Chapter 10

Victor entered his room; he was met with a scene of utter disarray. His belongings were scattered haphazardly across the floor, as if a tornado had swept through, leaving chaos in its wake. A wet towel lay draped across his bed, its soggy presence an affront to his sense of order. With a flick of his wrist, Victor picked up the offending towel, holding it between two fingers as if it might contaminate him.

He strode towards the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went, his movements economical and precise. But as he stepped into the bathroom, his foot skidded on a patch of slippery liquid, sending him stumbling. His hand shot out, grasping the sink with a vice-like grip, preventing him from crashing to the floor.

"Little Smith," he muttered, his voice low and even, but with a hint of irritation.

Victor showered, the water pounding against his skin, washing away the fatigue of the day. As he emerged, he felt refreshed, and his mind sharpened. He padded towards his closet, expecting to find his clothes neatly arrayed, but what he saw made his eyes narrow.

His clothes were scattered, tossed aside like so much rubbish, while Ivy's garments were folded with precision, occupying the other side of the closet with an air of quiet triumph. Victor's lips curled into a cold smile.

"No matter how hard you try, my decision will not change, Little Smith," he whispered, his voice dripping with menace. "Let's see how long you will play this game."

With a deliberate slowness, Victor selected his pajamas, his movements a testament to his control. He slipped into bed, his eyes glinting in the dark, his mind already turning to the next move in this silent battle of wills. As he drifted off to sleep, a faint smile played on his lips, a promise of the challenges to come.

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Ivy's eyes fluttered open; she was met with the enthusiastic licks of Max, her loyal companion. She couldn't help but laugh, her voice husky from sleep, as she playfully pushed him away. "My cute boy, I'll be right back; wait for me."

With a spring in her step, Ivy made her way to Victor's room, her heart pounding with anticipation. She had deliberately worn shorts that were too short—a subtle provocation, testing the boundaries. As she entered the room, her gaze swept the space, relief washing over her when she saw that Victor was nowhere to be found. "Maybe Victor is gone," she whispered to herself.

But as she pushed open the bathroom door, her eyes widened in shock. Victor stood under the shower, his chiseled body glistening with water, his back to her. He knew she was there, but he didn't flinch and didn't acknowledge her presence. Ivy's cheeks flushed, her heart racing, as she froze, her gaze fixed on the sight before her.

Victor continued showering, his movements fluid, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. Ivy's eyes lingered, her mind struggling to process the sheer masculinity that stood before her. She felt a jolt, her body responding to the sight, but she refused to give in. With a quiet gasp, she broke free from her trance, her eyes dropping to the sink as she reached for her brush.

As she began to brush her teeth, her gaze met Victor's in the mirror, his eyes locked on hers, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. Ivy's heart skipped a beat, her pulse racing, but she refused to back down. Victor emerged from the shower, his towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping water, his muscles gleaming with moisture. Ivy's eyes were drawn to him, her body betraying her, but she stood firm, her expression neutral.

Victor's gaze roamed over her, his eyes lingering on her curves, his D*** growing hard. Ivy felt a shiver run down her spine, but she refused to acknowledge it. "Someone had said that I am not attractive enough to make someone hard," she said, her voice laced with defiance.

Victor's smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It's just the effect of the morning; don't be too happy; it's not because of you." His words were a subtle jab, but Ivy refused to rise to the bait.

As Victor reached for his brush, Ivy's eyes met his, a spark of tension crackling between them. "Is this an electric brush?" she asked, her voice husky.

Victor nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you want?" he asked, his voice low, his intentions clear.

Ivy's eyes flashed with anger, her heart racing. "Never, not in this life." She spat out the words, her rejection clear.

With a quiet smile, Victor turned away, leaving Ivy to her shower. As she stepped under the water, she felt his eyes on her, his gaze burning with intensity. She knew she was testing his patience, pushing him to the limits, but she refused to back down. The game was on, and Ivy was ready to play. but she refused to back down. The game

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Numbness enveloped Ivy as she emerged from the bathroom, the warmth of the bathrobe a stark contrast to the chill that settled in her bones as she met Victor's gaze. He sat on the couch, fully dressed, his eyes cold and unyielding, piercing through her like a winter's frost. Ivy's instincts screamed at her to retreat, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot.

With a quiet determination, she began to move towards the closet, her heart pounding in her chest. Victor's eyes never left hers, his gaze a palpable force that made her skin prickle. And then he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and menacing, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Why are you here?" He growled, his voice low and deadly. "I've given you a separate room with a bathroom. Why do you insist on invading my space?"

Ivy's chin jutted out, defiance sparking within her. "I like your bathroom better," she said, her voice steady. "And I'm going to live with you in this room. We're engaged, after all. Why should I be relegated to a separate room, like some sort of prisoner?"

Victor's eyes flashed with anger, his jaw clenched in a tight line. He strode towards her, his movements swift and purposeful, and Ivy's heart skipped a beat as he reached out and pulled the lace of her robe. The fabric parted, revealing her chest, and Ivy's face burned with a mixture of shame and desire.

She was lost in his gaze, trapped in the depths of his intense eyes. Victor's hair was tied back, revealing the sharp planes of his face, and for a moment, Ivy forgot to breathe. He was the epitome of a villain, handsome and cruel, and she was powerless against his charm.

"Little Smith," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Stop whatever game is playing in your mind. My decision won't change, no matter what you do. And don't tease me, or you'll regret it."

Ivy's lips parted, but no words emerged. She was transfixed by the heat in his eyes, the promise of pleasure and pain. And then, his mouth descended upon her neck, his lips tracing a path of fire that left her gasping.

Her hands fluttered, trying to push him away, but Victor pinned them to the closet door, his grip unyielding. Ivy's eyes drifted closed, her body betraying her as she arched into his touch.

But Victor's words cut through the haze of desire, a cold slap that brought her back to reality. "I don't f*ck little girls," he growled, his voice dripping with disdain.

As he moved away, Ivy's eyes snapped open, her face burning with shame and anger. "B***rd," she spat, her voice trembling. "Mean Victor, I hate myself, my body betrays me because of your touch."

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise of war. And as Victor walked away, Ivy knew that this was far from over.

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