Chapter 92: Calling off his bluff

Ivy’s pov

This week had been a special kind of hell, and it was only Wednesday?

Every muscle in my body ached so badly. From the near-disaster with Ivy freaking Thompson at the police station, and then the mental gymnastics I had to do to keep my spy charade from collapsing, and the constant, inappropriate, maddening attraction to the Knight brothers, I was running on fumes.

All I wanted was to go home, collapse into my bed, and sleep for a thousand years.

I pushed open the door to the penthouse, my shoulders slumping in relief. It was quiet; maybe Angel was asleep or something.

Thank God. I didn’t need his madness right now. I dropped my purse by the door and kicked off my heels, my bare feet sighing against the cool marble as I trudged towards my bedroom, my sanctuary.

"What the fuck?" I stopped dead in the hallway.

My things, my books, perfumes, photo frames, were piled up haphazardly outside my bedroom door. A baffled laugh left my lips. No fucking way. My hand trembled as I pushed the door open.

Pamela was in my bed.

In MY bed.

She was propped up against my headboard, wearing one of Angel’s old T-shirts, her hand resting on the swell of her pregnant belly.

The sight of her, so comfortable, so at home in my own personal space- what the hell was it that gave these people the audacity? How could she even move into my home? I had called her a friend.

"Harper! You’re home!" Angel’s cheerful voice rang out as he came out of my walk-in closet, a smug, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. "Since you wouldn’t move your things, I did them for you. I thought I would save you the trouble."

Pamela’s eyes watched me warily. "I’m sorry, Harper," she whispered. "My rent was due. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t need the help."

Why did she bother with the helpless little act when she was practically annexing my bedroom and my life?

"Help? Moving into a married man’s house just cause you need the help?" I chuckled dryly.

"I would say that has to be the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard, but I’ve lived with Angel for over two years so I’ve heard pretty worse things."

"Aw come on, don’t be so bitter," Angel’s eyes gleamed viciously. He was getting off on this. The sick psycho was probably waiting for me to scream and throw a tirade so he could savor it all.

I was not going to give him what he wanted.

"You know what, Pam? You can have the house. You can have the man. You can have it all."

I turned, stalking back towards the door and picked up my purse from the floor.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" Angel scoffed, his smugness finally cracking.

I flashed him a grin. "I’m going to a place where the air is a little less polluted." I let my gaze drift to Pamela, then back to him. "Don’t worry about me. I’m sure you two will be very happy in your... new home."

"You’re sleeping in the guest room," he sneered. "You’re not going anywhere."

"I’m either sleeping in my bedroom, or I’m not sleeping in this house. And since you’ve so graciously given my bed to your mistress, it seems you’ve already made the choice for me."

He hissed, grinding his teeth. "Wait until I-’

’What? Tell on me? Grow up, Angel; what the hell is this, Kindergarten? You can go on to tell Dad, but I don’t fucking care. I won’t let you walk all over me in this manner." "

Without another word, I walked out of the penthouse. I was in my car and tearing out of the compound before he could even process what had happened.

I saw him in my rearview mirror, a tiny, furious figure running out of the building, shouting, but the roar of the engine didn’t let me hear whatever foul nonsense he spouted.

An hour later, after driving in circles to figure if Angel was following me, I lodged in a five-star hotel. I stood before the full-length mirror in my suite, my reflection looking as hollow as I felt inside.

I just left my matrimonial home with nothing but my purse and the clothes on my back. I would have to go back later in the week, to get more clothes, my documents... but not tonight. Tonight, I was done.

If Angel could move his mistress into my bedroom, why the hell did I even care about this sham of a marriage anymore?

I collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the folds and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force sleep, trying to think of anything but the wreck that my life was.

I thought we agreed that when outside the estate, I’m not your boss.

"Uh oh," I squealed, burying my face deeper into the mattress as my mind replayed the moment in Gideon’s car. The heat of his body when his face had buried in the crook of my neck, the deep, shuddering inhale.

A thrill shot through me, chasing away the exhaustion. I bit my lip, my body coming alive as I contemplated going to the club on Saturday.

***

"Can I be what you need tonight, little gold?"

I looked up from where I sat in the alcove to see a naked Dom walk in, his body glistening with a sheen of sweat, his eyes roaming over me under his black mask.

He wasn’t Deon. Oh god, I probably have made a huge mistake. Here I was barely dressed in a scrap of black lace that barely covered my tits and ass, and a gold mask on my face, and Deon was nowhere to be found.

What if he wasn’t coming? I had spent the rest of the week fishing for clues, trying to figure out if he would be here, and now, all I could do was hope.

"No, thank you," I replied as politely as I could, especially with the man’s dick waving in my face. He was alright, but he wasn’t Gideon Knight. "I’m waiting for my Dom."

The man only stepped closer, grinning at me sending an eerie feeling down my spine. "How do you know it’s not me?"

I rose to my feet immediately, ready to puch him I the face if he tried anything, when a quiet commanding voice spoke up.

"She’s mine."

The naked Dom glanced over his shoulder lazily then his eyes widened in fear when he saw the huge man standing at the entrance of the alcove.

A small smile tugged at my lips at the sight of his familiar black suit. The naked man backed away instantly, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

He was here, dressed in his impeccable black suit, his stark black mask making his sapphire eyes burn like coals.

He stared at me, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, and I stared right back, my own breath caught in my throat before he closed the distance between us in three long strides.

His hands shot out, cupping the back of my neck, his touch possessive and electric.

"I thought I would never see you again."

A slow, sinful smile spread across my lips. He missed me. "I’m a moth to a flame," I whispered, keeping my voice husky. "I couldn’t stay away."

A shudder ripped through me when he took my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips before tugging me along. "Come."