her clothes, each movement hurried and shaky. The sting of Dom's tone lingered, cutting through the quiet room as if daring the silence to defy him. Her fingers fumbled over the fabric, betraying her outward show of calm.
Dom watched her, his eyes narrowing when she stepped toward the door, ready to leave. A deep, sudden anger surged within him—irrational, possessive, obsessed, and sharp. Before he could rein it in, he moved, grasping her wrist in a swift motion that brought her close, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Her eyes widened, fear and defiance mingling as she looked up at him, and for a brief second, he saw her guard falter.
The worst part was the way she responded—flinching as though she expected something worse. The realization clawed at him, unexpected guilt gnawing through the rage. He let go just as sharply, jaw tightening as he wrestled with the unwanted storm in his chest.
"I said, put your clothes on, Zero," he muttered, voice low and threatening, barely above a growl. "Don't push me tonight. I am not in the mood to play your games." His words came out colder than he intended, but the sharp edge remained, slicing through the space between them.
A small, sharp breath left her, almost a sound of protest, but Ivy said nothing. She pulled her hoodie over her head and quickly covered herself. Once she was clothed, she bolted, the door slamming shut behind her with finality.
Dom stayed where he was, fists clenching at his sides, the thundering beat of his pulse roaring in his ears. The ache of the door's echo in the silence matched the tension that hadn't left the room with her, and he knew—he would chase that sound and the silence it went until it brought him back to her.
Dom walked back over to his bar, the glass in his hand trembling from the mix of emotions coursing through him. He fixed himself another drink—the fifth one tonight. The bite of the liquor burned down his throat, but it did nothing to dull the raw edge within him. The brief calm he had managed earlier shattered the moment Ivy's eyes met his, wide with a hint of fear that he never wanted to see directed at him again.
The weight of that realization hit him harder than any drink ever could. The cold power he had seemed pointless, as if she were afraid of him. He set the glass down, only to pick it up again. His fingers tightened around it, a silent battle between drowning his frustration or confronting the ache her absence left behind.
His thoughts churned. The memory of her bare shoulders, the way she moved so defiantly even when rattled, haunted him. The idea of anyone else seeing her like that, vulnerable and raw, spurred an anger that was both possessive and obsession. He forced himself to stare at the liquor in the glass as if it held answers, but all it did was reflect the depth of the storm brewing inside him.
He tossed the drink back, ignoring the burn. It didn't soothe him, didn't silence the demons clawing at the corners of his mind. Every sip only sharpened the ache, pulling him deeper into a state he knew too well but never wanted to confront. He reached for the bottle again, feeling the pull of habit take over, fingers shaking with a need that was less about alcohol and more about control slipping away from him.
"She has no idea," he muttered under his breath, the room swallowing his voice. And that truth was what gnawed at him most: that she had no idea how deeply she had gotten under his skin, how much power she held over him without even knowing it. His jaw clenched as he slammed the empty glass down, the sound cutting through the silence like a warning bell, sharp and unyielding.
Dom's vision blurred, the haze of too many drinks pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't count how many glasses he'd downed, each one trying to chase away the feelings rattling inside him. He vaguely remembered Viktor coming in, steady and silent as always, guiding him back to his room. Whether Viktor had spoken or not, Dom couldn't recall, and even if he had, the words were swallowed by the storm in Dom's mind.
The weight of his body pulled him into the bed, but sleep was distant, taunting him. The moment his head hit the pillow, images of Ivy surged forward—the way her eyes held defiance even when fear lurked beneath the surface, the way she had looked up at him when she thought he wasn't watching. He blinked, trying to erase her from his mind, but the effort only made her presence stronger.
A pounding headache began to throb behind his, and with a low grunt, he sat up and glared at the untouched glass of water and painkillers that someone, likely Luka, had left on the side table. The pain was sharp, insistent, and without the numbness of the alcohol to muffle it, he would have left the pills untouched. But he needed to dull this ache—this inexplicable tightness in his chest.
Grasping the pills, he swallowed them dry and sat there, the silence of the room pressing around him like an iron cage. The stillness felt suffocating, an emptiness that screamed louder than any battle he'd fought. His mind drifted back to Ivy, recalling how her expression had shifted from quiet to sharp when she thought no one was paying attention. The image pulled at something deep in him, a feeling that made the room colder, lonelier.
He got up, the heaviness in his limbs making him feel as if he were moving through water. The chill of the room pricked at his skin as he walked toward the bathroom, but even that was no distraction from the way her presence haunted him. His eyes fixed on the shower, the cold tile a brief, grounding touch. Memories of her haunted his vision, a mix of fire and shadows.
"Damn it," Dom muttered, a thread of frustration curling into his voice.
