Chapter 57 The Weight Of His Chains

• The silence in Damien’s office was suffocating, a silence that pressed itself against Ivy’s ears until she felt it could crush her. The fire in the hearth crackled, throwing restless shadows over the polished mahogany desk between them, yet it did nothing to soften the coldness that clung to Damien’s gaze. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like obsidian shards that reflected nothing but her own hesitation back at her.
• He sat with one arm stretched casually along the back of his chair, his posture deceptive in its ease. Every inch of him radiated control, not the fragile kind built on arrogance, but the kind forged in fire and sealed with blood. He didn’t need to raise his voice or flex his authority for Ivy to feel its weight pressing down on her.
• She stood by the door, her hand still faintly trembling from where she had gripped the handle too tightly before entering. She knew she had walked straight into the lion’s den, and now there was no turning back. His men had left earlier, but Damien had waited for her, as if he had known she would eventually come to him—driven not by choice, but by inevitability.