I lift my head. I can’t not look at the shadows of the flickering candles playing across his face.

“You should be more careful, Ivy.”

“Or what? You’ll put that thing on me again? Tattoo me again? Brand me this time? Make me marry you all over again? You’ve taken everything. Done everything there is to do.”

“I’ve only just begun.”

I snort.

He walks back into the room, back toward me and I find myself leaning away. Watching him come to me, his face uncovered, a half-living-half-dead man, it’s a little terrifying.

“Lower your gaze. I won’t say it again.”

“No.” My heart pounds against my chest like it wants out before the attack that is surely coming.

“No?”

I shake my head.

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure if that's bravery or stupidity.”

“I’m not scared of your face if that’s what you mean.”

He laughs outright. “You think I’m worried you won’t like my face?” He crouches down and it takes all I have to keep my eyes on his, but he must see me lean away and he leans closer. “You want to see me, Ivy?”

I just swallow as I take him in, trying to focus on his eyes, just his eyes. But it’s too much and I blink, turning away.

“Didn’t think so,” he says, standing, crossing the room again.

“It’s not…I don’t…” I trail off, not sure what I want to say. He was beautiful once. I can see that. Now he’s something else. Something most would sneer at. Run from.

“You’ll remain in your room until I come for you.” He opens the door.

“I won’t.”

He stops. “No?” he asks, turning. “You’ll rebel?” He waits for me to answer but I don’t. “Look at you. Still on your knees before me, my mark etched into your skin, my come leaking out of your pussy. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told. But you’re welcome to try to prove me wrong. I will enjoy punishing you.” He walks out into the hallway.

“Why?” I call out. “Why did you choose me if you hate me so much?” I have to wipe my eyes again.

He stops. It’s quiet for a long moment and I realize how silent this house is. How still. Does anyone else even live here? He studies me, eyes sharp and intent on me. He has an agenda. A purpose. And I am so far out of my league.

“Your tears won’t move me. I thought you knew that.”

“Just at least tell me why.”

“Do you love your father?”

“What?”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And he loves you.” It’s not a question.

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

“No?”