He turned the water on, letting the sound fill the silence. The rush of it against the shower tiles was a temporary reprieve, an attempt to drown out the noise in his head. Before the warmth could even surface, he shed his clothes and stepped in, letting the icy droplets stab at his skin. His jaw tightened as he felt his pulse race, a futile reaction to memories of Ivy—her touch, her strength.
The cold did little to curb the fire smoldering within him. If anything, it only made it clearer: she was more than a passing thought; she was a storm he couldn't seem to escape.
Dom's arm braced against the cool tile, muscles taut as the shower water cascaded down his back. The pounding rush of the water was loud, almost drowning out the racing sound of his heartbeat. He felt every stroke ignite a primal need, a thrum of anticipation, an ache fueled by thoughts that refused to be ignored. Images of Ivy danced before his eyes, conjuring a storm he couldn't contain. The thought of her innocence, her rebellion, was enough to make his pulse race, pushing him to the brink.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Dom tilted his head back, letting the tension snap. The release left him trembling, his breaths ragged as he let the cold water rinse away the evidence. It was an attempt to wash away the heat, but the remnants of her presence clung to him like a vice.
Then, a shadow moved beyond the steam-fogged glass. His eyes narrowed, the haze of heat making it difficult to see clearly, but instincts honed from years of power sharpened instantly. With a swift motion, he pushed the glass door open, water dripping from his chest, and saw her.
Ivy stood there, eyes wide, frozen as they flickered downward and then shot back up, her expression shifting from shock to something unreadable. Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping, her face tinged with a faint flush.
"I-I-I d—"
"Who let you out of your room?" His voice was low, demanding, though the sight of her standing there stirred something deep and dangerous within him. The weakness in her eyes was a stark contrast to the fire that usually burned there, and for a brief moment, the tension softened.
Her gaze darted around nervously, fingers twisting together. "L-Luka said... I mean, he thought... since I agreed to help, that I could leave... for now," she managed to mutter, the tremble in her voice betraying her attempt at composure. Her eyes flitted back to his, lingering for a fraction of a second before dropping to the floor again.
Dom's smirk was slow, deliberate, watching the way the pink deepened in her cheeks. Even when caught off-guard, she was breathtakingly beautiful. His expression shifted, softened, as he leaned against the glass, water continuing to drip down the hard lines of his body.
"Did he, now?"
Dom Pov's:
I hummed, the sound rolling out smoothly as I met Ivy's anxious gaze. "And what are you doing in my bathroom?" My question was more than just words; it was laced with a challenge, an undercurrent of possessive curiosity that left the air between us heavy.
Ivy's voice trembled, her eyes darting as though searching for the right answer. "L-Luka told me to find you because you have something for me to, uh, do," she whispered, her words barely holding together. I watched her struggle to maintain her composure, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she bit her lower lip—an action that only stoked the heat simmering under my skin.
My jaw clenched as frustration tightened my chest. Luka was beginning to test my patience. His job was to guard her, protect her movements, not send her running straight to me with no forethought. It was a move that spoke of recklessness, something I would not tolerate. If he thought he could pull this without consequences, he was mistaken.
"If you aren't planning on joining me in my shower, then I suggest you leave." The suggestion was sharp, daring, but my eyes softened, tracing the pink flush that spread across her cheeks and the conflicted expression that flickered in her eyes.
She blinked rapidly, swallowing as she took a step back; the innocence in her gaze mingled with something deeper, more primal. Her breath caught, and for a moment, the tension was almost suffocating.
I watched Ivy intently, her presence a distraction I couldn't afford yet craved. She was leaning against the counter, speaking softly with Mikhail, who, despite his usual stoic manner, wore an expression of unusual warmth toward her. The way his lips curled slightly as he listened to her reminded me of how even the coldest among us couldn't help but be drawn to her.
As I approached, the conversation between them hushed, Mikhail's eyes meeting mine briefly before he shifted his focus to his hands. The silence lingered, wrapping itself around the room like a suffocating blanket. Ivy's gaze lifted, her eyes finding mine with an uncertainty that made my pulse quicken. She attempted to speak, but I raised my hand, halting any sound before it began.
"I have a headache," I said, the coldness in my voice cutting through the space between us. "And the last thing I need is to hear any more of your stuttering."
Her eyes fell to the floor, a momentary flicker of weakness crossing her face before it was quickly masked. As if sensing the shift, Mikhail straightened his posture but knew better than to interfere.
"Now," I continued, my tone softening just a fraction, "since you're here, there are things we need to address." A hint of confusion passed through her eyes, but she remained silent. "You're not going to be just anyone, angel. You're going to be mine—my queen, my partner."
The weight of my declaration hung between us as unspoken emotions threatened to surface. Ivy's chest rose and fell with a steadying breath, but she didn't speak. Her silence was a mix of defiance and acceptance that only deepened my resolve.