Ivy yanked the sheet up to her chin. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the fabric. It was a useless shield. He had already seen everything. He had touched everything.
"I… I thought…"
Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, but the sound was pathetic.
"I was drunk," she whispered. "I made a mistake."
Bruno stared at her. He didn't blink. He looked like a predator examining a particularly stupid rabbit that had just hopped into his den.
He threw the covers off his legs and stood up. He was completely naked. He didn't care. He walked across the room toward the bathroom with the casual arrogance of a man who owned the world and everything in it.
"Get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "You have five minutes."
Ivy's heart was beating so fast she felt nauseous.
"I'm leaving," she said.
Bruno stopped at the bathroom door. He turned slowly. The look he gave her made the air in the room drop ten degrees.
"You aren't going anywhere until I say so. Unless you want to walk out into the hallway naked? I believe the housekeeping staff is doing their rounds."
Ivy looked around frantically for her dress. She found it in a heap near the door. The delicate silk strap was torn. The zipper was busted. It was unwearable.
Tears pricked her eyes. Hot, angry tears.
Bruno tossed something at her. It landed on the bed with a soft thud. It was a white dress shirt.
"Put it on."
He disappeared into the bathroom. The shower turned on.
Ivy put on the shirt. It was massive on her. The hem hit her mid-thigh. It smelled like him. It made her skin crawl, and yet, a treacherous part of her brain remembered the heat of his skin against hers.
She buttoned it all the way to her chin.
When Bruno emerged, he was transformed. He wore a dark grey suit, tailored to perfection. His hair was wet, slicked back. He looked every inch the corporate shark.
He checked his watch.
"Let's go."
He grabbed her arm. His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of her bicep. He didn't drag her, but the pressure was a clear command. Walk, or be dragged.
They bypassed the main elevators and took the service lift. It smelled of cleaning chemicals and stale coffee. They exited into the loading dock behind the hotel.
A black sedan was waiting. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like polished obsidian.
A driver stood by the rear door. He was a mountain of a man with a shaved head and a scar running through his eyebrow. Hank. Ivy knew him by reputation. He was Bruno's shadow.
Hank opened the door. He didn't look at Ivy. He didn't look at her bare legs or the oversized men's shirt. He looked at nothing.
"Get in," Bruno said.
Ivy slid onto the leather seat. It was cold. Bruno got in beside her. The door slammed shut with a heavy, final thud. The locks engaged automatically. Click.
"Where are you taking me?" Ivy asked. Her voice was stronger now. The panic was settling into a cold, hard knot in her stomach.
"To see a show," Bruno said.
He pulled a tablet from his briefcase and started reading a financial report. He ignored her completely.
The drive was silent. The city landscape gave way to the highway, then to the manicured greenery of Long Island.
Ivy watched the trees blur past. She felt like a prisoner.
An hour later, the car turned down a gravel driveway. Ivy recognized the area. The Hamptons. This was where the old money hid during the summer.
The car stopped in front of a modern, glass-fronted villa. It was secluded, surrounded by high hedges and dunes.
Bruno put his tablet away. "Out."
He led her around the side of the house. The grass was wet with morning dew. It chilled Ivy's bare feet.
He stopped in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. The curtains were drawn, but there was a gap. A deliberate, voyeuristic gap.
"Look," Bruno commanded.
Ivy stepped closer. She peered through the glass.
The living room inside was bathed in sunlight.
Clive was there. He was wearing a bathrobe. It was open.
And Catrina was there.
She was wearing nothing but Clive's dress shirt-the same way Ivy was wearing Bruno's.
They were on the sofa. Catrina was straddling Clive's lap. Her head was thrown back, laughing.
"She's such a bore, Clive," Catrina said. Her voice was muffled by the glass, but Ivy heard it. "I don't know how you stand her. She's like a mannequin."
Clive ran his hands up Catrina's thighs.
"It's just business, Cat," he said. His voice was affectionate. Sickeningly affectionate. "Once I get the voting rights from the marriage, she can go rot in that apartment for all I care. I'll spend every night with you."
Ivy felt the blood drain from her face.
It wasn't just cheating. She knew men like Clive cheated. It was the contempt. The absolute, utter disrespect. He didn't just not love her. He loathed her. He saw her as a hurdle to be cleared so he could be with his cousin.
A hand settled on Ivy's shoulder. Bruno.
He leaned down. His breath stirred the hair near her ear.
"This is the man you're selling yourself for?" he whispered.
Ivy tried to turn away. She didn't want him to see her face. She didn't want him to see the humiliation burning in her eyes.
Bruno's grip tightened. "Look at them."
Ivy forced herself to look.
Clive kissed Catrina. It was a passionate kiss. A real kiss. Not the dry pecks he gave Ivy for the cameras.
Something inside Ivy snapped.
It was a quiet sound. Like a dry twig breaking in a winter forest.
The tears that had been threatening to fall evaporated. The heat in her chest turned to ice.
She was Isobel Maldonado. She had survived the destruction of her family. She had survived hunger, fear, and the loss of her name. She would not be broken by a mediocre man in a bathrobe.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. The movement was sharp. Violent.
She turned to Bruno.
The wind whipped her hair across her face. She didn't brush it away.
She looked up at him. For the first time, she didn't look like a victim. She looked like a woman who had nothing left to lose.
Bruno was watching her. His eyes were narrowed, assessing. He saw the change. He saw the fire ignite in the ashes.
"Take me away," Ivy said.
Her voice didn't tremble.
"I have a proposition for you."
