Chapter 7 A Dangerous Dance

*(Ivy’s POV)* The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me standing in the center of the room with my heart still pounding. My fingers curled into the silk of my nightgown as I exhaled sharply. I had expected Damien to react, to lose control, to prove his reputation as the ruthless man everyone feared. Instead, he had walked away. Not because he wasn’t tempted—but because he *enjoyed* the power struggle. I dragged my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling under my skin. He thought he had the upper hand, but I wasn’t someone to be toyed with. The warmth of his breath against my ear lingered, a reminder of how close I had been to unraveling that iron-clad restraint of his. But he had refused to bend, and that alone made my pulse quicken. This wasn’t over. A knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned just as Elias stepped inside, his usual unreadable expression firmly in place. "Mr. Wolfe wants you dressed and downstairs in fifteen minutes," he announced. "No delays." I tilted my head. "And if I take my time?" Elias didn’t even blink. "Then I suggest you prepare for him to collect you himself." My pulse jumped. As much as I enjoyed pressing Damien’s buttons, I wasn’t foolish enough to push him too far. Not yet. I gave Elias a slow smile. "Tell your boss I’ll be there." He nodded once before exiting, leaving me alone once again. I walked to the closet, dragging my fingers across the expensive fabrics. Everything had been chosen specifically for me. Power radiated from every piece, nothing weak or fragile. The message was clear. I was expected to match the man who had claimed me. A rich emerald dress caught my attention. It was fitted, elegant, with a slit high enough to make a statement. I slipped into it, letting the silk mold to my curves, and swept my hair into a loose style that framed my face. A final glance in the mirror confirmed what I already knew—I looked like I belonged in his world. Maybe that’s why he found me interesting. By the time I stepped into the hall, a guard was already waiting. He gestured for me to follow him, and I did—at my own pace. The mansion stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of wealth and secrecy. By now, I had memorized the path to the dining hall, and as we neared the heavy wooden doors, my escort pulled them open. Damien sat at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled up, fingers lazily tapping against his glass. His eyes lifted the moment I entered, scanning me with slow deliberation. "You listen when you want to," he mused, setting his drink down. I pulled out the chair nearest to him and took my seat. "You make it sound like I’m stubborn." A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Because you are." A server appeared, placing a plate in front of me, but I barely spared it a glance. My focus remained on the man beside me—the one who had carried me out of a burning room last night as if I weighed nothing. Damien lifted his glass. "Eat." I picked up my fork but didn’t touch the food just yet. "You don’t seem like someone who dines with company often." "I don’t." "Then why make an exception for me?" His smirk widened. "Because I enjoy watching you try to figure me out." I took a slow bite, letting the silence stretch between us. He was right—I *was* trying to understand him. Because the more I knew, the easier it would be to navigate whatever this was. Halfway through the meal, Damien leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, *Little Lamb*," he said smoothly, tilting his head. "What’s your plan?" My fingers tightened slightly around my fork. "Plan?" His eyes gleamed. "You’re not the type to sit back and let things happen to you. So, I’m curious. What are you planning?" I met his gaze without hesitation. "I suppose that depends on what *you* want from me." He studied me for a moment as if weighing his options. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Survive," he murmured. The word sent a chill down my spine. He wasn’t talking about this moment. He wasn’t talking about surviving him. He was talking about the world I had unknowingly stepped into. My father had raised me to be strong and to handle business with an iron will, but Damien’s world was different. It wasn’t just about wealth and power—it was about control, survival, and knowing when to strike. I took another bite, masking my thoughts with a serene expression. "I don’t need saving." Damien smirked. "No, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need protection." A flicker of irritation sparked inside me. "And you think *you* are my protection?" He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. "No, Ivy. I think I’m your best option." The way he said my name sent a strange thrill through me. Like a silent claim. I set my fork down. "Tell me, Damien. Do you say things like that just to see how I’ll react?" He grinned. "Do you enjoy reacting?" A soft laugh escaped me. "You are insufferable." "And yet," he murmured, gaze flickering over my face, "here you are." The air between us thickened, tension curling around the edges of the conversation. A challenge. A test. Neither of us was willing to back down first. I broke eye contact, reaching for my drink. "So, what now? Do I just sit here, eat, and accept my new life as your… what, exactly?" Damien exhaled a quiet chuckle. "You tell me." I tilted my head, my voice dropping. "Are you offering me a deal?" His smirk faded slightly. "Depends. Are you willing to bargain?" Something in his tone sent a thrill down my spine. He wasn’t just toying with me anymore. I leaned forward, mirroring his position. "That depends," I murmured, lowering my voice just enough to draw him in. "Are you willing to offer something *worth* bargaining for?" His jaw tightened. For the first time, his control wavered. Victory. The moment stretched, charged, and dangerous before Damien abruptly pushed his chair back and stood. I watched as he grabbed his jacket, adjusting the sleeves with practiced ease. "We’ll talk soon, *Little Lamb*," he said smoothly before walking away. The nickname sent an unfamiliar warmth through me. I had expected him to strike back with words, to try and reclaim the moment. Instead, he had chosen to walk away, just as he had the night before. But this time, I wasn’t frustrated. This time, I smiled. Because I had *his* attention now. And he had no idea what I planned to do with it.