There was a line Ivy had never crossed.

It wasn't written down. No rules posted. No signs warning her to turn back.

But it was there—between being looked at and being seen, between longing and being claimed.

That line had always kept her composed, in control. Even when she imagined more—something heavier, rougher, something with hands and breath and command—she never let it show. Not in meetings. Not in her posture. Not in the way she wore silk like armor.

But Max didn’t just...
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