Page 51 of Candy Cane Chains

Each word hits like a sledgehammer.

We need to talk. Meet me at Gibson's. 8pm.

And then there's an answer.

No. Now. Meet behind Gibson's in 20.

It says it's from me but I didn't send it. Which means Ivy must have…

Ice spreads through my veins, followed by white-hot fury. Not at her - never at her. At myself. I trusted too much, gave too much slack on the leash. Let her have space when I should have known better. Should have known that piece of shit would try toslither back into her life, and my sweet girl is far too willing to please.

I grit my teeth. But why would she want to please him over me? It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The gift bag drops forgotten to the floor as my hands curl into fists, knuckles cracking. Behind Gibson's. The alley. Where that fucker will try to do something shady.

Again the question beckons - why would she go? She seemed so happy here, so easily compliant. I don't get it.

"Fuck." The word echoes in the empty house.

The rage builds in me as I try to place what I need to do. Not the hot, explosive kind that makes men stupid. This is cold. Calculating. The kind that lets me think clearly while planning exactly how I'm going to deal with Travis Porter once and for all.

I never should have let her out of my sight. Should have kept her close, protected. Now she's walking into God knows what because I was too focused on giving her freedom instead of keeping her safe.

I grab my phone, hitting Xander's contact while pacing through the living room. Each step echoes like a thunderclap in the silence.

"Boss?" Xander's voice crackles through the speaker.

"That piece of shit Travis used my name to get to Ivy." My free hand grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white. "He had her meet at Gibson's. An hour ago. And I fucking doubt if she's not back that they're still there."

"Shit." A pause, rustling sounds. "You know I'm out of town." Another pause, and then he asks, "Want me to head back?"

"No. I need you to track them. Pull security feeds, track the car, whatever it takes." The granite cracks under my grip. "I need to know where they went."

"On it. Give me a few." Keys click rapidly in the background. "You good to drive?"

"I'm fine." The lie tastes bitter. My pulse pounds in my temples, vision narrowing to pinpricks. Nothing about this is fine.

"Like hell you are. I haven't heard you this worked up since Madrid." More typing. "Already accessing Chicago PD's camera network. I'll call as soon as I have something."

I end the call, shoving the phone in my pocket. My reflection in the window catches my eye - face carved from stone, eyes like arctic ice. Good. I'll need that cold focus to handle this properly.

I need to check behind Gibson's first, just in case. I can't sit still much longer. Then I'll head wherever Xander's intel leads. And when I find Travis Porter...

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. Focus. One step at a time. Find Ivy first. Deal with Travis second.

But I will deal with him. I'll put a fucking end to the asshole.

Suddenly, a scent filters over me that I didn't notice before. I move toward the kitchen, a flash of gold catches my eye - delicate flakes scattered across dark marble. The island counter is a warzone of confectionery supplies: chocolate-smeared bowls, half-empty piping bags, scattered sea salt crystals.

My fingers brush against a cooling rack where perfect dark chocolate spheres rest in neat rows. The scent hits me - rich, complex notes that only come from the highest quality chocolate. The kind Ivy special ordered from that boutique shop in Paris because she remembered me mentioning it once.

Another freedom I gave her. I let her have free reign with my credit card and any online shop she wanted. All because I wanted to fucking see her smile.

Next to them, caramel-filled chocolates gleam under a dusting of edible gold, catching the kitchen lights like precious metal. She must have spent hours tempering the chocolate to achieve that perfect shine. A tray of raspberry ganache squaressits nearby, each one topped with crystallized flower petals in deep purples and blues.

Half-finished. Abandoned mid-creation.

The mixing bowl still has melted chocolate coating its sides. The thermometer lies discarded in a pool of hardening caramel. Everything left exactly as it was when that message came through.

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