1
IVY
The tendrils of sleep unravel around me, yet they do nothing to hide the ache between my thighs. With the warm presence at my side, I’m reminded of my adventures from last night.
Teddy.
A smile ghosts across my lips, and I duck my chin, trying to hide it in the blanket of night.
I’m insane.
I’m addicted.
A shiver runs down my spine, but the desire lingering in my limbs turns to ice at the sound of feet shuffling behind me.
My instincts betray me and my eyes snap open as my neck twists toward the sound. The warped outline of a figure steps toward me, then vanishes as I am covered by a white cloth. Every ounce of fight evaporates with a single inhale as darkness claims me.
Pain shoots through my body as I replay a vortex of nightmares, each worse than the last, each sodden with despair and loneliness, a never-ending tunnel of harsh truths. My mind is plagued by visions of my hated mates screaming “reject” in my face. There’s no escaping it, no escaping them.
Taut and broken, I cry, tears spilling down my cheeks, staining my skin, until the touch of a palm against my face jerks me to the present.
Disoriented, I feel my heart racing wildly in my chest, eyes wide as I suck in sharp breaths, none of which offer the relief of oxygen in my lungs. Instead, my entire body focuses on the man before me.
Not just any man.
My father.
My chest tightens with the familiar tremor of fear as he peers down his nose at me with anger crinkling the corners of his eyes, disappointment etched into his features as he directs his disgust at me.
Certain I’m trapped in another nightmare, I blink profusely, trying to piece together what on earth is going on, but I’m quickly blessed with another slam of my father’s palm against my cheek. Pain radiates from his touch, confirming I’m not dreaming; I’m living this horror.
A strangled sob vibrates from my throat as I try to lift my hands defensively, but it’s impossible.
Daring to snap my gaze away fromtheReginald Hayworth, I soak up every inch of my surroundings, trying to make sense of it.
Seeing around him is practically impossible; his frame fills most of my view. But what I do manage to see is bleak, bare walls and a door to both my left and right. His chest heaves as he remains slightly crouched in front of me, hands braced on his knees as he sneers. Frowning, I notice the tailored suit covering his frame is the same one he wore to the academy ball.
Helpless, I turn my attention to myself. A screech rips from my lungs when my gaze lands on my bare legs, traveling over my exposed skin, across the apex of my thighs and bare chest.
I try to shield myself, but movement is still impossible, drawing my attention to the fastenings securing my arms and legs to the chair. Failed by my instincts once again, I look up to find my father’s face, watching me with a pleased, knowing grin spread across his lips.
“Are you present enough now, Ivy, or do you need another jolt?” His voice is thick and heavy, flooding my veins with dread as I shake my head.
“Where are my clothes?” I rasp, and he cackles, standing tall as his eyes narrow.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a whore, you would still be wearing them. Your lack of clothing is your own doing, Angel.”
“I—”
“Not that I care for your comfort, dear daughter,” he interjects, grabbing my chin with more force than necessary as he inches closer, sneering in my face. “But where you’re going, they won’t be needed anyway.”
My throat bobs as I try to swallow down the fear, but it’s impossible with the way he tightens his grip, digging his fingertips into my jaw. Tears prick the backs of my eyelids as I scramble to get out of whatever mess this is, but as my father steps back and another figure appears beside him, my heart stills.
“Where am I?” I whisper as the figure stands beside my father.
A sliver of relief rushes through me as my father releases me with a shove, putting a step between us.
“Details don’t matter, Ivy. You do,” my father clarifies, and my heart lurches.
