Ivana
Harrison stood at the entrance of the alleyway alcove. His coat was damp, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, as his grey eyes locked onto the back of Sarah’s head with a predatory stillness that made my breath catch in my throat.
Sarah froze, the color instantly draining from her lips as she saw my gaze shift behind her.
“Ivy,” Harrison’s deep, rough voice echoed through the quiet café, low and commanding, sending a violent, conflicting jolt of heat and terror straight down my spine. “Get in the car. Now!”
The drive back to the Voss estate was a blur of grey asphalt and heavy, unresolved silence. Harrison drove with a terrifying, calm precision, his phone buzzing repeatedly against the dashboard console. He ignored every call, his knuckles white on the leather-wrapped steerin
