The Sterling Mansion slept like a museum after closing—silent, polished, and suffocating.
Ivy sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the clock on her nightstand.
12:37 AM.
The digital numbers glowed red in the darkness.
Downstairs, the new guards Killian had installed rotated their shifts every hour. Their boots echoed through the marble hallways like reminders that the mansion no longer belonged to her family.
It belonged to him.
Ivy exhaled slowly.
Her hands trembled in her lap.
Silas.
The image of him inside the cage match replayed in her mind—the brutal footage Toby had sent to her phone. Silas’s body moving like a storm. The mask over his face. The way he fought like a man with nothing left to lose.
Or worse.
Like a man fighting for something.
For her.
Her throat tightene
