CHAPTER 102: SO ITS JUST US?

"So it’s just us?" Ivy asked, turning in a slow circle in the living room. Her fingers brushed along the edge of the couch.

Winn nodded. "Just us. There’ll be housekeepers coming in once a day, but for the rest of the time..." He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "...it’s just us. Think of it as a marriage trial run."

"I’m gonna go take a shower. I’m exhausted," Ivy murmured, stretching her neck as she scanned the hallway for what she guessed was the master bedroom.

She found the master suite tucked away at the far end of the hall. It was minimalist and serene—cream walls, a vast mirror across from the bed. She stepped closer to it and caught her reflection, flushed and tired, yet still smiling. Her fingers reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.

Winn appeared behind her, his reflection filling the mirror before she even heard his footsteps. He didn’t say a word—just moved close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. When she tried to reach for the zipper again, his hands came up and caught her wrists, gently pulling them down to her sides.

Her pulse stuttered.

He held her gaze in the mirror, eyes dark and unreadable. Then his fingers brushed her back as he found the zipper and drew it down, the faint rasp of metal slicing through the silence. Her breath hitched as cool air touched her skin, followed by the light press of his lips against her bare shoulder.

It was an echo of a memory—one that came rushing back with startling clarity. That first day in his office when her bra clip had broken, and he’d helped her fix it. She had stood almost the same way then, frozen, pretending not to feel the tremor in her chest as he’d adjusted the clasp. It had been innocent—or at least, they’d pretended it was.

Winn’s lips lingered on her skin before he stepped back. He didn’t speak. He just moved away, shrugging off his shirt.

Ivy stood perfectly still, her heart racing. Something about the way he looked at her lately had changed. There was a depth in his eyes now.

She pulled down her dress, the fabric whispering against her skin before pooling softly around her feet. She reached for a towel, wrapped it around herself and turned toward the door.

Behind her, Winn stood still for a beat longer than he should have, watching the curve of her shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway. The soft click of the door closing behind her left a hush in the room that felt heavier than silence.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His pulse still hadn’t caught up with his breath. It was strange—how someone could be so near and still make you feel like you were losing ground. Every time he looked at her, something inside him tightened, twisted, wanted. But what exactly did he want? He already had her.

They were engaged, sharing a bed. What more could he possibly crave?

He sighed and stripped off his shirt, folding it neatly on the chair beside the window. His pants followed.

He stepped out of the room and chose another bathroom farther down the hall. He figured she was tired, sharing a bathroom would....well...it would end nicely. When he stepped into the bathroom, the mirror fogged instantly as the water came on. The steam clung to his skin, washing away the scent of travel and tension.

He closed his eyes and tried not to picture her beneath that towel, hair damp, eyes soft, skin still warm from the shower. Tried—and failed.

By the time he emerged, she still hadn’t returned. He dried himself in silence. Then he pulled on a pair of shorts and slipped beneath the covers. Exhaustion finally began to settle in.

He didn’t hear her come in right away—only felt the soft shift of the mattress as she joined him.

Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, her head finding its place against his bare chest.

For a long while, neither spoke. Her fingers began tracing idle patterns on his skin—slow, lazy doodles over his ribs, across his stomach.

"Can I ask you a question?" she began after a stretch of silence.

He shifted slightly, his arm still draped over her. "Fire away," he murmured, eyes still on the ceiling.

"What scares you?" she asked softly. "I mean, I know you hate things you can’t control... but I just want to know why."

For a moment, all she could hear was his breathing. She tilted her head up slightly, watching the tension that flickered across his jaw.

"I don’t talk about it," he said simply.

"Okay," she whispered, not pressing. She shifted closer, her cheek pressing into his chest. She kept doodling absent-minded shapes across his chest. Circles, lines, little stars that made no sense but somehow connected them.

A minute passed. Maybe more. Then he spoke.

"I got in a fight once," he said quietly, as if he were narrating someone else’s story. "In school. I was ten or so. I don’t even remember what started it, but I was sure the other kid deserved it."

"My mum was in the hospital with Sylvia that day," he continued. "She’d caught the flu or something. So the school called my dad. He showed up. He didn’t even look at me—" Winn stopped, jaw working as if the memory was lodged there. "He didn’t hit me. Not because he didn’t want to. Because the teachers were watching."

Ivy’s hand froze mid-doodle. But he reached for her hand and pressed it back against his chest, wordlessly telling her not to stop.

"Myself and the other boy were suspended for the week, starting immediately," Winn said.

"He locked me in the trunk," Winn continued. "Drove me to his office and forgot I was there. Hours passed. It was dark... and the air got thin. I remember thinking, this is it. I was ten, and I was sure I was going to die in there."