Claim Me

Chapter Six: Ivy

I was exhausted by the time I made it home on Friday night. My body ached, not from the work but from all the tension. Every time Damian Blackwell passed near me, I felt the complete weight of him in my bones. Never touched me, nor had he said anything to me more than he had to. But his presence was a constant reminder of what I agreed to.

When I walked up to the door of my apartment, there was a box sitting on the ground. It was a black box, elegant and matte. Wrapped in black lace and tied with a gold ribbon. There was no label, no courier slip—just a name, written in his handwriting across a very small envelope: "Ivy." My pulse jumped. I took the box inside and sat on the edge of the couch, and slowly picked up the envelope. The note inside smelled like cedar and ink.

Saturday: 8:00 PM

Masquerade at the theater across from the firm

Dress Code: Strictly formal

Your attire has been selected

I'll find you

-D

Just one curved initial, I exhaled and opened the box. Inside, sitting under a tissue as dark as midnight, was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. Black silk and lace, off shoulder. The bodice was sculpted to flatter and expose. The skirt flowed like smoke, slung up on one side to my thigh. The dress was just enough to whisper danger.

Underneath the dress was a second box. Sitting inside were heels, with gold-threaded straps that curled up the ankle in smooth, elegant spirals. At the bottom of the box lay a mask. Black velvet, and laced at the edges. Simple, yet daring. Designed more to reveal than to hide.

My breath caught while I continued to look over everything. He wanted me there, and that made me feel more seen than any invitation ever did.

The rest of the night passed in a haze. I carefully hung the dress, afraid to even touch it too much. Every time I looked at the gown, heat coiled deep in my belly. What was this to him? A game? An invitation? I didn't know. But I went to bed thinking about him, his voice, his hands, his eyes. When he looked at me, it was like he was doing something more than just looking at me; it was like he was digging right into my soul. And that terrified me.

The next morning, I woke to a soft light filtering through the blinds on my window. I thought back to last night, and my heart started racing. I barely made it through my morning routine. Coffee tasted like nothing, and the errands I forced myself to run felt like just a filler. My body moved, but my mind wasn't in it.

I kept replaying the message I read on the card: "I'll find you." What does that even mean? Would he be masked too? Would I ever recognize him? Or worse, would I miss him completely?

When I finally slipped into the dress, it molded perfectly to my body like it was made for me. I looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself. I looked powerful, exposed, and protected at the same time. The heels clicked against the floor like they belonged to someone else, and the mask sat delicately over my face, stopping just above my cheekbones. But I wasn't Ivy the paralegal anymore, I was someone else, someone he summoned.

Once I got inside the ballroom, there was a world of chandeliers and velvet. Masked strangers and slow-burning music. Women twirled in gowns that shimmered like moonlight, while men wore tuxedos and carved masks that moved like they all belonged in a secret society.

For a moment, I stood still, alone and watching. My heart thundered with every passing moment. Had he seen me? Was he here? Would he have even come? I stepped away from the dance floor, my heels silent on a stretch of dark velvet carpet near the edge of the room. A curtain swayed beside me from some passing breeze.

I didn't see him, but I felt him. The shift in the air, the warmth at my back. And then, his arms wrapped around me from behind, strong and sure. Pulling me into him like we were two halves that had been separated for far too long.

I let out a gasp, and my body stilled, but I didn't pull away. His breath reached the edge of my ear, and he whispered. His voice was soft but dark. "You have no idea how long I have waited to touch you like this. And now that I have you, I'm not going to let go very easily." My knees nearly gave out at this, but he held me firmly. He turned me slowly, his hands firmly on my waist. Even with the mask on his face, I knew it was him. Not from his scent, or his touch, but from the way my body surrendered, without question and without doubt. I slowly looked up, and our gazes met. "Ivy." He said softly, like he wasn't just saying my name, but claiming it.

He led me to the dancefloor as the music switched to something slow and haunting. The ballroom was still busy, but the moment I stepped into his arms, it felt like the rest of the world blurred. His hand settled at the small of my back, warm and possessive. His other hand held mine with deliberate strength, guiding me across the floor like we had done this a thousand times.

"You're beautiful," He said. I looked up, and my eyes met his gaze. I couldn't read his eyes behind the mask; his gaze was steady, focused entirely on me, and the world slowed even more.

We moved in rhythm, I let him lead, my body soft in his. Every brush of his fingers was a question, and I answered each one with a small breath. "You've been watching me," I said quietly. He smiled. "I always watch what I want to understand." I pressed my lips together for a moment, then. "Do you understand me?" I asked. There was a pause between us. "No." He responded. "That's why I can't look away." My heart pounded at his response.

As the music faded, he didn't let me go; instead, he led me off the dance floor and through a side corridor to a private alcove tucked behind sweeping curtains. Quiet and hidden from view. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor until we stopped beneath a high, arched window that overlooked the garden, and he turned to me. His hand lifted slowly, and he gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind my ear, the backs of his fingers gently brushing against my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. "I needed tonight, more than I realized," I said, opening my eyes to find him watching me. "You carry too much," He responded. His thumb gently tracing m jaw. "Sometimes, it hides what you need." He added, his eyes never leaving mine. "What do I need?" I asked. His hand slipped to the side of my neck, his fingers resting against my pulse. "To be seen, and not run from it." My pulse quickened. "And you, what do you need?" I asked. He stepped closer. "To be the one who sees you." He responded. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing my cheek, not fully kissing it but just hovering close enough that I could slightly feel it. He didn't rush; he never rushed. He waited. "You scare me," I whispered. " I know." He replied. "You excite me." He smiled, and I felt it. Sad but honest. "And that terrifies me."